A/N: After the revelation, Sansa has a lot to think about. And then discover some pleasures she didn't know before...

Enjoy and take care! Love you all!

The weather was particularly in tune with Sansa's emotions that day. Heavy snowfall left the thick layer of white on every possible surface while the wind swirled, playing with her hair, her locks moving in a frenzy around her head. The godswood was much quieter; the wind seemed calmer, and the trees sheltered the ground from the excessive amount of snow. The storm in Sansa's mind raged the same.

This time, her soldiers had been considerate enough to allow her some space; they guarded her from the distance, still having her in their sight, but making it hard for her to notice them. She didn't care, her mind occupied with other things entirely. She needed to think and vent; the godswood seemed like the only proper place to do that. Not that she had given it any thought - her legs had brought her here without asking for her conscious opinion. Even if they had asked, there would have been no answer: she wasn't able to focus on anything else rather than the revelation from moments ago.

Sansa slid down the weirwood tree, closing her eyes. She had come here so often as a child, dreaming her childish dreams of golden-haired princes and princesses she would mother, praying for an escape from her fate as a northern daughter of a northern lord.

Now, there was no prayer left in her. Now, she was with child herself. A child that will definitely not be a golden-haired prince of her dreams, but a true Northerner, born to the two most powerful houses of the entire North.

Because of the previous irregularities of her monthly bleedings, the maester couldn't have established how far in the pregnancy she exactly was; he could have only guessed on the third or fourth moon. Sansa suspected the child had been conceived at the very beginning of their marriage. If her body wasn't broken - and currently everything suggested otherwise - what would have stopped that from happening as early as their wedding night?

The cold spread from the ground, infecting every fiber of her body; it forced her to jump to her feet and start circling the heart tree instead. Her mind still wasn't ready to focus on the future, venturing to other aspects of the topic.

She continued to feel like a fool for missing all of the now obvious signs of her condition, but there were arguments justifying her obliviousness. Of course, she had been aware it had to happen eventually; there was only one ultimate result of a union between a man and a woman, and they had been uniting rather frequently. It was unavoidable, but she had always pushed that thought aside, choosing consciously to ignore it.

As a young girl, she had never actually wondered how it was happening. The teachings had been very vague and dire and she couldn't have even comprehended what sounded like a universal truth - if the act itself joined a man and a woman forever as husband and wife, sealing their so-called love, how could it be painted as something so unholy? Especially that its final fruit could be a babe? She had always thought there had to be something divine in that whole unholiness, in that connection of two souls. There had been a pattern in her head: a wedding, a joining of bodies, a babe. She hadn't cared about anything in between. When she had eventually started to wonder - and dread - there had already been no one to ask. Mother had been far away, Septa Mordane had been murdered - what information the septa would have given her either way - and other female figures around her had been impossible or improper to ask. Shae? Just a handmaiden, what would she have known? Margaery? Sansa would have sounded like a complete fool, and she had always valued their friendship. Cersei? The Queen Mother would have most probably laughed cruelly and shown her a grim future of Joffrey ripping the babes out of her open womb. All those years Sansa could have only overheard some things, but the shattered pieces of information she had managed to gather had never formed a complete whole, thus had never made much sense.

She hadn't known what happened to women's bodies once they started growing babes in their bellies. The only thing the septa had told her about bearing a child was that it was her duty as the lady, and that the highest gift she could give her husband and herself was an heir. The whole period of carrying a babe was a woman's business, and the body changed so much she shouldn't be surprised if her lord husband wouldn't want to have much to do with it during those months. She should keep it all to herself and don't bother him with anything, because this wasn't a matter for him. Only the result mattered. A son was the highest joy; if it was a girl, she would have to try harder the next time. That was all she had ever heard. Would Roose detest her body now? She wasn't sure whether she wanted it or craved the contrary.

She wasn't actually sure about anything at the moment. Wolkan had told her so much, promising to educate her even further if she had the need for it. The time for dreading the delivery was yet to come, so she felt more or less secured about the physical matters as for now. The emotional ones, however...

She had no idea how to feel.

That child was going to be a token of the ultimate union between the two strongest northern houses. If it was a boy, he would be an heir to the whole North. To Winterfell. A Bolton heir.

Sansa stopped her march and leaned her forehead against the tree, the rough surface of the bark somehow soothing her burning skin. Will she be able to love that child, forgetting about its roots and circumstances it had been brought into life, forgiving who fathered it? Will she be able to accept it as her own flesh and blood?

But it will be her own flesh and blood. First thing entirely hers to love, and to love her back unconditionally, without any threats of treason, without distrust, politics, or anything of the kind. Just pure love, untainted by the harsh world around them. Once upon a time, her child was supposed to be an assumed Baratheon, then a true Lannister. All in all, it will be a Bolton. Why should it matter, actually? It wasn't its fault. This child will be hers, and hers only, as much of a Stark as it was only possible. It will be a part of her, body and soul. Her time with Cersei had taught her a lot, and now Sansa hoped that what the Queen she hated so much had said about feelings towards a firstborn was true. She wanted it to be true. She wanted to deliver her healthy child, look at its tiny hands and feet, hold it in her arms, and love it with all her heart. The way Cersei had loved Joffrey. The way Sansa's mother had loved her firstborn.

Now, Sansa will have her own Cat or Ned to love.

She uttered a short laugh as her eyes started watering. She was going to be a mother, in her childhood home at that - who would have ever thought? Her child might grow up within the very same walls as she had. Sadly, the world and the family it will be brought into would not be the same. No carefree childhood with loving parents, in safety, secure enough to live within the bubble of dreams. The world was dark and hostile, survival never a certain thing. There was no place for dreams in it; only the harsh reality remained.

But... had that bubble been a good thing? They had grown up loved, cared for and sheltered from harm, yes, but what had they known afterwards, about life and the rules the world had been ruled by? Nothing, that was the truth. She had ventured into the wide cruel world filled with illusions; how different could their fate have turned out to be if she had known? No one had warned her, no one had told her what it all truly looked like. She had gone to King's Landing unaware. She had become a pawn in other people's games, unaware. She had stepped into her marriage chambers unaware, twice. And now she was going to be a mother, unaware still.

That was an obvious flaw in her upbringing, and something she will have to think about carefully. But as for now, she promised herself and the little being inside her she would not follow the same path. Whatever was going to happen, she will not subject her child to the ridicule of the world and the cruelty of its inhabitants unprepared. She will not make the same mistakes as her parents had.

As for the family her child will have... Roose's reaction had been a proper one - he had to be glad, it had always been his ultimate goal. An heir who would solidify his position in the North. Most likely, it was the only reason for that joy-like emotion she had seen in his eyes. Knowing him pretty well by now, and considering his relationship with Ramsay, she doubted he was able to truly be a father. A menacing figure at the high table, yes, but not the kind she would wish for her child. Besides... this babe might prove to be her card to freedom. As a mother-to-be, she will evoke even more positive feelings in the people around her. She still had a few months to work on that. And when the time came... Maybe her child wasn't even going to have a father. She will have him killed first thing after the birth and be free, the lords supporting her against Ramsay. It sounded like a quite solid plan now.

The cold gnawed at her, and the snow managed to get her thoroughly soaked; it was high time to return to her chamber. She had already told Wolkan they wouldn't be working today - her mind was much too disarranged to focus on any practical matter - so she had the rest of the day for herself only. Unless she would get a certain night visitor, which she suspected she would. To be fully honest with herself she had to admit that despite her previous thoughts she awaited the moment she would confirm Roose's suspicions with anticipation. She wanted to share the news and witness his final reaction - would she see that sparkling joy again, or the cold apathetic stone in its place? Would their marriage change now, or would it remain the same?

Though that discovery made her uncomfortable, she realized she wanted to see that joy once more, and maybe even the smile that had shocked her so much. She wished to see the reflection of her emotions in someone else, and there was only one candidate for it. The chances were almost non-existent, but the hope for something like that occurring was alive and well. There was a pleasant tension in her belly once her mind imagined that scene, along with the deep itch between her legs that appeared soon after. Immediately blaming it on the pregnancy, Sansa quickly walked to her chamber, trying to suppress all the physical sensations that arose in the last moments. Now was not the time.

The chamber was peaceful and quiet, though the wind still whirled in her ears. It was almost disturbing how different she felt now compared to the moment barely a few hours prior when she had left the room to attend breakfast. Like a completely new person she had to get to know first.

Hesitantly, Sansa approached the mirror and stared back at her reflection. On the outside, nothing had changed. Slowly unlacing her gown, she let her clothing tumble down onto the floor and analyzed her naked body. Even though her stomach was flat, there seemed to be something different about it. More... womanly. Her breasts looked slightly fuller than before; she grazed them with her fingers experimentally and felt the dense flesh underneath. One accidental brush against her nipple and she gasped, the fire returning immediately. So that was why she had felt so much more lately, oversensitive in general. She stared at herself for quite some time, appraising her body, getting to know the slightly different curves and edges. Then, she clothed herself in her nightgown and sat down on the bed, thinking.

What was it going to be: a boy or a girl? The distinction was important for every lady but seemed so much more in her case. The boy was of course expected, and might give her greater power, greater freedom; it also meant much higher risk. The obvious danger was the half-brother her child will have - Ramsay wouldn't care much about having a sister; brother, on the other hand, meant he would lose everything. Put in this position, the bastard won't hesitate to act.

Sansa felt cold dread rushing through her entire being: a son she would bear was going to be in the greatest peril from the very beginning of his life, or maybe even earlier than that. Ramsay wasn't the only threat: all the enemies of House Bolton - and there were plenty - and House Stark alike could wish to hurt her. From the moment the news will get out, her safety would be more fragile than ever before. Sansa's mind conjured an image of raging Cersei, sending an assassin to Winterfell to bring an end to her, and she shuddered from fear and wrath. The wisest thing would be to hide it as long as possible, and maybe, at least for the time being, further lessen the number of enemies of House Bolton for their safety, however peculiar that sounded. She needed to talk to Roose about that and demand some better protection. Maybe Brienne of Tarth could come to her aid now?

No, that was foolish. The trust issues were still present, and besides, Roose would never allow her to have a personal knight who could strike him down at any given moment. No, that just won't do.

There were a few things she knew for sure, however - no harm would come to her at her husband's hands while she was carrying his babe, and he should care for the child's well-being just as much as she did. It had to be crucial to him if he wanted to keep House Bolton alive and in power. So this time their goals truly conjoined, without any pretending or games. That child had to be a priority, for the future of their houses and their country alike.

Sansa lay down on her back, staring at the ceiling. Thousand thoughts and questions were still rushing through her head, about everything at once. How will the rest of her pregnancy go? How will Roose take it? What will the delivery look like? If she got to be free after it, what would she do? What will her child be then? If it was a girl, she could eventually marry and forget her roots. Being Sansa Stark's daughter, she shouldn't have much trouble finding a husband. A boy would have it much worse. He would always be a Bolton, no matter what he would do, how hard he would try to escape it.

There will be no escape for him.

Sansa didn't even notice when the tiredness embraced her, and soon sleep overcame her, bringing peace to her troubled mind.

She woke up to the sight of those pale eyes she had already known so well, and it didn't startle her.

"I took the liberty of coming inside, given you didn't answer," Roose informed Sansa as she blinked rapidly, trying to chase the weariness away.

"That's quite alright," she answered, sitting up. It was already dark outside, the hearth the only source of light in the chamber. Her eyes needed a while to adjust to the dimness; when they did, she gazed at him more consciously. He was sitting at a chair near the bed dressed in a thin cloak and observed her casually, or so it seemed.

As expected, he had come to hear her confirmation. Looking at him as he was waiting, silently asking her for the truth, Sansa felt the familiar surge of power rushing through her. Everything depended on her words now, on her body, to be more exact. With one sentence, one gesture, she could make his goals come closer to the realization or crush them completely. It felt good to be the master of someone's future. Almost too good.

Turning around and moving closer to the edge of the bed, she sat down on her heels, so she was now directly facing him, and took his hands in hers. It was a perfect moment for further fake-bonding, wasn't it? She should use it the best she could. Tracing his palms with her fingertips, contemplating what they felt like and why she hadn't truly touched him before, she finally spoke up.

"I went to the maester, per your advice." She fell silent for a while, busy following the lines on his palms. It felt surprisingly good to touch him, and to tease him with her silence - she could sense his growing impatience, and barely contained a smirk.

"And?" He finally nudged her, closing her hands within his. Gods, she had truly managed to move a rock here, stirring something in him, making him yearn for the truth!

She looked up at him, completely composed and calm, perfectly hiding the sense of victory that filled her from within.

"He confirmed what, I believe, you've already noticed," she said, staring right into his eyes and marveling how slightly on edge they seemed. She liked it when she looked at him and saw a human being, and not an impassive, emotionless statue. "I am with child. Third or fourth moon."

He freed one of his hands and lifted it to her cheek, gently caressing it, slightly absent-mindedly as well. Were they to have this conversation immediately after her talk with Wolkan, or had she not known he had noticed, she would feel too vulnerable to have any conversation. Right now, she kinda felt he was the more vulnerable one. Even though his face was as expressionless as always, his eyes were not, and she had known him well enough already to notice all the small details. The ways he squeezed her hands or caressed her cheek spoke relief; maybe he had been waiting so long for it he actually felt true joy at hearing he was going to have a true-born descendant, and no longer had to count on his deranged bastard? Or maybe men always felt rather awkward with something they couldn't quite comprehend that was completely beyond their area of expertise?

There was also a third option, that it was all just a show put up for her, but she chose to believe otherwise, at least for the time being. She wasn't able to fake much at the moment, too many emotions swirling inside her; somehow, she hoped it was the same with him.

His thumb slowly outlined her lips and she shuddered at the implication of that: he had never even touched her mouth before. It made her convinced this night was going to be like nothing she had ever experienced, her anticipation growing. She was curious, sensing it had the potential to amount to something truly spectacular.

"And how do you feel about it?" he asked, his thumb sliding down to her jaw.

How did she feel about it right now? Good, that was the truth.

"I'm glad," she answered. No need to pretend. He gazed at her for a moment, this stare of his reaching deep into her soul, seeking the truth. "How do you feel about it?" She decided to return the question, looking at him with the same intensity.

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a smile, the second genuine smile she had seen on his face in the four-month-duration of their marriage, and it was the second she had seen this day.

"The same as you." And just like that, she believed him. He didn't hide it well enough, or maybe he had never intended to; either way, it felt true. His thumb returned to her lips, and for a moment he stared at her mouth. Her breath quickened in anticipation for whatever was to come. "You're tense, my lady," he finally murmured. She could tell him he was tenser than her but didn't want to argue at the moment. "Turn around."

She did as she was told, her pulse rising. His hands traveled up her arms until they landed on her shoulder muscles. As he started to massage them she realized he was right - even though she was calm and restrained on the outside, her body was beyond tense. The pressure he inflicted with his fingers made that tension diminish, and soon she was leaning into the touch. She moaned softly, involuntarily closing her eyes, her body bending towards him until she felt his frame strongly behind her own, securing her so she wouldn't fall from the bed.

She wasn't expecting it when one of his hands traveled down, underneath her nightgown and found her right breast; it was impossible to contain a yelp of surprise as she felt the touch on her already hardened nipple. Roose had never taken an interest in her breasts, not until this very moment. And suddenly she wished he had. His left hand was still massaging her muscles as the other one enclosed her breast and gave earnest attention to it, sending shivers down her spine, straight to her core. She mewled, her eyes closed, the rest of the world and its worries disappearing from her mind's view. It didn't surprise her when his other hand repeated the journey and took care of her left breast; what elicited another loud moan was that his right hand drew lower, stopping only after reaching her folds. She was completely at his mercy, basically sitting on his lap with her back pressed tightly against his chest, feeling his growing hardness against her rear. His fingers unceremoniously buried themselves inside her, his thumb circling the bud that always made her burn the most. His lips brushed against the side of her neck, perfectly angled for him to admire given her head was tilted to the side in abandon; he started kissing and sucking along the lines of her veins. His breath at her skin made her shiver, and she could only hold onto him and give in to all the sensations. And they were too much, there was too much of everything, and before long she came with a wild cry, riding her release on his fingers until there was nothing left of it. Only then did he remove them from her and, as she watched morbidly mesmerized, brought them to his lips to lick them clean. There was something fascinatingly unholy in this act and she shuddered, nowise from shame.

She caught herself staring at his lips, and he noticed it as well, his observant eyes scrutinizing her face. Before she realized what exactly was going to happen it was already too late to stop him; in her haze, however, she doubted she would even try. Moreover, she thought she… wanted it.

Their lips met for the first time and she immediately felt herself responding. She had been kissed by Joffrey and Petyr, but it had felt nothing like that. That had clear intentions. That had fire, radiating from both sides. Roose held her strongly against him, his hand landing on the juncture between her neck and jaw, his thumb caressing her cheek as their lips fought for domination until she lost, allowing him to slip his tongue inside her, allowing him to take over. The kiss wasn't long, yet managed to leave her breathless when he finally withdrew. She stared down at his mouth, panting, and he watched her silently, still caressing her cheek.

Sansa knew exactly what she needed. And she needed more.

After turning around to properly straddle him, she cupped his face and, holding her breath, lowered her mouth to meet his own. He tasted with winter, his lips much softer than she would have ever given them credit for, his masculine scent making her heady. She enjoyed all of that way more than she was willing to admit. Her tongue darted into his mouth as she made some explorations of her own. Her hands landed on his nape, his embraced her at her waist, pulling her closer, pushing their bodies tighter together.

Somehow, it felt much more intimate than anything else they had been doing to this day. The kiss burnt into her soul with shame, for so many different reasons. There was a peculiar aftertaste on her exploring tongue, and she could only guess it came from her own juices, which made her flush even more prominent. It didn't stop her from kissing him, though; on the contrary, she continued doing it with fervor like she was making up for all those months she hadn't known what his lips felt like. He responded just as eagerly; she could sense it through the material of his breeches, his thick length pressing against her bare core and driving her insane.

She gasped as he lifted her, her legs immediately wrapping around his hips, and threw her onto the bed, looming over her in an instant, never stopping kissing her until the air suddenly ended and they were forced to part. Breathing hard she quickly reached to deprive him of his outer clothing; as he unclasped his cloak, her hands found their way underneath his tunic and started desperately taking it off him. He threw it behind him with little thought, while she stopped for a moment, realizing she had never seen him fully bare. And he was quite a sight - well-developed muscles indicating a strong body she knew he had, with quite a number of scars as a decoration. Her fingertips traveled them slowly, in an unhidden fascination. She was slightly tempted to kiss them, but as she looked up all the thoughts dissipated. His eyes were dark, dark with lust, probably darker than she had ever seen them.

It didn't scare her; moreover, she thought hers looked exactly alike.

He helped her get rid of her nightgown, and once again she was completely naked, spread in front of him, while he was half-dressed, this time the other half than usual. He kissed her as passionately as before and she groaned into his lips, bucking her hips as she felt his clothed manhood brushing against her bare nether regions with his every move. She suspected he would either enter her immediately or proceed to pleasure her there, but he did nothing of that sort; his mouth started traveling down her body, kissing her neck, her collar bones, stopping at her breasts. As her nipples were licked, nipped, and kissed she all but melted into the touch, her hands in his short hair, pulling him even closer than he already was.

She was uttering all kinds of sounds at his ministrations until, finally, it slipped. She had planned for it to slip, sooner or later, but now it wasn't planned. It just slipped.

"Roose."

His name, coming from her mouth in a ragged whisper, barely hearable.

Oh, but he heard it well enough.

She mewled as he stopped entirely and, leaning on his elbows on either side of her, looked up at her, and she could swear his eyes were blazing pits of fire this time. She was breathing hard, wishing nothing more but for him to resume his doings, staring at him bravely, undeterred. He was her husband, she had every right to address him by his given name, just like he had done it with her twice already.

"Say it again," he ordered, and she yelped as his finger entered her abruptly in one swift move.

"Roose," she panted, staring right back at him.

"Louder." Another finger joined.

"Roose." It was spoken loudly, but apparently not loud enough.

"Scream it," he demanded as his fingers pumped rather furiously in and out of her, his mouth returning to her breasts. And she came, screaming his name at the top of her lungs.

She didn't even have any time to recover before he finally lost his breeches and entered her up to the hilt. As he started thrusting her legs wrapped around his hips to allow him deeper access, while her hands pulled him down for a kiss, demanded it. And he kissed her in fervor, first on the lips, then everywhere he could reach, with her arching and writhing beneath him. Their bodies moved against one another in perfect harmony, and for the first time she truly felt joined as one with him.

They didn't need long, and came together; she was too exhausted to scream anymore, so this time it was a silent peak, with him grunting into her shoulder.

He remained sheathed inside her as they tried to regain their breathing. Only then did he ease out of her and gently disentangled from her legs, which she didn't even realize were still wrapped around him.

She must have been a sight to behold as she was lying there with a satiated smile on her lips, beads of sweat on her forehead, her hair all around her in a complete mess, because for a moment he was sitting on the bed, just staring at her.

"My lady." He ended the tryst with his usual words, but with a wandering smirk on his lips. She watched him, still panting, as he stood up and gathered his scattered clothes, for the first time seeing him whole, as the gods made him. Gods, or rather demons? At the moment, she didn't really care, just enjoying the sight.

He dressed up slowly, then returned his attention to her, still drunk from the satiation. Taking some abandoned fur from the chest, he covered her with it and left a parting kiss on her lips.

"Sleep well, Sansa."

And so she did.