OK!

Another chapter, far out I really like this chapter but that's just because I'm kinda obsessed with the way I'm writing Tyrion and Sansa not to toot my own horn.

I don't have much more to say other than thank you all for the reviews, favourites and follows it means so much to me that you're all enjoying this.

Also please check out Whispers of Winds which I have just posted, it's on my profile and I hope you all enjoy it. Once again it's very AU but completely different to this story, so I hope you guys enjoy it. xx

XXI

SANSA

THE child within her had to be large, as her stomach protruded outward and she still had time before her birth. Resting her book on top of her stomach, her eyes rolled toward the door her husband came through with his spectacles perched on his nose. He was looking down at a letter, he had his nose buried in the thing the whole morning and she found herself rather curious. He had yet to tell her anything, which was rather unusual as her husband was not one to keep secrets.

Tyrion Lannister no longer believed in keeping secrets.

"Tyrion," Sansa tried to shift to get more comfortable. But it was impossible, with the more her belly grew the more uncomfortable she became.

"Is there something the matter?" He asked as he looked up at her through his glasses.

"What is the letter about?" She demanded, "You have not put the parchment down since it arrived this morning."

"Oh," he pressed his lips together tightly. "Right," he then cleared his throat. "It is from your brother."

"Which brother?"

"Rickon," he frowned, "I have been trying to decipher his handwriting all morning. But even some words I admit I am stuck on."

"Give it here," Sansa urged her husband, leaning forward eagerly. "Why would Rickon have written you a letter?"

"It was addressed to both of us," he explained, ignoring the scathing look his wife sent him. "I gather he has only just begun to learn to write, because they look little more than little scratches to me."

"Hm," Sansa said as she gripped the letter in his hands, gathering down at the letter. "Well, he has not regarded your title."

"Has he not?" Tyrion settled in beside his wife, peering over her arm to get a better look.

"Yes, here," she ran her finger under the writing, laughter on her face. "He has called you the Imp. I had long forgotten the nickname."

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "I do not understand how you could forget."

"It is not something I think about," she narrowed her eyes, peering closer at the page. "It reminds me of his writing from when he was so young but…" she cleared her throat. "I suppose there was not much of a requirement for writing when he was beyond the Wall." She cleared her throat, "Here, it says that he has met Lord Robert Arryn and our cousin is getting married."

"The Lord Robert Arryn?" Tyrion nodded his head slowly, "I thought him a sickly child."

"He was," Sansa reached to rub her belly as the child inside shifted. "But perhaps that has changed. Nevertheless, we have been invited to his wedding to Lady Bethany Blackwood, the daughter of Lord Tytos Blackwood."

"Perhaps this is a way to strengthen our alliances before your brother returns with Queen Daenerys," her husband offered his thoughts.

"Perhaps," she agreed, pressing her lips together. "I must send apologies, I cannot travel as my stomach is so large. You will have to go in my place."

"If you cannot go I should not go," Tyrion said to her, "Perhaps Bronn should go in our place?"

Sansa laughed loudly, "My mother would be unhappy if you were to arrive, but if you were to send Bronn in our place…" she shook her head. "I am afraid my mother would be very insulted, and I would not hear the end of it for a long time."

"Perhaps you are right," Tyrion rubbed his chin. "Should we send a gift instead?"

"I do not think Mother will like that either," Sansa pressed her lips together. "Oh, no here," she pointed. "Rickon said we do not need to come."

"Is that what he said?" Tyrion asked as he settled closer to his wife.

"Yes, he said we are not needed, and Mother does not want to risk my pregnancy," Sansa couldn't help but smile. "He called me San," tears began to well up in her eyes suddenly and they slipped over her cheeks.

"Sansa…" Tyrion reached out to take her hand, offering her comfort.

"It's just…" she sobbed. "It is what he used to call me when he could not pronounce my name right…" A loud, harsh sob came from her mouth.

"Please," Tyrion said to her quietly. "Cry as much as you need to."

The letter dropped from her hand and her other hand slipped from Tyrion's. She placed her hands over her eyes as she cried loudly, and she just could not stop herself from crying. It came over her and it was overwhelming, partly due to missing her family and the other part due to the child she carried inside her. Her body shook with her tears and Sansa felt overwhelmed, as she let one of her hands dropped to her stomach.

"Wine?" Tyrion suggested from across the room and she looked up at him, eyes filled with tears.

"Please," she said as she sniffed, grabbing a handkerchief and wiping her eyes.

"Here," he said as he crossed the room, offering her to the goblet.

"Thank you," she smiled at him as she sipped on the goblet of wine.

"I don't want to make you upset," Tyrion said as he sat beside her.

"You are not making me upset," she said as her shoulders shook. "It is just… I suppose I should blame the baby?" She laughed as she rubbed her stomach lightly. The child within her fluttered, moving.

Tyrion laughed, "Perhaps. Have you spoken to the Maester?"

"Why do you think I am on bed rest?" Sansa raised a brow, "I am pushing it sitting on this sofa."

"Ah," Tyrion nodded his head slowly. "Now, I should excuse myself."

"Can you get me some parchment?" Sansa asked, "I should like to send a letter to Rickon."

"Of course," Tyrion slipped away from her and headed toward the desk. Once he had collected what she asked for. She held out her hands and he handed it over, "I should go."

"Yes," Sansa smiled at him. "Perhaps I will see you later?"

Dear Rickon,

Sansa wrote, her writing a little messy as she was not resting against a desk.

I am relieved to hear from you, I must say I cried as I had not expected a letter from you. Do not laugh or mock me, I do not think I could bear it. Yet, I wished to write to you as I wish to know my little brother once more. Whilst I do wish I could see you again, I fear that I am unable to as I am much too large to move.

Please do not laugh, I fear childbearing is something that I had not known would take a lot out of me. I remember Mother, when she was carrying you and how much joy she had. Perhaps I should not speak of this with you, you would not understand, and I do not think I should burden you with my thoughts on carrying children. Perhaps I should write to you of something you would enjoy, I could regale you with stories of Bronn and my lord husband. But I fear that would only encourage you and mother would not be too happy.

I do not believe she would be happy at all.

I fear that has only made you curious, perhaps my husband would tell you? I am sure that there will be much for you to discuss. Perhaps, again, I should not encourage this as I do believe Mother would not be pleased. But what can be done? You are a man grown and have lived beyond the Wall, Mother cannot expect to coddle you as if you were the young boy she left so long ago. I do not believe her to be so, she certainly did not coddle Robb.

She would not send the letter, Sansa realised as she slowed her writing and stared at the parchment. Perhaps she had better start a journal? The way she had spoke her mind… it would do her no good to send such a letter to Rickon. Folding the letter, she pressed her lips together and pushed herself to her feet. It was a struggle, she had to roll almost so she could place herself on her feet. She almost imagined the Maester displeased that she was on her feet, that she was moving around rather than resting.

Feeling a twinge in her back, she winced and moved her free hand around to rest on her back. She then proceeded to rock back and forth, at least trying to eliminate the twinge in her back. It was impossible, and not going to happen, she needed rest. But what she really wanted was the child gone from her womb, she wondered if it was how her mother had felt. Feeling a little ill, she left the letter on her desk and then turned, waddling back toward the large, four poster bed in the middle of her private chambers.

She settled herself in, preparing for rest.

Sansa woke to a ripple pain that began in her womb and she let out a groan. Unfortunately, she slept in separate chambers from her husband so she could not reach over to wake him and warn him. Instead she attempted to shift, only to let out a groan. But she did open her mouth to call for someone, to yell out for help. But what came out of her mouth was more of a scream as she felt a wet pool beneath her.

"Lady Sansa," she heard the gasp of one of the Lannister girls from Lannisport who had become one of her ladies. "What is wrong?"

"Get the Maester!" She demanded with a cry, squeezing one of her hands into a fist around the sheets between her. Her face grew read as she scrunched up her nose and continued to let out little whimpers.

She continued to lay in pain, wetness beneath her as she panted and looked to the door. Her husband strode in, worry on his clear, ugly face as he stared up at her. Bronn was behind him, the man's face paling when he observed what was going on.

"Lady Sansa," her husband said as he moved, grasping her hand. She immediately squeezed in pain and he gritted his teeth, "The child is coming?"

"I believe so," she panted out through breaths.

"Fuck," Bronn said carelessly. "I don't wanna see that Tyrion."

"You do not have to see it," Tyrion said over his shoulder. But he stared into the eyes of his wife, watching as she grimaced and winced at the pain in her womb. "You are in pain?"

"Yes!" She let out a scream, "Of course I am in pain!"

Tyrion pressed his lips together, "Apologies wife."

"She is giving birth?" The Maester demanded as he opened the doors and strode in. The previous Maester had been let go when Tyrion had taken over Casterly Rock, instead he had been replaced by a much younger Maester. This Maester was handsome and closer in age with Sansa, he also had different medicinal suggestions that were almost scandalous and would make him the laughing stock of the chain if other Maesters found out.

"Yes, clearly man," Bronn grunted and then grimaced when Sansa let out another cry.

"I want the room cleared," the Maester said and a few women followed him. A Septa and another woman Tyrion did not recognise. "You too Lord Tyrion," the Maester said. "It is inappropriate for the man to be in the bathing chamber."

"Go," Sansa gasped out as she looked to her husband. She could see the anxiety on his face, his mother had died in childbirth to him after all. "My mother was strong, I will survive this."

"Lady Sansa is right," the Maester looked down at the Lord. "While it may be a little early it seems the child is ready to come out. I would suggest that you leave, to give your wife space. We must be careful, even if she is strong."

"Ah, yes," Tyrion nodded his head slowly.

She knew her husband was anxious, Sansa thought as she winced through the pain. There was a pressure in her womb and it bothered her, but she wished that she could reach out to comfort her husband. But he left the room quickly, his skin white and his scar looked even more prominent. It was likely he was worried she would die, but Sansa did not believe that she would die. The Old Gods would not take her now, not when she still had so much to live for.

They did not take her when she was in King's Landing, so they would not take her when she was safe.

"Lady Sansa," the Maester said to her. "I would offer you milk of the poppy, but it is not good for a woman who is birthing."

"I do not need it," Sansa grimaced as she still felt pain within her abdomen. Her child wanted out, it was so painful but she wanted what was best for them. "I do not want my child to be put into any risks by taking milk of the poppy."

Really they did not know the effects on milk of the poppy while a mother gave birth. Some mothers took it and they survived, other mothers were given milk of the poppy for the pain and they did not survive. Sansa remembered her Septa telling her once that to be a good wife she would bear the pain of childbirth, so she would. But the pain was unbearable, she scrunched up her face as she felt another stabbing pain in her lower abdomen and she gritted her teeth together tightly as her hair began to stick to her sweating forehead.

"Lady Sansa," the Maester said quietly. "We will need to move you from the bed to the birthing chair."

"So soon?" She panicked and tensed up, blue eyes fluttering open quickly as she peered at the man, fright in her eyes.

"Not so soon," he peered between her legs. "You are not yet ready to push the child. But once you are ready you will need to be moved."

"I know," she gasped heavily around a cramp that struck through her whole body. How she wished she had her mother there with her, Catelyn would be a calming, welcoming influence.

But Catelyn was in Riverrun, planning a wedding between Robert Arryn and Bethany Blackwood. It would have been dangerous for her to travel, the Westerlands were still not safe as King Joffrey's forces still attempted to get back the seat from his uncle. Most of the Lannisters in Lannisport and Casterly Rock had declared their allegiance to Tyrion, but there was still the sneaking suspicion that they would turn on them at any moment. Sansa did not want to risk the life of her mother, she did not want to lose anymore family than she already had.

The pain became unbearable in the hours that passed and she panted, breathing heavily and would scream every now and then. Did women truly believe that childbirth was beautiful? Sansa thought it wretched and it hurt, she did not know how her mother could have done such a thing five times. But the Maester and the ladies around her were encouraging, even though she wished to curse them. And curse she did, she cursed the Old Gods, her husband and the Maester for the position she was in. How she wished childbirth was a much easier task than it was.

"I am going to need you to push now, my lady," the Maester said as he peered between her legs. She wished to kick him, he had no right to gaze upon her there.

"Push!" One of the women echoed.

So she did, gritting her teeth tightly and pushing with all her might. She could feel the discomfort between her legs, "Again!" The Maester cried, "The babe is crowning!" So she pushed again and she felt it move, sliding out from between her legs and she threw her head back, chest rising and falling as she gasped.

The babe cried and Sansa looked, relieved her child was crying. "What is it?" She panted as she stared up at the Maester.

"A boy!" He cheered after cutting the cord that kept the babe attached and passing the babe off to one of the ladies. "Now I will need you to keep pushing, my lady. You must remove the sack that the babe was encased in."

How she wished to hold her child. "Can I hold him?" She asked but could still feel cramping, it was less obvious though.

"No," he answered. "Not until the sack has been removed from your womb. So Sansa gritted her teeth and did her duty, feeling similar pressure between her thighs, "Oh." The Maester said and Sansa panicked, eyes opening quickly.

"What?" She cried, "What is it?"

"Another child," he murmured. "I will need you to push now, Lady Sansa! And quickly!" She did as was asked, feeling the same pressured as she gritted her teeth and let out a scream as she pushed. The babe slid free from her and the Maester held the babe up, it let out a gurgle but did not cry as the babe before it had. "A little girl, my lady."

"A girl?" Sansa could not help but smile in relief.

Once the rest of the birthing was over and she was cleaned up, the babes swaddled and pressed against her breast, she felt tired. She kissed the tops of their soft heads and watched as they were carried from her chambers. Sansa felt her eyes beginning to shut and she moved her hand to her stomach, that was still rounded as if she was with child. It felt empty, but her heart was full due to the two babes she had birthed that still needed names.

But before she could name them she wanted to sleep.

"Sansa!" She heard someone cry, hands on her shaking her body. "Sansa!"

Her eyes fluttered open and she groaned, "Is there a problem?"

"I was worried," she heard the relieved voice of her husband and he moved away from her. "When you would not wake I…"

"Tyrion," she could not help but smile at him drowsily, reaching over to grasp his small hand in her own. "You should not have worried, my mother survived five births."

"But I killed my mother," was his weak argument.

She opened her mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by the door opening. "Is Lady Sansa awake, my lord?" The Maester asked from the door.

"Yes," Sansa answered, pushing herself up against her pillows. She winced, uncomfortable within her abdomen but she wished to see her children.

"Good," the Maester seemed to calm down. "I had worried you would pass on through the night."

"I have not," Sansa was pleased. She wanted to write a letter to her mother, to show her strength she had within her.

"I am pleased," the Maester said as he came to check over her. "You are improving well."

"May I see the children now?" Sansa turned to look at her husband, "They are yet to have names, correct?"

"Correct," Tyrion nodded his head. "They are small little things, but the Maester has checked them and neither of them have been born with my curse."

"Your curse?" Sansa frowned down at her husband, "It is not a curse, I would not mind if my children were born as a dwarf."

"But you do not know a life of suffering as a dwarf," Tyrion then looked to the Maester. "Have the two nursemaids to bring in the children, it is time we named them, do you think?"

"I wish to hold them," Sansa admitted. "And I wish to feed them from my own breast. Is that possible, Maester?"

"It is not proper," the Maester looked hesitant. "But if that is what you wish, then I do not see harm coming to you."

"Good," Sansa smiled. "Northern women always feed their children from their breast, and I am a woman of the North."

"Lions and wolves," Tyrion commented from over by the window. "I suppose that does make two very strong children."

Sansa smiled, "Then they will survive, the Old Gods will make sure of it."

The children were carried into the room in the arms of two nursemaids. They wriggled and squirmed, Sansa holding them both in her arm. Her son was fat and plump, with pink cheeks and no hair atop his head. Her daughter had dark hair on her head, that had a red tinge to it that her older brother Robb's hair had once had. Sansa had not thought that she could ever create such perfect children, but as she gazed down at them she knew the Gods—old and new—had blessed her union with Tyrion Lannister with the children in her arms.

"What would you name them?" Tyrion asked. "Eddard, after your father? Joanna, after my mother? I do not imagine you would want to name them Tywin or Joffrey."

"No," Sansa shook her head. "I will not have my children with names of those who have passed, of those with such tragic fortune."

"Then what will we name them?" Tyrion asked as he came closer, climbing onto the bed to peer closer at his children.

"Hopefully not something as fucking dumb as Tyrion," Bronn's voice came from the open doorway and Sansa could not help but snicker.

"No, we will not call either of them Tyrion," Sansa looked down at her son and then her daughter.

"The little one should be called Bronn then," the sellsword said as he strode further into the room. The Maester looked as though he wanted to protest but he did not. "It's a good, strong name."

"I am afraid I will not call him Bronn," Sansa looked to her husband. "What do you think about Mathew?" She asked, "Mathew Lannister?"

"That is a strange name," Tyrion frowned at his wife. "Where have you heard it?"

"I have not heard it before," Sansa said. "But I think it suits him. "Do you not think?"

"Mathew of House Lannister," Tyrion nodded his head. "And for our girl?"

"I want her to have a strong name," Sansa pursed her lips together. "Alivia," she then decided. "Alivia Lannister."

"Good, strong names," Bronn then decided to put in his own opinion. "They aren't no Bronn, but they'll do."

"I'm glad to have your approval," Tyrion rolled his eyes. "But they are strong names, and I'm sure our children a strong dynasty for the Lannisters."

"I sure hope so," Sansa smiled down at her two children. "And I am sorry Bronn, I am sure your wife some day would be willing to name a son after you?"

Bronn snorted, "There ain't no way I'm getting my balls shackled to some woman. No offence, milady."

"I will not take offence," Sansa tinkled with laughter. But it made her children shift in their sleep, their faces scrunch up and she quietened herself. She could almost imagine her mother's disapproval at the sellsword being in her chambers and speaking in such a way to her. But Bronn had become a close friend, she could not imagine him not with her or Tyrion.

"Off with you," Tyrion then raised his hand. "Go to the whorehouse or make my soldiers come to me with complaints tomorrow, whatever you do at night."

"Of course, milord," Bronn mockingly bowed and exited the chambers with a sweep of his hand.

"That man did not bother you, Lady Sansa?" The Maester looked carefully at Lord Tyrion, before staring at her imploringly.

"Ser Bronn is fine, Maester," Sansa nodded at him. "In fact, you may also go. I will have my husband call for the nursemaids when I am ready for the children to be taken to the nursery."

Sansa and Tyrion spent the remainder of their day staring at their children. They studied the little lines of their faces, watching them as they would feed and set them down to rest when it was needed. Only when it was time for Sansa to take her evening meal, were the children gathered by nursemaids and taken to the nursery. Sansa was propped up against pillows as she ate, her husband sitting behind the desk in her chambers, several candles lit with one of his hands resting on his head.

"I cannot seem to pen this right," he said. "It does not seem to be right."

"It is not too hard to tell my mother I gave birth to twins," Sansa said as she sipped at her water.

"Your mother intimidates me, wife," Tyrion reminded her.

Sansa laughed, "Then you do not have to pen a letter to her. I will do so."

"No, I can write it," Tyrion pressed his lips together. "Do I send a letter to King's Landing? Now that is a question."

"I do suppose if you wish for torment," Sansa said. "Joffrey has been unable to give the kingdom a much-needed heir. I am sure it would enrage your sister to know that her little brother has managed to secure the Lannister dynasty."

"I will send a letter to my uncle instead," Tyrion suggested. "Kevan will send out the letters all around Westeros. There is no need for me to even lift a finger."

"Why ever would the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands need to lift a finger?" Sansa teased as she grasped her tray and moved it to the table beside the bed.

Tyrion slid off the chair and headed toward the bed, climbing on top and moving to sit beside his wife. "You have blessed me," he said, reaching out to clasp her hand, petting it lovingly.

"And you have blessed me," Sansa leaned down to press her lips to his. "I am pleased with my husband."

"Even though you would not have chosen me?"

"We both know I was a foolish little girl," she said dryly, rolling her eyes. "But I am pleased, much more pleased than I ever would have been with a knight."

Tyrion grinned roguishly as he moved to cup her breast, "Are you now?"

"Please," she then said, grimacing in discomfort. "We are not yet allowed. I am not ready yet, when the Maester allows then we will lie together. Though, I do not hope for more children. Not now."

"I agree. We have more pressing concerns to worry about. Like your brother sailing to Dragonstone with the Dragon Queen."

"What?"