17Disclaimer: I recently got obsessed with Game of Thrones, but doesn't mean I own it!
Story: They say when Sansa Stark was born, she'd been touched by fire. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't, but fire and ice seem to be in her blood. Maybe that's why her soul is damaged so much that she needed three Soulmates to hold her together? Depending on who's asked, Soulmates weren't the happily ever after of the stories Sansa hoped for, not with the men she's apparently bound to. In any case, for the rest of the world, they hope the three chosen could keep her from either burning the world down or icing it into a living level of the Seven Hells.
Set as a gigantic canon AU with divergence as a side dish.
Spoilers: Yeeeessss. Yes, yes, yes. Beware?
Warnings: It's GoT, what do you think? And Ramsay is His Own Warning. (Hell, the Boltons are their own warning XD)
Pairings: (Main) Roosa (Roose /Sansa), Stansa (Stannis/Sansa), and Tysan (Tywin/Sansa). (Side) Probably a lot of Others/Sansa (mostly one-sided though), with a focus on Jaime, Petyr, Oberyn, and Sandor. Arya/Gendry (or Jaqen H'gar…or both of them). I'm leaning towards Danaerys/Jon, but probably going to be strong hints of one-sided Dany/Sansa though.
Her Song of Fire and Ice
Chapter One: Firebright
Robb was the first born son of House Stark. He'd grown up knowing he was heir to Winterfell and its lordship.
But he was a few years older than the one he'd always felt would fit much better at leading and ruling over Winterfell and the North.
Sansa had always been such a lady. She drew others to her so easily, like moths to a flame —ironically, given Sansa's bright red hair; hair that many linked to her Tully looks, but had even their mother quietly comment that it was even brighter and shone like fire.
Ned Stark used to say his daughter was blessed by a fire fae and that was why she had taken on a fiery temperament and looks.
Robb thought that was as accurate about his sister as ever, even when he was six and she was four, just as well now that he was eleven and she nine.
Still, even young, Sansa had always been best at bringing others to her, with her endless patience and kindness, and willingness to listen to others (even if they didn't deserve it!). She was so sweet, it made his teeth ache like he'd eaten too much dessert, and she handed little nuggets of childish (but oddly wise) advice to others. Sometimes, he could even almost imagine it was like she was holding court as if she was Queen or even like she was really a child version of their father and a miniature Lady of Winterfell.
And his sister was also even more unique, if he could speak what he thought aloud. Sometimes though, maybe he was imagining things, but whenever his sister was around fire, the flames seem to…dance happily. And when she was emotional, he even thought they reacted to her emotions! When she giggled, they'd dance in place, and when she was angry or upset, they'd flare up.
He'd tried mentioning it to their parents, but Catelyn had dismissed it as fanciful imagination and Ned had solemnly (but still a tease) told him he'd told him he'd been right about that fairy fae. By the time their younger siblings were born, he'd stopped talking and focusing on it, keeping it to himself. The only other person he'd told and still talked about it was Old Nan, and she still muttered to herself that Sansa had been touched by a fire demon (not a faerie, like Ned claimed) and so Robb hadn't said another word about what he thought happened around Sansa again.
He was really happy to have her around though. Even with Theon and Jon around, it was just never the same without Sansa for some reason.
Part of him felt like they should've been twins.
At two and ten, Sansa had already become good enough with sewing and embroidery to be able to start making most of her own gowns. She always enjoyed her mother's and septa's praises, and was proud of her own work.
That was why she couldn't understand Arya at all!
She had thought that since Arya was a girl like her, the two of them would get along best and like all the same things. But Arya wasn't like her. Not at all.
Instead, she was wild and rowdy and-and acted more like a boy than their brothers sometimes! They couldn't get along at all and were more prone to fighting and bickering, and Sansa acted less like a lady and more like a wild child like Arya whenever the two of them fought.
Sansa tried to get along with Arya, but her younger sister wouldn't do anything with her. She thought all the things she liked were stupid and boring, and all the gowns and cloaks she lovingly made were made fun of by Arya (who would even carelessly ruin them). Sometimes, she was petty enough to retaliate. She would talk about Arya with her friend Jeyne, or even allow Jeyne to make fun of Arya and say nothing about it.
Her sister was mean to her and did it more often, so Sansa sometimes was angry enough to not act like a lady and push back.
That's why, as Septa Mordane began lecturing Arya on her stitching, she felt herself smile smugly to herself, pleased to hear Arya getting upbraided. Just that morning, Sansa had awoken to Arya having had Nymeria pee at the foot of her bed and she'd been utterly gleeful of Sansa's dismay.
She lost her smile though, her hands faltering from her own stitching as Septa Mordane left and she heard Arya start to sniffle and quietly cry. She discreetly looked at her younger sibling and pressed her lips together tightly.
Arya was still her sister.
Glancing over to where Septa Mordane had disappeared, Sansa scooted her chair closer to Arya, receiving a wary look from the other girl.
"Here, left me unstitch it quickly for you," Sansa said, taking the cloth from Arya and doing so. "Now…you're not moving it as you stitch and you're too stiff…"
Arya could be a pain, but they were family and Sansa wouldn't let her sister feel like she didn't care.
"Why're you helping me?" Arya grumbled, still wary of her.
"Because," Sansa huffed. "You're mean and immature and so horrid…but you're my sister."
Despite it all, she did love Arya.
"Here, let me help you," Jon said and Sansa awkwardly allowed her half-brother to help her onto her horse. He gave a somber, though sincere, smile and stepped away from her, ducking his head as he walked to his own horse.
Sansa watched after him, biting her lower lip in thought and slight guilt.
She thought that Jon was always so kind and thoughtful to her, but she always followed after her mother and treated him (while not unkindly or thankfully not cruelly) without warmth or her usual sweetness. But…but she didn't have to be cold to him and she could start now.
"Jon?" she asked timidly.
He turned to her with surprised eyes. "Yes, Sansa?"
She gave him a small smile. "Father bid me to go travel to Winter Town to start taking stock for winter, while Robb was supposed to follow him around today. Would you accompany me?"
Jon brightened up a bit before he hesitated. "Would…would Lady Stark approve? I don't want to upset anyone —"
"It's fine," Sansa said firmly. "I'll just say that I asked you to be my guard," she declared with certainty, refusing to think about her mother then.
Catelyn Stark wasn't there. She was and she wanted her half-brother —brother to accompany her, regardless of her mother's feelings about Jon. She was determined to treat Jon better and for them to become closer siblings.
He finally acquiesced and it wasn't long until the two of them were riding side by side. She glanced at him, eyes catching sight of his sword. It made her think of another sibling.
"You know…both you and I know someone who would love to learn how to use a sword," she gave him a meaningful look.
He laughed lightly, shaking his head as he returned her look. "You think Arya would want to learn sword fighting from me?"
"I know she would."
Arya had done nothing but chat Sansa's ears off about it, ever since they'd somehow managed to get closer and get along better.
If Sansa had to handle hearing Arya talk one more time about learning sword fighting…
So thankfully later, after dinner, she and Jon had swept Arya away and hid in the old Stark Crypts.
"What're we doing here?" Arya asked them in annoyance.
"Oh? After all the trouble I went to convince Jon to try to teach you sword fighting?" Sansa asked blithely, pretending to be put upon.
She grinned to herself as she saw Arya actually squeal and rush towards her, tackling her into a tight hug that nearly knocked her off her feet. She heard Jon chuckling nearby and after a short glare at him, she sighed and went back to grinning, shaking her head at him before embracing Arya back in a gentler hold.
"Jon's got the practice swords," she told Arya. "We're in here so that we won't get caught and get in trouble."
"We'll have to be careful because of the tight space," Jon warned them.
"Are you going to be learning too?" Arya asked her, looking at her intently and almost…hopefully?
Sansa stopped herself from grimacing. Her? Learning to use a sword?
"I don't know," she said uncertainly.
"It'll be useful," Jon added in to her surprise, and she looked at him to see him nod encouragingly. "You never know."
Sansa watched the two, who weren't looking away from her. She sighed again and nodded, ignoring their quiet cheers.
"I'll take a turn, I suppose," she said dubiously.
She didn't think she'd really need it, but she suppose if the other two really wanted her too…
Honestly, this wasn't what she had in mind when she thought of bonding with Arya (or even a way to become closer with Jon)!
She guessed it'll do though.
As they set up, her eyes trailed to the statue of her late aunt, gazing at the tribute to Aunt Lyanna. Pursing her lips and wondering about a strange feel of familiarity of her aunt's features, she shook her head at herself and went back to watching her siblings.
Then she froze and watched Jon more closely. Glancing between boy and statue, she thought quickly and dug her hands into her skirts. It couldn't be, could it?
No, no, her mind was just playing tricks.
She was just over-thinking things.
At four and ten, Sansa worried about getting her moonblood. She didn't know if it was late and she was just a late bloomer, but she worried about it not appearing yet and already becoming at the age where she should be looking to be getting married.
She hadn't been blind to the stacks of missives on her father's desk and had peeked. Already, missives had been sent asking for her hand and she worried herself to death about her father's thoughts.
She didn't want to marry yet. She hadn't even flowered.
She didn't even know if there was a chance she could fall in love —a sweet, handsome knight to sweep her off her feet, like in her stories; better, a Soulmate to complete her other half! She just wanted a chance to fall in love first, instead of being married off.
She knew her duty. She'd been raised knowing it. She knew her mother's family words.
Family. Duty. Honor.
But Sansa had read so many stories that she'd dreamed of being just like one of those women, and hadn't let go of such thoughts yet. She wanted to be able to have a lasting love like her mother and father, especially one of those sweet, private moments Sansa managed to glimpse when they were sure they were alone and could share one together.
It made her heart beat at the thought that she could have a moment like that with her own husband.
"Sansa? What are you doing here?" she heard her mother ask, huddling by her father's desk. "I thought you'd like it if I brushed your hair before bed."
In comfort, that's where Sansa always seemed to end up at.
Sansa gave her mother a wan smile as she stood up, watching her mother place the brush on her father's desk.. "I was…I was waiting for Father. I wanted to ask him…I wanted to ask him what he thought about the o-offers," she stumbled over the word.
Catelyn looked at her in shock before sighing and coming closer. "Your father will find you a good match," she swore. "You need not worry."
She bit at her lip, ducking her head. "But…can't we wait a little longer? I haven't flowered and I only wished to see if there is a chance for a Soul Mark —"
"Don't be ridiculous," her mother said sharply, making her startle.
"M-Mother?" Sansa's eyes widened.
Catelyn's lips thinned. "A Soul Mark is nothing but a mark on your skin. Soulmates? It doesn't mean anything, Sansa. Having a Soulmate doesn't change anything. To have one is a burden."
"But you and Father —" Sansa tried to protest.
"Are in love," Catelyn nodded. "I love your father, as I know he loves me…But things are not perfect. We're bonded, but that means nothing in the end. Being Soulmates doesn't mean you will be the perfect pair. It'll be nothing to be disloyal and have the ability to hurt 'your Soulmate.'"
Jon. This had to be about Jon. Mother had never let go of what happened.
Sansa bit her lip, trying not to let her tears fall. But she shook her head and ran from the room, snatching up the brush and holding it to her chest as if she could ward off the frantic, sad beats of her heart.
His beautiful, beautiful daughter sat near the heart tree, gazing at it quietly as she brushed her hair. He smiled to himself as he watched her.
His Sansa grew more lovely and sweeter as time passed, and he became more and more prouder of her. He was not always attentive to her like the others, which guilt plagued him about, but she had always been so well-behaved that it had been much too easy to let alone, especially with Catelyn taking more of a hands-on role with her than the others.
Ned frowned to himself then though, as he noticed the still drying tear tracks on his daughter's face.
He had heard about Catelyn and Sansa having some sort of disagreement. He hadn't known what about, but Robb had told him that Catelyn's voice had been raised and then Sansa had run from the room (and apparently to here).
"Firebright," he called out to her with the name he'd tenderly teased her with, letting her know of his presence.
She paused in her brushing and tentatively looked over to him. Tully blues shined with leftover tears and his poor heart melted for his beloved daughter. His sweet, sweet daughter of four and ten.
He walked over and sat next to her, taking the brush from her and turning her back to face the heart tree. He began to gently brush her hair himself.
"She told me Soulmates were burdens and that even having one didn't mean anything. Your other half can still hurt you."
Ned winced, knowing just exactly what Catelyn still resented about. Their names were entrusted upon each other's wrists, but by bringing back Jon, he had damaged his relationship and bond with Catelyn. Even if the truth was that Jon belonged to Lyanna, no one could ever know that truth.
He had allowed it this way for Jon's protection and Catelyn had never forgiven him for it.
He sighed heavily and put down the brush, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder and leaning in to press his lips to the top of her head, her bright and fiery hair shifting.
"My sweet Firebright," he murmured. "It's…complicated. What your mother believes and feels on Soulmates is complicated."
"But you and she are bonded!" Sansa protested. "Everyone knows that having one is a blessing from the Gods!"
Ned paused in thought before gifting his child with a solemn smile.
"A blessing, yes. But it is a curse as well. To be honest, little one, to have a Soulmate is a blessing and a curse."
His sweet Firebright child. He hoped she would never feel and understand the darker side of Soulmates, like his wild, well-loved sister.
Lyanna Stark had not been blessed but cursed.
Started 1/14/20 – Completed 1/18/20
A/n: Whhhy? Why did I get obsessed with another fandom?! Welp, here I am. Writing. Again. Welcome to my Madness. I've been working on this since last year (most of the scenes I've written for this story are set in the future and I had to push myself for this first chapter XD), so I'm happy to finally start on this. I hope you enjoy and are excited! Please remember to review~
