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Winterfell felt eerily quiet on that specific day.
Catelyn had been looking for Sansa everywhere, wanting to discuss some last-minute changes regarding the feast. The wedding, that wretched affair she had been dreading for over a moon, was set to happen by the end of the senninight, and the cook had just informed her that it wouldn’t be possible to make Sansa’s favorite pomegranate pie, because the pomegranates they got from Essos kept disappearing, and no one seemed to know why.
For a single moment, she felt a vindictive sort of glee in learning it. Catelyn only accepted the idea of her daughter marrying Jon Snow after Sansa promised her it was only a temporary thing, and there was a small part of her that wanted this day to be grey and joyless, just as she felt about the entire ordeal.
But this thought quickly turned into guilt, because her precious girl had already gone through so much.
With the Lannisters still clinging to what little power they had left in the South, and the North just starting to recover from the Boltons, the threat of Sansa’s previous marriage with Tyrion being used against them was too great to be ignored.
Her youngest children were still missing. Catelyn felt in her heart that they were alive. She knew it for sure. If they were dead, her heart would have felt it, just like it did with Robb. But until then, the Northern Lords had decided to make Jon Snow their King, completely disregarding her perfect true-born daughter, a real Stark.
She would be the first to admit that learning about the truth of Jon’s parentage didn’t change a thing. Targaryen or not, he was still a bastard of Stark blood who succeeded in stealing her child’s rightful claim, a dragonseed who sat at the weirwood throne and called himself King. Sansa, too soft-hearted even after all her trials, had quickly warmed up to the half-brother-turned-cousin who made her his heir, as if it was enough.
They had quickly become friends, and even worse, confidants. More than once did she hear the bastard jokingly refer to Sansa as his Lady Hand, hosting a few feasts in her name and showering with as many gifts as a war-torn nation such as the North could afford to.
As if it could ever be enough to make up for his transgressions.
When the threat of the Lannisters became too great, and the Northern Lords got too disgruntled with the idea of being ruled by a Targaryen, no matter how much they liked him, Sansa had shyly come out with the plan during a council meeting.
Catelyn was lucky she had already sat down, for she was sure she would have fallen on her knees otherwise.
Her darling daughter, married to that… that brute! Giving him the Stark name, legitimizing his reign, leaning on him to protect her from their enemies. As if House Stark needed any more debts with the bastard.
And Jon, that the seven hells curse his miserable life, had oh so graciously agreed. Oh, he had made sure to look shocked and sorrowful for this unfortunate union, acting like the prospect of it unsettled him just as it did everyone else. Jon did a good job of pretending that, for his part, it was all in the name of duty.
But Catelyn knew better.
She was a smart woman, and the nature of a bastard’s desires was well known to her.
Not only that, she could see what Sansa so clearly didn’t – the hungry look on his face as he took her in, the way his eyes – so much like Ned’s – traced the lines of her body and lingered on her lips, long before they learned about his true parentage.
And now she was to be married to him.
Sansa had promised her that this union was only temporary. Everyone with good sense knew it. But for all that Catelyn trusted her daughter’s word, she couldn’t trust Jon’s nature.
He would consume her if he had the chance. He would take her away from her mother’s world seed by seed, until there was nothing left behind. He would hide his intentions behind pretty words and use Sansa’s good heart against her. Like the Stranger coming to steal the Maiden.
And Catelyn could do nothing about it.
After looking everywhere she could possibly think of, she finally realized that she hadn’t looked in the most obvious of places – Sansa’s chambers.
Surely it was odd for her to be there in the middle of the day, but the afternoon was so uncharacteristically lazy that most of the Keep was enjoying the last moments of peace in quiet leisure, knowing it was only a matter of time before Winterfell was bursting with activity.
Sansa was occupying the Lady’s chambers, the warmest part of the castle. Catelyn had gladly taken other rooms to herself, not wanting to be constantly reminded of the happy memories with Ned between those same walls, but she still remembered the little tricks about it.
If Sansa was inside, she was quite possibly napping or embroidering. She wouldn’t be expecting any visits, which would mean she wouldn’t be wearing her ever present mask of a Lady, something that made Catelyn equally sad and proud. The thought of secretly observing her daughter and having the pleasure of witnessing her girl-like relaxation was too great to suppress. It would be so sweet to see her dutiful and serious Sansa be herself that Catelyn couldn’t help but do it.
Many years prior, when life was still good, her children would play a game of sneaking into each other’s chambers to startle each other. And even little Sansa, no matter how composed she was, would end up giggling and joining the games.
She didn’t exactly plan on scaring Sansa, but it would be a fun jest nonetheless.
Gods knew they needed whatever joy they could have.
Remembering the loud sound the door handles would make once opened, something that always used to wake her up, Catelyn took the servants passage instead, knowing she could peep through a tapestry inside of the chambers, something meant to ensure no maid would arrive at an inopportune moment.
Mindful of her footing, she nearly missed the exact place. Catelyn had to bend over slightly in order to put her face at the same level as the hole, and her knees protested a little when she did.
But when she looked inside, she found something she could never, in a thousand lifetimes, have imagined witnessing.
The first thing she truly noticed, quite strangely, was how sunlit the room was.
A fake spring had been teasing them for nearly three moons, melting some of the snow and allowing timid northern flowers to bloom, and Sansa’s chambers were nearly entirely covered in vases with flowers in different stages of life. A pale lavender gown, the same one her daughter had been wearing that morning, was pooling over the floor near the fireplace, alongside leather boots and dark garments that weren’t made for a woman.
Only then did the sounds reach her. Breathless, low grunts and sighs, the high pitch of girlish giggles.
“My love…” A male voice whined from the bed. “Please!”
“I’m not finished.” The female voice replied.
Right on the bed, bathed in sunlight, Sansa sat on top of Jon’s lap. Both naked, intertwined in a lover’s embrace. White linens lay butchered around their joined hips, leaving little doubt as to what she was witnessing.
The bastard’s hips twitched beneath her, drawing a shiver through Sansa’s body. She was too busy licking dark red juice from her fingers, laughing at his attempts to capture her lips in a kiss.
Catelyn felt sick to her stomach, ready to barge in and stop this madness.
But she couldn’t move.
She could barely believe what her eyes were seeing. It almost felt surreal, as if she were having a dream – or a nightmare, to be more precise. Her beloved daughter, her precious Sansa welcomed him inside her body, pressing herself against his chest as he kissed down her neck, as his hand reached for the discarded plate, gathering a handful of pomegranate seeds before smearing their dark juice over her chest.
“Jon!” Sansa exclaimed as he captured her nipple, and the dark juice, inside his mouth. She moaned as his hands grabbed her hips and used them as leverage to make her bounce on his lap. “Oh, Jon…”
“You taste so sweet, my love.”The bastard said, swiftly pushing her torso backwards until he was kneeling over her, holding her thighs against her chest as he lined up and pushed in once more. They both moaned. “Sweeter than a peach.”
“Sweeter than a pomegranate?” Sansa giggled in between sighs of pleasure, and Catelyn wanted to throw up.
He made a humming sound of agreement in the back of his throat, moving his hips against hers softly. His chest was stained red from the mess of fruit they made, and the look in his eyes was painfully tender. “Sweetest thing of all.”
There was no violence there, none of the predatory hunger Catelyn had always feared. Jon Snow looked down at Sansa like a blind man seeing the sun for the very first time.
Sansa’s hand reached for the plate once more, but when she couldn't find it, he picked up the fruit and began feeding it to her by hand, his hips never ceasing their slow movement, his fingers disappearing between her lips.
“I love you.” He whispered. “My Queen of Spring.”
In response, all Sansa could do was give a deep sigh of contentment, seemingly lost in the pleasures he gave her.
Catelyn finally emerged from the stupor of horrified intrigue she had been submerged in. Her legs felt weak, and her stomach was churning, and she hoped to never again witness something like this.
But despite everything she had just witnessed, despite the scene that would forever be branded on her eyelids, Catelyn left that hidden passage feeling lighter than she had expected.
Jon Snow would lead her daughter down dark paths, away from her mother’s safety.
But at least Sansa chose this.
At least she chose him.