AN: Remember that theory way back when that Sansa was pregnant with Ramsay's child? Well, this is that fic. Warnings for past rape and abuse because Sansa/Ramsay. I am late to the train, but this story wouldn't leave me alone. I have much more planned for this verse, and some things already written out. The goal with this chapter but more so future chapters is to get across Sansa's complicated feelings on her pregnancy and her children in an unbiased fashion, and the complex relationships that will follow from their birth, as well as from Jon's birth decades prior. It depends on what the response to this story is, so comments would be much appreciated.
CHARACTERS (MORE TO BE ADDED): Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Davos Seaworth, Brienne of Tarth, Maester Wolkan, Ned Stark, Howland Reed
RELATIONSHIPS (MORE TO BE ADDED): Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Davos Seaworth, Sansa Stark & Brienne of Tarth, past Sansa Stark/Ramsay Bolton
WARNINGS: past rape/non-con, unplanned/unwanted pregnancy, complicated reflection on unwanted pregnancy/children, alternating POV
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Ned had always wanted children, even from a young age, and not all the time just because he had wanted to be a father, but he knew what having children meant for a noble house. There were a few times when House Stark had been on the brink of extinction. His own father had been the only remaining bastion of the main bloodline of the Starks, which was why he married his cousin, Lyarra, to strengthen the bloodlines again. Children were needed to carry on a house's legacy, his father always said, and Ned listened. He learned this just as well living with Jon Arryn. His first wife, Jeyne Royce, died giving birth to a stillborn girl. His second wife, Lady Rowena, died due to a winter chill with no children. Lord Arryn's nephew became his heir, his to hone and to raise. For Ned, it wasn't a bad thing or untoward. He had enjoyed growing up with Elbert as much as he had with Robert. Elbert was different from their Stormlord friend. He was quieter, but not as quiet as Ned. He was knightly, gallant and kind but he could exhibit a temper to rival Robert's if pushed to it. Elbert had been as indignant as any Northman when Lyanna disappeared and he rode to King's Landing with Brandon, where he met his death at the hands of King Aerys.
Then Brandon and his father were dead too and Ned only retroactively understood the worry of previous members of House Stark about their house's longevity. It wasn't until he was on his way to Dorne to get Lyanna back that he reflected just how much of a precipice his house had been on. Brandon dead with no children, Ned fighting a war with no children, Benjen a child himself, Lyanna gone. But he couldn't save Lya and she had left him with a child he now had to worry about.
"I could take him. He'd be hidden away at Greywater Watch. No one would ever need to know, they certainly wouldn't hear it from me. Jyana and I have a girl that was just born to us. We will say we had twins. Who could know we do not tell the truth?" Howland offered as Ned knelt by Lyanna's still form, one of his hands still clutching onto her limp fingers, her babe fussing in the crook of his other arm. He felt numb staring at her, all this time looking for her, worrying for her and she was…
"Ned? Ned, did you hear me? Ned!" Howland said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"I…" Ned paused for a moment, thinking about it. He could send the boy with him. Howland loved Lyanna like a sister, he would keep her son safe. He would be hidden among the swamps with the crannogman. Robert wouldn't get to him there, no one would. He looked down at the babe. He had wisps of black hair atop his head and Lyanna's brown eyes. Ned was glad for it, it was better that he looked more like a Stark than a Targaryen. Ned shook his head at Howland after a long silence.
"Lyanna asked me to protect him, me. I made a promise. He is my duty. I cannot shirk it off onto you. I will take him." Ned decided.
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Sansa was acting strangely. Jon saw it more and more every day. His sister had changed much from the girl she was in their youth, the bratty lady who simpered all day about princes meant to save her. She was much colder now, aloof in some respects, but Jon saw the change for what it was: his sister was wounded, damaged, shaped into steel made flesh due to the abuse and hardships she was made to endure at the hands of others.
It angered him on the best of days when he thought of her being shuffled into the hands of one monster to the next: the Lannisters, Baelish, the Boltons, even her own aunt. Sansa had told him that she had tried to kill her, partly thanks to Baelish. Jon hated having the man at Winterfell. It was clear he had his own machinations going on and he was too familiar with Sansa. His sister often waved him off, said she could handle the weaselly man. Jon wondered if he was the reason Sansa was distant lately, jumpy, distracted. She would eat sparingly at breakfast with him in the mornings, instead lost in her own thoughts. He was concerned. He had asked her if she was okay more than once, but she would always claim she was fine and that he should not worry. It was hard not to.
He walked towards the solar now, blessedly alone. Being king meant the constant harassment of the lords of the North, who had decided three moons was a long enough time period to play contrite and apologetic and moved on to trying to curry favor and favors from him. The lords of the Vale weren't much better, some threatening to withdraw support if not given what they wanted, and there was the matter of the Riverlands which was still unaddressed. They had been a part of Robb's kingdom. They still needed to be liberated. Walder Frey along with many of his sons were killed and Lord Edmure let out of the Freys' dungeons by an unknown assailant, but the Riverlands was still full of Lannister soldiers and Westerland bandits and ruffians. Cersei Lannister could not be relied upon to care about the continued pillaging and rape of the region; her stunt with the Great Sept of Baelor demonstrated how little she cared for the people of Westeros, but the North and the Vale had to prepare for the Night King. The lords were split on what to do. Half wanted to break the army apart and have a portion march south to clean the Riverlands up, the other half cautioned that breaking their army apart had ruined Robb and that they needed to prepare for the Night King, the deadlier of their enemies. Plus, the reports of a Dragon Queen from Essos planning to move towards Westeros were appearing more and more to be factual. No decision had been reached and Jon was exhausted. He had hoped Sansa would be at the meeting. They disagreed on things sometimes, but she was also his main supporter, and she would have brought a new perspective to the conversation, but both she and Lady Brienne were absent.
He opened the door to his father's solar (he still could not think of it as anyone else's much less his own) and was surprised to see Sansa and Lady Brienne there. They were sitting by the fire, a blanket wrapped over Sansa's shoulders and Ghost curled up at her feet. She looked tired. There were bags under her eyes. Lady Brienne had a hand on the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles.
"What's this?" He asked carefully, unsure about the scene. Lady Brienne spared him a glance before giving his sister a meaningful look. Sansa nodded in reply and the tall woman stood up, gave Jon a nod of respect and then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
"Is everything okay?" He asked, approaching her with measured steps.
"No."
Jon was momentarily surprised at her candor but continued to walk until he stood beside her. He indicated to the spot Lady Brienne vacated and Sansa nodded her consent for him to sit. She stared into the fires with an intensity and grimness that brought to mind their father. Sansa looked like her mother, always had. There was precious little Stark to be found in her in her youth, but the older she became the more angular her face became, and the severity of her demeanor made her look like Father in a way even Jon did not.
"What is it?" He asked, not liking her stillness.
"You've not converted to the Lord of Light, have you? I thought we got rid of all those fire worshippers." He continued, trying to inject some levity into the heavy silence. Sansa cracked a humorless smile.
"I have not been feeling well of late." She stated needlessly. Jon nodded.
"I noticed."
"I was content to ignore it, there are things of more importance to deal with and I did not want to be slowed down. Brienne convinced me to see about myself a few days ago and so I visited Maester Wolkan about it." Jon felt his heart beating faster in anticipation.
"And?"
"And… he says… he says that I am pregnant." Jon stared at Sansa after the announcement. He wanted to say something, in his head the words strung together to form a sentence but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. The silence stretched and Sansa glanced at him before her face twisted with mirth and delicate giggles left her.
"Something will fly into your mouth if you continue to leave it agape." Jon shook his head and remembered himself.
"That's… it's… I mean…" He trailed off, shaking his head again. Pregnant? Dark thoughts clouded his head suddenly. There were only two options he could think of. He decided to suggest the lesser of two evils first.
"Baelish?" He had seen the way he leered at her, invaded her space, lingered touches upon her. Sansa shook her head.
"He wishes. I almost wish myself, it would be better than Ramsay of all people. I swore all memory of him would disappear and now a walking, talking reminder is growing inside of me." He could feel sadness exuding from her, could see it in the slope of her shoulders and the dimness of her eyes and the set of her lips. He felt that sadness overtaking him. He did not know if he could've stomached destroying Ramsay Bolton the way Sansa had, and yet he would have beaten the man to death, watched him die underneath him, so he could not judge her on her choice of his demise. Whatever was left of him had been burnt along with half of the dogs in the kennels, the ones that could not be retrained. He was meant to be nothing but ash and bad memories, but in this way, he would live on.
"What are you going to do?" Jon asked after a moment of them staring into the fire.
"Customarily, an unwed highborn lady's father or brother would decide what is to be done with such a woman so disgraced and any child that may result from it." Sansa stated matter-of-factly, her voice not betraying how she felt about that one way or the other. Jon twisted his lip into a scowl. Often, he and Arya would lament about the unfairness of the world when they were younger and often Jon would make himself feel better by saying he didn't make the rules. As king, he made the rules now but there was no way he could will himself to make this kind of choice for Sansa.
"After everything that's happened to you, I can't in good conscience make this decision for you and then still believe myself to be a good brother to you." Sansa glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
"Maester Wolkan says at this stage if I drink moon tea, it comes with risks. I could become grievously ill or develop internal bleeding. He does not like the possibilities and suggests that it is less perilous if I carry it to term."
"And what do you think?"
"I think… I think this is no time to risk illness, no matter how much I'd like to be rid of this burden."
"I don't want you to feel you must continue this pregnancy if you are only doing so so you can help me run the North."
"We cannot afford for me to be out of commission at a time like this. And Maester Wolkan is right. I've been away from the North too long, the chill is getting to me more than it would've otherwise and it's not even true winter yet. I fear I would catch a chill if not something worse if I begin a moon tea regiment. Ramsay is not going to be the death of me, not now, not ever. I will carry the babe to term and then decide what to do with it then." Jon nodded after a moment. He understood Sansa's reasoning, but he also thought it would be much harder to decide what to do with the child already born. Aborting a non-living fetus still in the womb was not the same as casting aside a living, breathing child. Sansa sighed then.
"Is it awful of me to just want to leave it in the Wolfswood after it is born and be done with it? Does that make me a horrible person?" Jon shook his head in response.
"It makes you human." He replied diplomatically. Sansa sighed again.
"You're so… understanding and kind. I would feel better if you had told me I was an evil witch for thinking such a horrendous thing." Jon shrugged lightly.
"I can say as much if you really want me to, but don't expect me to mean it. That much I can't promise." He held out an arm and Sansa hesitated before resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her tightly.
"Whatever you decide to do, whatever happens, I'll be by your side the whole time. I'm not turning my back on you no matter what." Sansa nodded silently against him and returned his embrace.
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Sansa hated being pregnant. She hated everything about it. She hated the way her appetite changed, the way her body changed. She had to change dresses every few weeks due to the weight she gained. It made her feet hurt. It made walking on the ice and snow more perilous. However, beyond the superficial parts of pregnancy that most every woman loathed, it was the thing growing inside of her that she hated the most. The rapespawn that was leeching life from her in order to exist. She knew hatred in her life. She hated Joffrey and Cersei, she hated the Freys and the Boltons, she hated Ramsay and recently she had come to hate Petyr, but the hatred she felt for the abomination inside of her was something that went deeper. It was Ramsay's child, a piece of him left behind to remind her of everything he did to her, as if the scars on her body were not enough.
She never told Jon or Brienne the extent of the trauma done to her, and she never would, the only person who knew was Maester Wolkan and that was because he was the one who would see to her wounds after Ramsay had inflicted them, but sometimes she would strip down and look at the marks he left behind. There were strips of flesh he had cut from her thighs and forearms, places his father would not see. Only she could notice the scar hidden in the front of her scalp. He cut her on her stomach, fine even lines that blended in with the stretch marks her protruding belly created. Her left breast was a mess. Scars from bites started from the top of her breast and continued to her nipple, which had been bitten off thanks to the bastard.
'One nipple is enough to feed our children. At least I am leaving you with one, Reek has none and he does not cry over it.' He had said as she wept in pain.
She had thought at the time she would never bear him children and yet here she was, his cursed offspring growing inside of her. She had still not decided what she would do with the child after its birth.
The lords were aware of her condition, it wasn't as if she could hide it. She was only a couple of moons away from giving birth and she was huge. She had avoided being in their company in the beginning, but she could not avoid them forever, especially not Baelish and she had had to admit she was pregnant. She made no announcement about the child's father, they could make whatever assumptions they wanted to, she owed them nothing. Baelish had been momentarily stunned but began using her pregnancy as another bargaining chip with her. He treated her delicately, as if she were his wife and the child in her womb was his. He would whisper possible plans to her, ways they could use the child to usurp Jon, usurp Cersei. She had planned to carefully trap him in his own web of lies, but the last plan he had presented to her had set her off.
'The child has your blood and that of the Boltons. False lords or not, they were the former lords of the North and you are Ned Stark's eldest trueborn daughter. Why should your child have less claim to the North than your bastard brother?'
She had been incensed. Him trying to undermine Jon to her was typical of him, but that he would suggest she depose her brother and install this… this beast inside of her as king, Ramsay's child as king, had been more than she could take. She had shouted and yelled, drawing the attention of others. She had been so wrapped up in her tirade that she ignored the light-headed feeling until she crumbled in a heap at his feet. Maester Wolkan thought she was over-exerting herself and so now she was place on bedrest. Another reason to hate pregnancy and the thing inside of her. The only good thing it wrought was that Jon had been so upset about Sansa's health scare that he had banished Baelish from the North with no protest from the Vale lords, seeing as how they witnessed her spill and heard her accusations of treason against him. That embarrassed her, they must think of her as waifish and weak. Jon dismissed that, assuring her that they respected her.
Jon stuck by her side just as he said he would. He and Brienne were her support system. Jon would visit her almost every day, would bring her gifts and talk to her about the council, reminisce on their childhood, read stories to her. Brienne was ever attentive, guarding her with the fierceness of a she-wolf. She would fulfill any request Sansa had, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. She would massage Sansa's aching feet and back every night before she went to sleep and share stories of her childhood to get Sansa's mind off her own dark thoughts. She like learning about Brienne. She was not just her sworn sword now, but her friend. Surprisingly, so was Ser Davos.
She had been lukewarm on the man from the beginning, not trusting him. He had been Stannis' righthand man, he was a southerner and born in King's Landing, but he was not like all the other southerners she had met. He was straight-forward, earnest, down-to-earth. He wasn't a learned man, but he was practical, his intelligence born of experience, not books. He did not treat her any differently, did not look at her like the other lords did, like they wanted to ask her questions they knew she would not want to answer or like they were judging her for things beyond her control. He still treated her as the Lady of Winterfell and Princess of the North. He also strategically slipped suggestions to ease the aches and pains of pregnancy to her and they all proved to be most effective. He visited her everyday while she was on bedrest, even on the days when Jon was too busy to stop by her room, and would relay messages to her and update her on matters of court. He was a paternal soul and despite his more rugged exterior and colorful background, he reminded her of Father sometimes and so overtime she became comfortable laying her complaints at his feet. She would grouse of her lack of care for her state to Jon and Brienne, but both could only be sympathetic or laugh at her jokes, not offer solutions. Ser Davos always had a remedy for one of her problems.
"Taste this." He said, handing over the mug to her as she shifted uncomfortably in her bed. It was just past midday, but Sansa had not eaten. Her stomach was doing somersaults, the babe inside kicking at her and making her feel nauseous. Maester Wolkan offered some remedies, but none of them worked. She had mentioned it to Ser Davos the day before and he came to the room today with a tray bearing the mug and a few slices of bread and cheese. She drank the hot liquid from the proffered mug carefully. There was a bitter aftertaste, but the drink warmed her up.
"Give it a few minutes and see if you feel any better, Princess." The Onion knight suggested, pulling up a chair at the side of her bed. Sansa took another sip whilst looking at the man contemplatively.
"I've never asked how you became so knowledgeable about such cures to my ailments, Ser." Ser Davos cracked a wry smile.
"Well, my wife and me did have seven boys together so I suppose it's only natural." Sansa's eyes widened a little.
"Seven children? I never even knew you were married. Did you meet her in your fearsome pirating days?" Sansa asked, her lips tilting with amusement.
"Ah, I wasn't a pirate, I was just—"
"Just the smuggler, yes, yes I know. Your wife though? Was she a pirate or a smuggler?" Ser Davos' smile turned softer.
"Marya is her name. The daughter of a carpenter. I met her while I was still smuggling. She wasn't a great beauty, but I was no dashing knight either. Our fathers worked together, we became close and marriage seemed a natural step. Her father was reluctant. Given my profession, the risk of Marya being implicated if I were to be caught was high, but she fought against him fiercely. Always outspoken, my Marya. She says our union was blessed by the Gods and our children are proof of it. I never much cared for the Gods, but we were blessed to have seven healthy boys born to us. After the Rebellion, Lord Stannis granted us a keep and lands at Cape Wrath in the Stormlands, more than we had ever thought we would get, but what we had always wanted: land of our own and a stable roof over our heads." Sansa's smile became wistful. It sounded like a nice existence, a peaceful one. It wasn't one she dreamt about in her childhood, she wanted to be a princess not a farmer, but it sounded like a wonderful life to her now.
"Where is your family now?" She asked curiously. A dark look passed over the older man's face.
"My four eldest, Dale, Allard, Matthos and Meric were knighted by Stannis and joined his army to fight during the War of the Five Kings. They converted to the Lord of Light and listened to everything the Red Woman said. I should've… they all drowned or burned during the Battle of Blackwater Bay." Sansa's smile dropped from her face. Sometimes, only briefly, but sometimes she forgot that it was not only Northerners and Riverlords who lost during the War of the Five Kings. She could understand even better now why he hated the Red Woman so. She had burned a little girl alive, a girl that the knight had loved as his own daughter, but even before that four of his sons died. A part of him must blame her for that as well.
"I am sorry for your loss, Ser." Ser Davos said nothing but nodded his appreciation.
"Marya is still at Cape Wrath with our three youngest, Devan, Stannis and Steffon along with Dale's young widow and her child."
"Her child?" Sansa pointed out, the terminology not getting pass her. Ser Davos' eyes shifted a little uncertainly before he answered.
"War makes beasts of men. Much of the war was fought in the Riverlands but the Stormlands were not without its conflicts. She and Devan were travelling back to Cape Wrath from Storm's End during the siege Stannis' men had the castle under and one of the soldiers from the Reach found her and attacked her after she made Devan run. She did not know she was with child until after Dale died and did not know for certain the father until the child was born."
"Oh." She uttered, the implication not lost on her.
"Marya wouldn't see her or the child put out for something out of her control." Sansa wondered why the woman would ever choose to keep the child, especially if it resembled the man who raped her.
"Extra hands are always important when keeping land but, more than that, she had always wanted a child. It was a cruel way to get what she wanted, but as much as she did not want it, the child was her flesh too and she did not feel comfortable casting the babe aside, especially with Dale dead. She did not think she would have another child after that." Why would any woman want that? A reminder of the horrible thing that happened to you always there, always present, depending on you to nurture it and help it grow. She couldn't imagine doing the same.
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Jon remembered every time Lady Catelyn went into labor. The first, with Sansa, was the haziest but most terrifying. He and Robb were only three at the time and listening to Lady Catelyn's loud screams of pain had frightened them so much that they had started wailing too. Old Nan could not comfort them no matter how she tried. Back then, Jon had still thought Lady Catelyn was his mother too, even though she was mean to him, and he had thought she was being hurt or dying. Their father had had to take them aside to his solar where they could not hear her screams and comfort them until they stopped crying.
It became something of a tradition. When she went into labor, their father would bring them to his solar and tell them stories about the North of old, about King Robert, about direwolves and princes and princesses and giants riding mammoths. The only exception was Arya. Father had been putting down the Greyjoy Rebellion when Arya was born. That night, Robb and Jon had brought a then three-year-old Sansa to their bedroom and retold all her favorite stories.
Sansa was always taken with love stories, ofttimes the most tragic ones. Jenny of Oldstones and Prince Duncan's love going up in flames at Summerhall when the prince burned to death. Dyanna Dayne and King Maekar's love ending abruptly when illness suddenly took the princess. The king was so bereaved that he never remarried and never loved again. The misunderstood love of Lady Branda Stark and King-Beyond-the-Wall, Bael the Bard, which ended when Bael was eventually slain by his and Branda's bastard son, raised to hate Wildlings by the Lady's father. Lady Branda flung herself from the walls of Winterfell following her love's death. But it was Jonquil and Florian that took the top spot for Sansa. A love that transcended ranks, titles and everything else the world could throw at them. Jon once asked Maester Luwin if they had ever truly existed.
'I have done some research on it in my younger years. Accounts are scarce. Some believe they never truly existed at all, but some believe that Jonquil would've died giving birth to a stillborn son and Florian would've died just as the Long Night began. Whether or not they existed at all, perhaps it is better to just enjoy a sweet song, my boy.'
The stories did not mean much to Jon then and they still didn't, but they meant something to Sansa. She did not care for love stories now. The stories he would tell her now were of battles, myths, legends and magic. That seemed more real to her than the love stories of her youth. When Jon was young, childbirth itself held an air of magic to it. In his mind, Lady Catelyn went into a room, screamed a lot and then he had a new sibling. He kept to this thought process until Maester Luwin explained how it truly worked later on. Men were generally not present in the birthing room and he didn't think Lady Catelyn would want Father to see her that way, in any way other than dignified. He thought Sansa would not want him there either, though that was proven wrong.
He didn't even know she had gone into labor initially. She hid it well. They had been in the middle of a meeting between the council. Sam had sent a letter from Oldtown stating that he had not found much yet about the Night King and a definitive way to defeat the White Walkers, but that he did remember Stannis telling him Dragonstone had dragonglass and he sent evidence that the castle sat on a mountain of it. Daenerys Targaryen was sailing towards Dragonstone from Meereen in Essos, but she had not arrived yet. Jon wanted to send men to mine as much dragonglass as possible before the Dragon Queen hit the shores and made it more difficult.
"I can make ships available from White Harbor, Your Grace." Lord Wyman offered.
"If the ships are spotted bearing the Manderly standard, could not it be seen as an act of aggression on our part?" Lord Glover pointed out.
"We are a trading house, we sail to survive."
"Even so, Cersei Lannister is hardly rational. One of the houses of the Crownlands could tip her off and she could launch an attack." Lord Royce added.
"It would be less conspicuous if I were to bring Stannis' ships from Eastwatch. The lords know me, and I know the island, I can sneak enough men in to begin mining and get back out before the Dragon Queen arrives or Cersei Lannister realizes we're even there." Ser Davos offered.
"Stannis' ships could be recognized and seen as aggression just as well."
"Maester Cressen of Dragonstone would not turn his ships away."
Jon was about to answer when Sansa suddenly clutched onto his leg, her fingers digging into the leather. He glanced over at her questioningly. She was sitting stiffly in her seat, she had been since about five minutes into the meeting and they had been going for half an hour now. She had been silent for the most part, which was unlike her, but he didn't overly question it. She shouldn't have been at the meeting at all. He would've rather she stay in bed as Maester Wolkan had counselled, but she had had enough of being cooped up in the room and said a council meeting wouldn't kill her.
"Are you alright?" He asked discretely, letting the lords discuss the merits of going to Dragonstone amongst themselves. Sansa gave him a silent look. There was a hint of panic in her eyes and fear but mostly, there was pain. She was obviously gritting her teeth and her hand kept flexing on his thigh, tightening periodically.
"Sansa?" She let out a low breath before speaking.
"The baby is coming." Jon's eyes widened in response.
"Don't say anything, don't make a scene. I've managed it since the meeting started, I can wait until it ends." Sansa whispered in reply. Jon's eyes widened even more.
"You've been in labor since we started?" Sansa cut her eyes to his imploringly.
"Your Grace? Princess?" Jon and Sansa looked back to the room at large as they were addressed.
"What say you?" Lady Mormont asked.
"I think I speak for both myself and the king when I say we believe in Ser Davos' ability wholeheartedly." Sansa sat, her voice strong and only faltering the slightest on the last word. It was barely noticeable, Jon only noticed because he was paying hyperattention to her. He decided to pick up the slack and end this meeting now.
"Lord Manderly and Lord Tallhart, if it pleases you, we can send men of your choosing along with Ser Davos, sailing under his standard, to Dragonstone along with men to mine the caves for the dragonglass so this endeavor can be completed as expeditiously and safely as possible. It will take up more time, riding to Eastwatch, than it would to White Harbor. If Ser Davos could have access to your ships, we would be most grateful." Lord Manderly and Lord Tallhart bowed their heads in agreement.
"Good. That will be all, this council is hereby dismissed. Maester Wolkan, please stay. My lords and ladies, please give us the room."
"She's in labor. She has been for the last half hour and didn't say anything." Jon said once the room was clear.
"My lady!" Brienne said behind them, her tone lightly admonishing.
"I wanted to finish the meeting. It was important and I didn't want any of them to know. The pain comes in waves. I can handle it." Sansa defended.
"It's coming in waves, closer and closer all the time I'm sure. Has your water broken?" Maester Wolkan asked. Sansa nodded reluctantly. Maester Wolkan shot her a disapproving look.
"Lady Brienne, please alert the midwife and her assistants, we must prepare the child-birthing bed for the princess."
Jon helped Sansa to the room Maester Wolkan had prepared, but once there the midwife and her assistants waved him off and closed the door behind them, slamming it in Jon's face. He sighed but didn't move from in front of the door. There was nothing else he could think to do, no papers to be signed, no decisions to be made, no lords to appease, just Sansa in this room. He slipped down the wall and listened to her low growls and screams and the instructions and encouragement of the maester and midwife. His world shrunk to the bedroom. Ghost joined him at some point, his tongue lolling out. Jon shot the direwolf a smile as he laid down, so his head was resting on Jon's thigh. He stuffed his fingers into the wolf's ivory fur and sat there for what felt like hours. He wasn't sure how much time had actually passed before the door opened. He stood up quickly when Lady Brienne stepped out.
"Is it over?" Jon asked. Lady Brienne shook her head, looking slightly reluctant.
"Lady Sansa wants you by her side. The midwives advised against it, but she insists on seeing you." Jon felt his heart in his throat, but he nodded and moved into the room without hesitation. He walked inside. The window was open letting a crisp breeze in, but the pungent odor of sweat, blood and other bodily fluids was still strong. Sansa sat slumped in the bed, her hair pulled back from her sweaty face and a bloody white cotton shift on her withering form, her vibrant blue eyes were clouded with exhaustion and pain.
"Jon?" Sansa called when she saw him, reaching her hand out. Jon made his way to her side hastily. He held her hand in his once he reached her and ignored everyone else in the room.
"Jon, I can't do this." Sansa said, her voice heavy with tears and emotion.
"What are you talking about? Of course, you can."
"No, I can't. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough." She continued, breaking off with a sob. He had not seen Sansa break down this way since they had reunited but he supposed the pain was great enough to break through the walls she had set up. He didn't think she would've wanted him to see pass those walls, but she wanted him there with her and he wasn't about to make her regret it.
"Yes, you are." Sansa looked away with a sob.
"Look at me." Jon ordered. Sansa turned her watery gaze to him.
"You are one of the strongest people I've ever known. All those battle-hardened lords and knights out there, they never would've survived what you survived. I wouldn't have survived what you survived. You're a fighter, you're a survivor."
"The pain… it's too much. I can't do this alone." Sansa admitted, her hand squeezing his.
"Then you won't do it alone. I'll stay here, right by your side for as long as you want me here." Sansa stared at him with a hazy gaze before nodding her head. The midwife tutted disapprovingly.
"The birthing chamber is a woman's business, it's no place for a man, king or not, you do not belong here."
"My brother stays."
"Princess, even husbands must stay on the other side of that door when I am delivering babes. Now, I'm sorry but—"
"My brother stays. You can leave if it so offends you, Maester Wolkan can deliver the babe, or you can stay and remain in my good graces." Sansa replied, her voice strong and fierce. Jon almost cracked a smile. That was the Sansa he had come to know. The midwife still looked disapproving but directed Jon to sit behind Sansa on the pillows piled behind her back.
"You will be in the way anywhere else." She muttered. Jon sat behind Sansa, supporting her shaking frame. He reached into the water bowl beside the bed and used the cloth inside to dab at the sweat on her forehead, his other hand still holding hers. Sansa dropped her head back on his shoulder as wails of pain left her lips.
"Another contraction, can we resume now, princess?" Sansa opened her eyes and looked up at him, her eyes full with fear.
"What if it's a monster? What if it's not even a babe that will come from me but some twisted beast, more animal than man?" She asked. Jon shook his head.
"It won't be. Nothing that inhuman could come from you. This babe is partly you too, not just him, I trust that all of you beats out all that's him any day." Jon pressed a kiss to the sobbing girl's forehead and squeezed her hand tighter.
"Now it's time for you to listen to the midwife and push, you push with everything in you."
"Push, princess!" Sansa braced against Jon and used him as leverage to push down. She squeezed his hand to the point of pain, but he ignored it, it was nothing compared to what she must be feeling. She stopped pushing when the midwife told her to.
"I can see the head, princess. Just one more big one."
"You can do it, Sansa." Jon said in encouragement. Sansa braced against him once again and screamed as loud as her lungs allowed before another scream accompanied her own. Jon looked up as the midwife stood back slightly and held a small squalling, red babe in her arms. Maester Wolkan walked over and cut the umbilical cord.
"It's a girl." He announced, passing the babe to one of the assistants to be cleaned and taken care of. Jon couldn't help the flood of relief that went through him. She seemed healthy with a strong set of lungs.
"One more push for the placenta, princess. It shouldn't hurt nearly as much." The midwife said as her workers moved to help force the placenta out, but Sansa moaned in pain, twisting her body closer to Jon like it would help with the pain obviously affecting her.
"Princess Sansa?" Maester Wolkan asked with confusion.
"Something's wrong." Sansa mumbled before looking up at the king behind her.
"Something is not right, Jon." Jon looked at the midwife for answers. She inspected Sansa before coming up with a haunted look. The siblings looked at her with fear.
"There's another one." She announced in a shaky voice.
"Another what?" Sansa practically hissed.
"There's a second babe, princess. I need you to push… hard." Sansa looked to Jon with disbelief and fear. He didn't show his surprise or worry, he just kissed her forehead and nodded in reassurance.
"Don't overthink it, just push. It'll be over soon." He encouraged. Sansa grit her teeth, squeezed his hand and pushed as hard as she could. It felt like long minutes stretched with only the sound of Sansa's muted groan, the smell of blood growing stronger and stronger in the room to the point of worry. Soon, another wail filled the air and the midwife came up with a smaller, crying infant.
"A boy." She announced, passing this child off to an assistant as well. Sansa didn't bother waiting for instructions and began pushing the placenta out. The assistants moved to dispose of it, but Jon's attention was on Sansa who suddenly went limp against him, her eyes rolling back.
"Sansa!" The midwife and the maester immediately moved to attend to her.
"She is losing blood, we must have space to staunch the bleeding. You should leave." The midwife ordered.
"But—"
"Your Grace, we will endeavor to save your sister. Blood loss is not strange in childbirth, especially with twins, we will call you as soon as we have stabilized the situation." Jon nodded reluctantly, gently laying Sansa back on the pillows so they could work on her. As he moved to leave the room, he passed by the babes being cleaned by the assistants. It was hard to reconcile the monster that their father was to their appearance now. They just looked like harmless babies. He shook his head as he left the room. It wasn't up to him, it was up to Sansa and she had a perfectly good reason for wanting them gone. He would respect whatever she decided, no matter how he felt about it.
ASOIAF GOT ASOIAF GOT ASOIAF GOT ASOIAF GOT ASOIAF
When Sansa woke, she felt tight-limbed with a dull ache emanating through all parts of her body but especially her lower half. Just shifting to wake her body up caused pain to shoot up and down her legs and into her center. She settled back into the bed with a soft moan and forced her eyes apart. The room was dimly lit but she could tell from the light peeping inside that it was morning. The room she was in was not her own, it most likely was the designated birthing suite. She remembered the pain of giving birth, her racing thoughts unable to compensate with the wracking pain.
It was not so bad at first, it was bearable. Her time in King's Landing and with Ramsay had given her enough stamina and pain tolerance to grit her way through the first thirty minutes after her water broke just as the council sat down in the Great Hall. She hid her pain well. She felt as if she was the only one who could hear the water dripping to the floor from her chair, except for Ghost who kept nosing and nudging at her leg. She had only broken slightly when a contraction hit strong enough that she needed to grab hold of something, and her hand went to Jon instead of the table. She was sure she was going to be read the riot act by Maester Wolkan for neglecting to say anything about her state. He had been beside himself with her her whole pregnancy. She kept to his prescribed bedrest because she had no other choice. Jon or Brienne or both would probably physically haul her back into bed if she left too long, but otherwise she continued drinking wine, continued eating what she wanted, continued stressing and worrying, continued her behavior as if she was not pregnant at all, much to the maester's ire. Now, she wasn't pregnant. Her hands went to her stomach under her shift. It felt much less firm than it had before, almost… devoid. If she were insane, she might say she felt empty without the babe there, nestled under her heart.
Babes. Her mind supplied.
Twins. Ramsay never did anything by halves, it must be said.
What was she to do with them? She still had not decided. She could ride out to the Wolfswood in the dead of night and leave them among the foliage and snow for either the elements or some wild beast to take them away, tell the lords that they did not survive. She would be free then. This whole experience would be nothing but a distant dream, not even deserving of being mentioned in history books. They would be consigned to that corner of her mind where Joffrey's false sweetness was locked away, where Cersei's venomous hatred was shoved inside, where Petyr's lascivious smirks and unwanted kisses lay, where the feel of Aunt Lysa's sharp nails in her scalp was, where the sound of Ser Meryn's heavy hand striking her resounded, where Ramsay's words and deeds were locked away to never see the light of day. It was a pipe dream though, a base fantasy that would never come to fruition. She would never have actually done something like that, she couldn't. Feeding Ramsay to his hounds was different. That wasn't just revenge for herself, but for all the women that had not had the fortune of having the last name, Stark, that found themselves trapped in his clutches.
If he had survived, would he have cared about having the children? It was his father who pushed him to procreate. He threw his baby brother to the hounds, perhaps he would've flung the babes to them as well and not cared. The thought made a shiver go up Sansa's spine.
Child murder. She never thought she would contemplate such a thing in her youth. Her worries were about not giving the prince a son and disappointing the kingdom. Now she had a son and a daughter, rapespawn, the offspring of a monster but…
But. And this was what Sansa did not want to be thinking. She didn't want there to be a but. There should not have been. But, she knew well the terror and hatred that came from being the child of a man reviled. Ramsay had much more cause to be hated than her father ever had, but could she condemn the children for being Ramsay's children? How would it make her any better than the people in King's Landing who condemned her for being Ned Stark's daughter?
So, I will not cast them into the woods, but they cannot stay here. I can bring them to the orphanage under the cover of night. Yes, that is what I will do. She decided just as movement in the room caught her attention and she realized she wasn't alone. She glanced over to see a girl of about fifteen, a couple years younger than Sansa, standing in the room, her arms holding a small bundle.
"Oh, Princess Sansa. I didn't notice you had woken, my apologies." The girl said, flustered.
"It is alright." A bright smile suddenly alighted the girl's face.
"I was taken by your daughter. She is a beauty, if you don't mind my saying so. Some people say you cannot tell a babe's look at birth, but she resembles you. Here, you must see." The serving girl chattered excitedly, making haste towards her.
"No, I don't want to—" Sansa began to protest but the babe was unceremoniously thrust into her arms. She instinctively held on to the bundle, lest the child slip to the floor. The serving girl nodded towards the babe eagerly.
"See? Do you see?" She asked. Sansa reluctantly looked down at the child, her daughter. The babe blinked her eyes open and Sansa stared at the blue orbs staring back up at her.
"She has your hair too, princess. Lighter red, but it will probably darken with time to be closer to yours. She is most precious, don't you think?"
"Where is her brother?" Sansa asked in lieu of answering.
"The king is walking about with him. He was fussing and we did not want to wake you. He should be returning—" The door opened and cut the woman off. Jon stepped inside holding an identical bundle. He smiled when he saw Sansa was awake. The aide curtsied when she saw him.
"Give us the room, please." Sansa requested. The aid curtsied again before vacating the room.
"Hey, you gave me a scare." He said in lieu of greeting, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead.
"Sorry." Sansa replied as he sat on the edge of the bed beside her. She could not help but glance at the boy in his arms. He had the same blue eyes but tufts of brown hair instead of red.
"They are healthy, the maester and midwife says. Small, which is most probably why the maester and midwife thought it was one babe, but healthy." Sansa nodded in reply and looked up at Jon. He was enraptured with the babes. There was a light to his eyes that almost matched the midwife's aide.
"I'll tell you what, though. They are a big hit with most of the castle. They have had frequent visitors. Lord Royce says it is because with winter upon us and the wars past and wars to come, the babes give the lords and ladies some hope, hope for a future." Sansa looked at the babes and felt… she didn't know what she felt. It wasn't hatred, but it wasn't love. It was somewhere in the middle. Perhaps it was pity. The softness on Jon's face was suddenly overtaken by an air of sadness.
"Have you decided what you want to do with them yet?" Sansa glanced away.
"I've been thinking about it, yes. I thought to leave them at an orphanage." Jon nodded his head after a moment's pause.
"If that is what you want." Sansa stared at him for a long while before pausing.
"But it's not what you want."
"It doesn't matter what I want."
"Yes, it does. It matters to me. How long was I asleep for?"
"A little over a week."
"Long enough for you to bond with them. I can see it in the way you look at them."
"It isn't about me. It's about you."
"It's not just about me. It's about them too. Honestly, I feel… badly for them. Do you remember what Old Nan told us about twins?"
"That the Gods split a soul in two and placed them in two separate bodies, because the burden that soul must carry was too much for one man or woman to bear." Jon recalled.
"They must have quite the journey ahead of them, and if they are bringing hope to the keep, who am I to take it away?"
"The woman who gave birth to them. You have more right or say in what happens than anyone else. Don't make this decision for me or the lords and ladies of the North and the Vale, make it for yourself." Sansa looked down at the twins and tried to feel something, negative or positive, but she just felt… nothing. It would be easier if she looked at them and hated them outright, hated them with every fiber of her being like she did Ramsay, but she didn't. It would be easier if she loved them. If her love could transcend the torture, rape and abuse their father put her through, the months of beatings and flaying and mental degradation, to be this pure thing exemplifying what a mother's love should be, but she didn't feel that either. She just felt numb, distant, like they were not even her own children, not her own flesh, just children that now existed in her world, in her keep, in her arms. They weren't hers, she didn't feel like they were, but maybe they could be. Maybe they could be hers and no one else's.
"As a girl, I always wanted children. I used to dream of the day I'd have a little babe of my own. I used to play mother to Rickon, you remember?"
"I remember."
"I did not expect my first go at motherhood to be like this. Mother was supposed to be coaching me on the birthing bed. Father and my princely husband was meant to be at the door waiting to congratulate me. I was meant to present my golden-haired son to court and be loved by all. A foolish child's dream. This is so awful a way to have conceived a child that it didn't even make it to my nightmares because it was so unthinkable, but it happened, that will never change, and now they are here. Breathing, living beings. Alive. I do not love them, I will not insult you with such a lie, but I don't find it in myself to hate them right now either. I want to try. I want to try to love them, to mother them, not just for myself, but for the North. So that there is an enduring symbol of hope for the future after this war with the Night King. I am not a fighter, but if hope is the one thing I can give to the people, then that is what I will do." Jon gazed at her, gauging her seriousness before he nodded and pulled her into a hug. She was not sure of her decision, but she was a Stark, she was a wolf, she would stand by her word. She would try.