A/N: The shortest chapter as far, but a very important one, containing some life-changing discoveries!

Enjoy and take care! 3

The whole journey through small keeps, inns, and villages had ultimately taken them a few good weeks. Sansa had met a lot of Northerners, but no one as kind and inviting as their first hosts. People varied from rough to politely restrained, from cold to warm, from hostile to more or less friendly. The problems the Northern houses had were pretty much the same wherever they would go, and she discovered she wished for some kind of break, a moment of breath away from all of it. There were still some topics she didn't feel confident enough about, like the Wildlings, one of the usual issues. The Night's Watch and its Lord Commander had also appeared from time to time, making her heart squeeze in longing. She had quite probably managed to make an enemy of one lady while finding a friend in another. She even got engaged in a children's play, warmth spreading through her body at the sounds of the little ones' laughter. The color had risen high in her cheeks after their mother inquired about the future heir of Winterfell. She had no idea what to even say to that. Not that they hadn't been trying: the inns were their places for intimacy, and Sansa had been surprised to discover she felt more and more though nothing else had changed.

Her physical state had been varied. The headaches appeared every so often, tiredness sometimes making her anxious with the fear she would fall asleep in the saddle. More than a few times morning nausea had developed into vomiting. Her appetites could be non-existent, but on other occasions, she had been so hungry the hosts stared at her uneasily. Sometimes she had an appetite for one specific thing, usually something completely impossible to get. Once she believed she had seen a glint of understanding in one lady's eyes, but she thought she might have been mistaken and therefore hadn't wished to ask any uncomfortable questions.

Taking everything into consideration, Sansa slowly started to worry. Maybe she was sick? She knew nothing about human illnesses; except for pox her brothers had once had, the Starks were sturdy and healthy people. Maester Luwin hadn't had much to do in that field, only overseeing her mother's pregnancies and helping to deliver the babes. Sansa hadn't truly remembered them - she had still been just a child when Rickon had been in her mother's belly, and she hadn't paid much attention to it. A thought she had no idea what carrying a child actually looked or felt like gnawed at her. Her imagination told her there would be a certain sensation in her belly or some movement of a babe inside her; she would know it, she would feel it.

The only thing she was certain about was that the monthly bleeding would cease to appear - that had been the case, actually, but it told her nothing at all. She had never had it regularly. She knew it was supposed to come with every moon, but it had never had, appearing whenever it wanted, sometimes every fortnight, sometimes every few months. She had always suspected she had been broken - something in her body must have been failing, and she could remain incomplete forever. Later on, she had started to be quite satisfied with that prospect - it could have meant no unwanted children with a Lannister or Baratheon house name. Months later, it had stopped being important: she had forgotten about it and stopped counting the days, no longer paying attention, up until this moment. Come to think of it, she hadn't bled since before their wedding night. But again, it wasn't anything out of ordinary. She wasn't pregnant. No, it was not the right answer. She would just know it.

Deciding to visit the maester for some advice on her current ailments, she pushed the thoughts away, wishing to finally come back home.

The castle welcomed her back gladly, and Sansa couldn't help but smile widely at the sight of it. In the last weeks she hadn't thought about Winterfell not feeling like home even once; stepping through the gates definitely felt like home, her safe haven, a shelter against the coming storms. The walls were familiar, the people were mostly known, and every place here had been engraved deep in her heart and soul. Even the air felt different.

It was home.

They arrived long after the sun had set - the days were becoming much shorter already - so she immediately secluded herself in her chamber, and laid heavily on her bed. The last nights spent in various inns hadn't been exactly uncomfortable, and she hadn't had much trouble sleeping next to her husband, especially in beds big enough she hadn't even felt his presence physically, but nothing was quite as right as Winterfell and her own chamber.

Because Winterfell was and will always be her home, and nothing could ever change it.

The following morning welcomed Sansa with a headache, reminding her of the need to ask for Wolkan's advice. She would probably seek his company either way - they had to come back to their work, and she wanted to know how the repairs and restocking had gone during their absence.

Allowing herself a moment of lingering in her bed, she thought about changes that had taken place since their departure, changes inside her. She felt wiser and less idealistically inclined than before, a new, more realistic view of the world replacing the old one. She was able to see beyond her needs for revenge, realizing there was a much bigger picture at stake here, and finally dismounting from her high horse; now, she viewed the Northern problems much clearer, truly understanding their roots. From other matters, she felt more comfortable around her husband nowadays, and it seemed like her plan was going quite well. Someone looking at them from the outside would have thought they had mutual trust between them, established long ago.

But the world had changed not only inside her - she could hear her father saying "Winter is coming" right to her ear. The weather had never been so harsh, deteriorating rapidly. Winter was truly coming, and nothing could be done to prevent it. On some days it even seemed Winter was already there.

Sansa's stomach suddenly demanded her undivided attention, forcing her to cut her musings short and prepare for the first Winterfell breakfast in what felt like ages.

At the table, she greeted Roose like usual. The longer they went without him addressing her by her given name, the more convinced she was it had happened only in her mind. Why wouldn't he use it again, her own name against her, if he had seen the power it had over her? It wasn't like him, or at least not him she believed to already know.

Sansa gazed down at her breakfast and discovered she was no longer hungry for normal food, but for something much more specific, something she had missed since the Eyrie. The plate before her looked rather dull and uninviting, and her appetite was lost.

"If you preferred the peasant's stew, the cook can make you one."

She glanced up at Roose, her stare almost deadly.

"Thank you, I'll manage with what I have." She sent him a forced smile and continued to move her food around the plate with a fork. Then, she thought she could share her sensations with him - it would cost her nothing at all while being pretty familial, therefore expanding their "trust". "But to tell you the truth, I feel like eating only lemon cakes right now," she confessed, spearing a chunk of meat and staring at it in stubborn defiance.

"The North will be starving soon enough, and you want... lemon cakes?" She looked up at him again; he was observing her from above his cup of water, his brows moving higher in disbelief.

"I can't help it." Sansa shrugged and cut into her meat. "I lately have these... tastes for things. Random cravings. They just… appear and disappear as they please." Digging into her meal, she still felt his eyes on her, and as she stared back at him his gaze seemed even more observant than it usually was. Something changed as he put down his cup and scrutinized her like he saw her for the first time in his life, assessing her in a manner similar to that of their wedding night.

"Is something wrong?" she asked uneasily, blushing despite herself.

That change only progressed: a spark appeared in his eyes, making them brighter, much livelier than ever before. And then he smiled at her.

He smiled.

The shock almost made her choke on her food. It wasn't a smirk she had seen many times already or an artificial so-called smile he sometimes used with other lords. It was a genuine smile, the likes of which she hadn't thought he was even capable of forming.

"What?" she insisted, suddenly alarmed, no longer caring for any unnecessary courtesy. She had to find out the answer, because something important was apparently happening and she did not know what it was, the desperation eating her alive.

"I'll see what we can do about these lemon cakes," he replied without actually answering, stood up, and, still smiling, planted a fleeting kiss on her forehead. She gazed up at him, her eyes wide with wonder. His own irises were sparkling, glistening in the winter sun seeping through the windows, and there seemed to be an emotion hidden somewhere behind the first layer of paleness. She briefly noticed they looked beautiful this way.

That emotion… Could it be... joy? Could it be…

No... It couldn't be...

"Go to the maester, Sansa."

He took a step back and she just nodded, once again mesmerized by the sound of her name. It hadn't been a dream, she had heard it before - it had a tremendous power over her right now as well.

He looked at her for a while and then left her at the table, heading in the direction of the kitchens. She stared wide-eyedly in his wake, dumbfounded over whatever the hell had just happened.

But she already knew what it was, didn't she? Deep down, she had probably known for quite some time already but hadn't let it reach her conscious mind, denying the possibility with all her might.

Roose had connected the dots and reached some conclusions, conclusions satisfactory to him. She hadn't shared her afflictions with him, but most of them could have been seen, especially that during their journey they had often shared a bed. He already knew their cause.

Something twisted in her as she gazed down at her belly, flat, silent, unanswering her unasked question.

Yes, she definitely had to see Maester Wolkan. Right now.

Abandoning her barely touched meal, she jumped to her feet and marched decidedly to Wolkan's study. In front of his doors, she tried her best to convince her guards she needed to talk with the maester alone as the matter was deeply intimate and medical, even using threats, but to no avail. If the circumstances were different and she didn't need an answer in the nearest seconds, she would never relent; the situation demanded the quickest resolution, though. And so she yielded, agreeing on the presence of one of them inside, not even caring much about it. She just needed to know.

After a tentative knock at the door and hearing an invitation Sansa walked inside, her heart somewhere in her throat, the rush of blood in her ears effectively muffling almost all other sounds.

"Lady Sansa!" Wolkan greeted her with a smile; it looked like he missed her presence the same way she missed his. "I was just wondering whether you'd want to go back to work immediately!"

"Actually, that's not why I'm here." She gazed up at him hesitantly, unsure of how to proceed. "May I?" She gestured at the chair near the desk.

"Of course, my lady." Wolkan perched on the adjacent chair and waited for her to start.

Swallowing the bile that grew in her throat, Sansa slowly recounted all of the sensations her body had experienced since the day of the mygrayn. She felt like a fool but proceeded nonetheless. Once she ended her speech, she bit down on her lip and gazed down, unable to look him in the eyes. That was not the matter when she could be strong, either truly or just by pretending - it was something beyond her, something she had no idea how to process or react to. This time, with the maester, she could allow herself not to be strong for the shortest moment.

"My lady..." His voice was soft as he gently took her hands in his. She looked up and saw he was smiling at her in a way that probably conveyed all the emotions such situations might induce. Most of all, the smile was soft, comforting, uplifting, but also... sad? Pitying? For a moment it took her breath away, almost sounding like a confirmation of her suspicions.

She had known it, hadn't she?

"If I may ask... when was the last time you've bled?"