lately, i've been dressing for

The past year or so had been a whirlwind for Sansa and she has found her brother again only to lose him - this time not to the Wall but, instead, to House Targaryen. He's apparently the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, not the bastard son of her father as they'd always known him to be and as part of the treaty with Daenerys in the south, the north would be allowed to keep its autonomy provided there was a Targaryen king on the throne.

What better king than that which was Targaryen and Stark? Of course, such a king needed a queen and Sansa suddenly had the best claim on the throne of Winterfell than anyone in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms and it was natural enough that she was matched to her cousin to be his queen consort. This made her a bit nervous; this is her third marriage, after all, and Sansa has not been successful in marriage. She has scars and pain from Ramsay still and she's afraid of being in bed with Jon.

At least she's had a little while to know Jon as a cousin now instead of a brother and the idea of him as husband is less strange that it might have been a year or so before. After the wedding feast, Sansa had requested that everyone enjoy the fine casks of wine sent from the south while she and Jon retired to bed for the evening.

For her part, she didn't particularly look forward to this portion of the ceremony but she had a duty to fulfill and she would fulfill it to the fullest. Her third wedding gown is silver and black, direwolves and dragons. It's very lovely, all told, but feels foreign against her skin. Too light, she thinks, for a winter wedding.

"He hurt me badly, Jon," Sansa says softly, hands folded in her gown. "It might still be painful with you. I still have pain sometimes."