A/N: potentially triggering content in this chapter. You've been warned.

The morning after Ramsay dies, she wakes up ill.

She blames it on what she's done, on how she's bloodied her hands; evil, vile man as he was, she's never killed before. It changes you, even if she doesn't want to admit it. But then it's a second morning, a third. A fourth. Her heart sinks each and every morning she wakes to vomit, knowing deep down what this means for her. The very thing Ramsay used to beat her for lacking has now come true... She's pregnant.

Somehow, she's hidden it from Brienne, who comes to her rooms every morning as usual. By the time her sworn sword arrives, she's cleaned herself and though her stomach is a sea of waves, she breaks her fast with the bit of bread and cheese Brienne brings her, willing her body to keep it in. She goes on with her life as if all is the same- for the first two weeks, she cannot face it. She cannot deal with it. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposes, aside from the constant fatigue and illness, that is.

She cries every night, tossing and turning with the options running through her mind. On one end, she can't imagine continuing with the pregnancy. Having Ramsay's baby felt like a knife in her heart, a fresh wave of the trauma she was so desperately trying to leave behind. How cruel could fate be, to force this upon her when she had only just escaped from her tormenter? And yet... On the other end... It was not the child's fault who it's father was. It was not the child who had hurt her. The child was innocent of any wrong doing. And truthfully, she knew she was far too along for any potion to work. As much as she did not want this, as much as she wanted to fight and scream against this, she could not... No matter how painful the road to come would be, she would have to face it.

It's well into the first few weeks of her knowing about the pregnancy when there comes a knock on her door. For the last two weeks, Brienne had begun to question her- she had noticed her lady's new habits and had inquired about her lack of bleeding that month and the one before. Brienne didn't know she'd not bled for the month before that, either, though Sansa had contributed it to the tortue from Ramsay she had suffered in those final days. She knows she's nearly four months along now, soon she will begin to show, soon there will be no hiding it from anyone.

"Come in," she calls, looking up when the door opens, surprised to see Jon there in her doorway. "Jon," she greets with a smile, a rush of pleasure rushing through her. He was the only light in her dark world these days, the only thing that could take her mind away from the trouble brewing within her own body. He looks uncomfortable, she notices, as if there is something on his mind that he doesn't know how to bring up. "What's wrong?" She asks, thankful to think of something that doesn't involve her own life and mind for even just a moment.

Jon sighs but he comes across the room to sit before her, noting the pallor of her cheeks, the dullness in her blue eyes. He lays awake most nights worrying about her- since Ramsay's death, she seemed to have retreated into herself, quite how she had been when she first came to him from Winterfell. She looks as if she's not slept in weeks and Brienne confided in him her own worries for the young woman. "I'm worried about you, Sansa," he finally speaks, the honest truth falling from his lips far easier than he'd anticipated. Her eyes widen slightly and she draws back, the grip on her sewing tightening.

"There's no reason to worry about me," she says through gritted teeth, shaking her head, forcing a smile. "I'm fine, truly." Jon stares back at her, his dark eyes telling her everything his words had yet to say. He didn't believe her. She didn't believe her, either. "I... I..." She can't speak the words aloud. Not yet. If she says them out loud, then they must be true. If she says it, then what she told Ramsay about his house vanishing, about his name disappearing, would be lost. She would forever be known as the woman who gave birth to Ramsay Bolton's son, a monster of a man that had done no good in the world. Good or not, the child would always be looked down upon because of their father's name. "I can't... Please, don't make me say it." Tears are streaking her cheeks now and she's curling into herself.

His heart aches at the sight of the young woman before him; he can't even begin to imagine the pain, the suffering she must be feeling. He doesn't even know the truth of what's bothering her yet, though Brienne seemed to be confident in it, and he's got no words to use to make her feel better. How could he, if it were true? There was no making a thing such as this alright. "I will help you," he says finally, reaching for her, touching her hands that are tangled together in her lap, sewing long discarded. "Sansa, look at me." She raises her gaze to him, sapphire eyes swimming with tears, her lower lip wobbling as she fights to control her emotions. "Let me help you," he clarifies softly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he looks back at her.

She trusts him, she trusts him more than anyone she's ever trusted anyone in all of her life. Jon is the only man who's never hurt her, who's never broken his word to her. He will help her, he will protect her, he's said so himself. "I'm pregnant," she whispers brokenly, tears falling faster than she can wipe them away, her heartbeat steady within her chest. "I'm so scared," she continues softly, leaning in to Jon's touch when he reaches out to brush tears from her skin. "I can't do this alone."

Jon says nothing at first; he merely reaches for her, drawing her into a long embrace. And when he lets her go, its to brush hair from her teary face, it's to cup her cheek with his palm again, her skin soft against his. "You'll never do this alone, Sansa," he speaks seriously, forcing her to keep her gaze on his. "I will be there every step of the way." He nods when she blinks in her surprise. "If you wish to be rid of the child when it's born, I will help you find a family who will love them. If you wish to keep the child, I will help you raise them like my own." She's crying again, new tears that are unlike the ones of fear she'd been shedding only minutes ago. "I will love them Sansa and so will you, if it's what you choose." She nods then, relief flooding her features before she's in his arms again, yielding to the comfort his arms always brought her.

[ x x x ]

The morning the child is born, the sun is shining.

Sansa holds the infant, wrapped in a blanket, close to her chest; she doesn't feel as she thought she might- there is no disgust, there is no animoisity. In truth, she feels love. She knows it's because of Jon... Jon who spent the last few months touching her belly, speaking to her belly. It was Jon who turned her from the hate in her heart to love, it was Jon who reminded her of the beauty in life, even if she'd thought it to be gone.

"Sansa," Jon's voice is in the door way and she smiles when she turns to face him there.

"Come... Come hold him." Sansa encourages as Jon approaches her bedside. She holds out the bundled baby, chuckling softly as Jon puts out his hands, looking awkward and uncertain. He's not held a baby in many years, she remembers, knowing it must have been Bran or Rickon he held last.

"A boy..." Jon breathes as he takes the baby into the crook of his arm, shifting until he got him just right. "What will you call him?" He asks, pulling his gaze from the baby long enough to look down at Sansa's smile. "He is certainly a Stark." It was true, even Sansa knew that. With his shock of dark hair and oval features, he could pass more for Jon's son than probably her own.

"Jon." She laughs at his expressions change, but demures when she sees the tears brimming in his eyes. "I hope he lives up to his name," she adds, reaching up to touch the baby's soft, dark hair.

"He will," Jon says, as if he can already see the future for this child. It will be happy one, he will ensure it.