The room was large and clean, with wide eastern facing windows flanked with generic taupe curtains. The seventh floor gave it a great view of Blackwater Bay, you could see the freight harbor with its long, flat ships and the public marina, its docks busy with everything from small fishing boats to extravagant hundred foot yachts. As she turned to look out the window, all she could see were the dim lights of the yachts, but she knew that further down there was the boardwalk, strings of lighted lanterns illuminating the various kiosks selling popcorns and other snacks, children running from game booth to game booth, young couples walking hand in hand in the quickly diminishing daylight. People would pay a lot of money to have a condo that boasted this same view.
Where she was, there was none of that. There was the faint, albeit reassuring, ever-present smell of antiseptic cleaning products, the murmur of commotion in the hallway from the nurses on duty that evening, and the low buzz of all the different machines in the room. The television was turned on to the local news station though no one was watching it. All she heard above the white noise surrounding her was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor attached to her son, their son, as he slept peacefully in the heated little bed on the other side of the room, no idea what was happening in the world around them. She hadn't even held him yet, no one had except the staff. There was another heartbeat, slower paced, but steady, thank the gods, that worried her the most. The doctor had said their son was perfectly healthy, a little underweight from being early but everything else was one-hundred percent.
Not with Margaery, though, Sansa thought, looking over at her love, unconscious, with what seemed like every plastic tube in the hospital going into her at one spot or another. That's not what they'd said. No one-hundred percents, no reassuring "she'll be fine, Mrs. Stark, don't you worry yourself."
Margaery's whole pregnancy had gone along surprisingly well, no problems of any sort until a few days ago when little Alen decided to make his way into the world a month and a half ahead of schedule. Really though, it was still fine at first. Alen was born, named after Margaery's late mother Alerie and her grandmother Olenna. As soon as he was out and getting cleaned up, Sansa ran hurriedly out into the waiting room to give the first bit of news to the host of Margaery's brothers, her father and grandmother, as well as what was left of the Stark family in Westeros. There was gleeful screaming and hugging, Loras texting Renly frantically, Jon wrapping his arm around Ygritte and placing a delicate kiss to the top of her head, but then there was panic.
There were crash carts and nurses, doctors in full operating attire, gloves up to their elbows, running through the double doors that Sansa had just ran happily out of, and the red light above the door to labor and delivery was flashing out its warning.
How something had happened so quickly Sansa didn't understand. She remembered yelling and trying to get back to Margaery, but they wouldn't allow her in. The next thing she remembered was waking up in a hospital bed, IV sticking out of her arm. The clock told her it was about six hours later. Ygritte was sitting in the chair next to the bed, thumbing through a magazine. She explained that after Sansa had been screaming and knocked over one of the nurses she'd been sedated. The doctors came in soon after she woke up, telling her that Margaery had lost a lot of blood, almost too much, and very quickly. She'd lost consciousness and the rest would be a waiting game after the transfusions and surgeries.
That was four days ago.
Sansa was at Kings Landing General from 8am to 8pm every day, barely leaving the room. Margaery's family was well-off and thankfully they could afford to pay for the private room. Her brother Jon was out of active military duty now, instead having a job at the recruitment and training center at the capital and he would pick her up each night and take her back to the small flat he shared with Ygritte. Ygritte accompanied Sansa to the hospital each day, trying to talk to her, getting her food and lattes from the cafe in the basement.
For most of the time in the beginning, Sansa just sat and stared, until one of the nurses mentioned it was a good idea to talk to Margaery. Since then, Sansa sat in the bedside chair, one hand clutching at the wadded up remnants of a tissue, the other gently holding Margaery's hand in hers. She told stories of growing up at Winterfell, stories from when she was at university before they had started dating, describing how little Alen was today, even stories from the news or articles she read in whatever home and garden magazines they had in the waiting room that day.
At around 7:45 that evening, there was a quiet knock at the door.
"It's alright, you can come in," Sansa replied, figuring it was another doctor or nurse to tell her she had to leave for the night, or one of the maternity nurses coming to take Alen back to the nursery for the evening. Instead, Sansa turned and saw their daughter Katie run in the room, Ygritte straggling behind her. Katie was four, almost five as she was always quick to remind people, and according to Jon, a miniature replica of Sansa at that age, but she was willful and reminded Sansa so much of her sister Arya. Her wispy auburn-colored hair that was normally curly and unruly had been pulled in two braids by Ygritte that morning and swung back and forth across her back as she ran to her mother. She stopped where Sansa was sitting, and tugged at her denim overall-style romper, adjusting it, clearly not pleased that it was a skirt and not the shorts or pants she wanted.
"Mummy! Mummy!" she exclaimed excitedly, "Aunty Gritte took me to the cafe and, and, she got me a chocolate milkshake! It was so cool, she didn't even make me share it, and, and -"
"Be quiet, wolf child," Ygritte chided. "We're not at home. You'll wake the whole hospital up."
"Sorry, Aunty Gritte."
"She's right, Katie. You know you need to be quiet here. I'm sure the chocolate milkshake didn't help," she remarked, looking up at Ygritte and smiling. No matter what she did or how sad she was, everything Katie said could make her forget, if just for an instant.
"Will Mom be okay?" Katie asked as she climbed up in Sansa's lap. "I tried to ask Aunty Gritte but she said I should ask you when we got back."
"She'll be fine, sweetling, don't worry."
"Are you sure? When Aunty Arry had her baby they came home right away."
Sansa sighed. It was true. Arya's labor lasted a whole four hours and she and Gendry were back at home the next morning. "Did I ever tell you that you're too smart? Do you want the real truth?"
"Please? I'm almost five now, Mummy, almost growned up."
"You are almost five now, aren't you?" she stated, smiling, then steeling herself. She hadn't talked to anyone directly about what was going on yet, just listened to what was said to her. Would explaining it to Katie make it suddenly all too real? Sansa asked herself. I have to. She can see what's happening. I can't shield her from this. "Katie, Mom's not doing so well. The doctors had problems when she had your new brother and she lost a lot of blood. That's why it looks like she's sleeping right now."
"If she's sleeping, won't she wake up soon? Maybe you should kiss her, like in the stories."
Oh, my sweet summer child.
"I hope she'll wake up soon, we all do, but for right now all we can do is wait."
"And pray?"
"Of course," Sansa replied, picking Katie up to her kiss Margaery on the cheek, then setting her back on her feet. "Do you remember the song that Mummy taught you?"
She nodded her head and started to sing.
"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray,
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a brighter day."
Ygritte stood up from the extra chair in the room, and held her hand out, motioning to Katie that it was time to leave. She looked up at Sansa, who nodded, and Katie joined hands with Ygritte, laid her other hand gently on top of the little bed that Alen was in and said goodnight to her baby brother, then headed out into the hallway. Sansa could still hear her singing as she sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, grabbing both of Margaery's hands in hers, careful of all the IVs.
"Gentle Mother, strength of women,
Help our daughters through this fray,
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
Teach us all a kinder way."
Is this what we've come to, Margs? Sansa thought. I truthfully never thought we could get this far. You never doubted though. I'm ashamed I ever doubted you, doubted us. I swear to all the gods that are out there that I'll never doubt us again. Do you remember how we started?
"Ten years ago seems like such a long time..." Sansa said quietly, reaching out to brush Margaery's chestnut brown hair out of her face. "At least I know what we can talk about tomorrow."
She lightly kissed the top of Margaery's head, walked over to say goodnight to her son, pressing her hand up against the hard plastic just as Katie had done, then joined her daughter and Ygritte in the hallway to leave for the night.
Note: Please let me know how you feel about this! There is a big lack of Sansa x Margaery fics which is rather sad. I've got some other ideas for subsequent chapters so if there is interest I'll definitely continue it (actually I probably will even if there is none). Title is taken from "The Scientist" by Coldplay.