A/N: Keeping the safety of her child a priority, as her pregnancy progresses Sansa realizes some urges won't just go away on their own...

It's a tough December for me, and I'm glad I could post the chapter before 24th, so I could wish you all Merry Christmas! I hope you can have some wonderful - and safe - time, despite everything that's happening all around us. Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year's Eve, my dear Readers! 3

Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Sansa woke up in the morning blissfully sore. Snippets of the last night started coming back to her in an instant, making her stretch in a lingering delight. If she thought she had met pleasure before, she had been deeply mistaken. She hadn't known pure bliss, not until last night. From that moment on, nothing would remain the same. Her lips wanted to be kissed and to kiss, to feel her husband's mouth against them. Her breasts needed to be cherished, refusing to be neglected again. Her whole body burnt to be touched, and, what surprised her, her fingers wished to touch as well.

Some sort of happiness radiated from her belly, bustling in her veins. Lying her hands on her stomach, she smiled at herself, remembering all the new sensations, wishing to feel them again as soon as possible. Roose could have pleasured her like that from the very beginning but had chosen to deny her some elements up until the last night. He should be punished for such vileness, unfair treatment of his fair lady.

She stiffened upon realizing what she had just thought. Happiness? Vileness for denying her certain pleasures? Roose was a vile man, there was no doubt about it, but that definitely was not the reason.

Get a grip, she scolded herself firmly. You hate him for so many things, remember?

No matter how hard she tried to steer away from that positiveness, she couldn't, and finally gave up. Maybe it will be good for the babe if its mother would be satisfied with her life, at least for a while. The lines could never be blurred beyond recognition for sure: she will always remember, the North will always remember. There was no danger in letting herself experience a little joy, especially a physical one. She deserved it.

There was a fourth soldier at her door, unknown to her, and she welcomed him cheerfully into her company. Contrary to the other guards, that one seemed more pleasant and returned her smile a little sheepishly. Or maybe it was just her good mood that made her see everything through the veil of her own joy. Either way, it reminded her of the safety-related matters she needed to discuss with Roose - apparently, he had thought about them as well.

She couldn't help but smile all the way to the Great Hall, almost expecting something to suddenly happen and destroy her cheer. Like Ramsay's presence at breakfast, or some dreadful news from the outside world.

Nothing like that occurred, and she reached the chamber in the same high spirits as upon waking up, greeting Roose with a beam.

Truly, she couldn't recognize herself. Maybe it was all because of the babe growing within her. Yes, probably this was the reason - it was changing her from the inside, and she could do nothing about it. Surely it was the only cause.

"Lady Sansa." Roose welcomed her with a small smile of his own and a glint in his eyes, her name on his lips sounding as thrilling as ever.

"Roose." She took the liberty of calling him this way; she rather liked how it rolled off her tongue, smooth and sensual. The spark in his eyes told her he liked it as well. Maybe that could be some other power of her over him? Could it be that her calling him by his name had the same effect on him as the opposite situation had on her? Recalling his reaction the last night when she had used it for the first time, she concluded it seemed highly likely.

"You look rather... happy," he noticed, the smile replaced by a smug smirk, as he probably attributed all of her joy to himself and their recent activities.

A vile man indeed.

"Because I am," she answered, looking at him with a gentle touch to her gaze. Her body still radiated the heat of the last night, immediately reacting to the sight of him, the one who had brought her over the edge so many times already. It was no longer the work of some unnamed lips and fingers, but her husband's, Roose as she herself had addressed him. She might have acknowledged that fact before, but it was only now that she truly accepted and embraced it. "We are going to have a babe," she added bashfully, determined to check if his reactions had been only a one-time thing or were here to stay.

"That we are." Once again, this peculiar smile of his brightened his features. Maybe smiling didn't truly befit him, but when he did it he looked younger, livelier, and Sansa liked it profusely.

"Speaking of which..." she started, but then accidentally gazed down at the table and went speechless at the sight before her. "How did you..." There, on the plate, were lemon cakes; the very same ones she adored so much, the very same ones Roose had almost promised her the other day. She had managed to forget about it entirely, so many things had happened since the last morning; he, apparently, had not.

"There were some lemons in the goods you got from White Harbor. I only told the cooks to make you those," he explained, his tone casual, like it was nothing.

It probably was nothing, but for her, at the moment at least, it was a lot. She stared at him wide-eyedly, that smallest act of... care making her breathless. He had not only heard her but also listened to her needs; suddenly, she truly felt like she had just returned home, and found here a family that was interested in her fate. Those were some dangerous feelings, the likes of which she definitely shouldn't direct towards her husband.

But at the moment, she definitely did.

"Thank you," she managed to utter, the words heavy in her throat. Get a grip, she repeated to her stubborn mind once more, hoping this time it would actually listen to her. It's only a show, and nothing more. "It means a lot."

"You're very welcome." She tried hard to convince herself it was only to gain her trust, as usual in their game, his care feigned; it didn't work. "You were saying...?"

"Y-yes." She cleared her throat and came back to the topic, trying to focus on what will surely be the most important thing in her mind for months to come. "I was going to talk to you about it last night, but we engaged in some other... highly enjoyable activities." She blushed heavily but did her best not to avert her gaze. That smug smirk was his only answer once again. "What I mean is the safety of our future heir." She was speaking quietly, so no one besides him would hear her. The servants brought them the plates with breakfast, forcing Sansa to pause. She noticed her meal was significantly larger than before, even without the lemon cakes.

"You need to eat well now that you're feeding two people," Roose explained once there was no one else around the table.

Sansa nodded, realizing his slight obsession with her eating habits will increase tenfold now that she was carrying the future of his house inside her. She didn't truly mind.

She wasn't going to start eating, though, not before they had that conversation. Her stare was solemn as she continued, "I understand we'll keep it between us as long as it's only possible." The only people besides them already knowing about her pregnancy were Wolkan and one of her guards; she was sure they will keep it quiet, if not for her sake, then for the fear of being flayed alive.

"That would be the wisest."

"A lot of people won't like it. A lot of people will wish to hurt me, hurt us." Sansa stopped herself from protectively caressing her belly at the last moment. That was a dangerous gesture to be making in public.

"I won't let them," Roose cut her off, and somehow, she believed him.

"I know you'll try. But there are so many enemies that you won't be able to shelter us from them all." And there was this one particular enemy, too close to home to not dread him the most. "And what about Ramsay?"

"What about him?" Even though the complete impassiveness was back on his face, she could sense him stiffening.

"He will hate it the most. It's a threat to everything he was trying to build and the ultimate strike to his ambitions. He has to know that if it's a boy, he'll lose it all." He will, won't he? For a moment she thought about something she hadn't considered before - what if Ramsay remained Roose's firstborn in his mind and despite everything would get to keep his legacy because Roose would choose it? It sounded absurd, but she had to take every possibility into account. Or maybe Ramsay will be kept in a back row, always being there "just in case" - if their babe wasn't a boy, if something happened to it, by accident or intentionally...

"He'll keep the Dreadfort as for now." As for now. So ultimately, everything will belong to her son? As for now, she couldn't care less for the Dreadfort.

"But he'll want more, we both know he will. And he won't stop at nothing to get it." She decided to pull some ultimate strings. "Roose, please." The firm use of his name got combined with a dramatic grasp of his hand, resting on the table not far from her. "I want our child to be born, and to actually survive some time here."

"I want it as much as you do." He gazed down at their joined hands as she squeezed them tighter together. "What is it exactly that you're asking me to do?"

He knew exactly what it was, didn't he? Sansa only hoped the manipulation wasn't too obvious, and that it sounded like the natural concerns of a mother-to-be.

"I would never ask a father to murder his son," she said quietly, her voice filled with emotions. Good acting on her part - of course she would ask, and that was what she had been doing. She couldn't say it, though. Her observations aside, she could not be perfectly certain Roose wished his bastard dead. If he didn't, by saying too much she might ruin whatever good relations they had lately managed to build, and she didn't want that, for a variety of reasons. "I'm merely asking you to keep a watchful eye on him. More watchful than before."

"I am keeping a watchful eye on him, and I will continue doing it. You may sleep well, my lady, Ramsay won't pose a threat." She scrutinized his eyes with a slight distrust, asking herself whether she should demand a definite answer as to who he would choose if it came to that. But it was senseless, wasn't it? A trueborn always meant so much more than a bastard. And besides, what guarantee she had he would tell her the truth? "I'll see to it."

He squeezed her hand back and for a moment they just stared at each other. Then, she nodded and returned her attention to her plate. She didn't feel fully satisfied, but she couldn't push it any further. And she knew he hadn't lied while telling her he wanted their safety just as much as she did. Without her, his claim to the North would weaken and probably vanish into some lethal nothingness. With their child, the claim would be more secure than ever before.

She was carrying a means to his ultimate victory inside her, or so it surely looked like in his mind.

After the meal, they walked together to their studies, where they parted ways in their usual courteous manner. Inside the chamber, Sansa found Maester Wolkan waiting for her with a book and some information. The tome looked rather old and worn out, but seemed to come alive with all the knowledge contained within it. Wolkan explained it was a source of wisdom concerning pregnancies; not written for the ladies, of course, but he was giving it to her nonetheless to help her understand the changes in her body and feel better about her current condition.

That was a kind gesture and she thanked him for it wholeheartedly. They had talked a lot about it the other day, but as with everything else, there was probably still so much to learn. And it would be nice to know what was going on with her body - and mind - for once.

The information he brought her was also quite positive - she had some Northerners to listen to. She had hoped people would be more encouraged to come after their journey around the neighborhood, but she hadn't dared to think it could happen so soon.

Leaving her study to meet them some time later, Sansa felt rather... joyful. Though she didn't want to admit it even to herself, her life no longer seemed bleak and dreary. She had things to look forward to.

And she was more than glad about it.

The next couple of weeks were a complete disaster.

Every pregnancy-related ailment Sansa had experienced seemed to multiply and bother her to the point of being almost unbearable. Maybe it worsened because now she knew the signs and listened to her body more intently, or maybe it was supposed to be like that - the maester could not give her a definite answer, claiming every lady went through it differently.

The headaches were a common occurrence, alongside the dizziness and tremendous tiredness - the only thing she wanted to do was to stay in her bed the whole day. Her appetites continued to vary: during one breakfast she was ready to eat a small pig, while the morning after a small meal she somehow managed to push down her throat ended up in a basket moments later. Her breasts were sore and tender, her body hostile. She didn't have the strength to do anything, and she had to do so much - the Northerners were coming, lords were sending letters, ledgers needed to be checked and the builders overseen. Wolkan was helping her as much as he could, but when she basically collapsed from mental and physical exhaustion upon returning to her chamber, she realized she had been overworking herself and it probably wasn't the best course of action, given her current condition.

The next morning, Sansa demanded that Roose took over some of her duties, for their future son's sake. He agreed immediately, making her speechless. She was prepared for a heated fight, and instead, she started feeling like she could request anything and he would give it to her. It was empowering, and as with every power, easy to lose herself in it, and Sansa had to be especially careful as not to let her guards down too much.

This one argument - simple and truthful at that - seemed to change a lot of things for the better. As time went by, she realized her previous thoughts had been true: whatever she needed was given to her, whatever she asked for was granted. She had never thought all it would take to truly wrap Roose around her finger was to get pregnant. It seemed far easier than she had anticipated.

And she felt good about it. Powerful. In charge.

During those weeks she also finally got her definite answer on whether she could refuse Roose's rights to her body. Maybe it shouldn't matter that much now, given his seed had already done the job, but it was still important for her. Her initial desire for the constant repeat of that night they had found out she was with child quickly vanished as she simply was too tired to even imagine it, the only energy she had left used up to get her to sleep. Roose was usually finding her like that - curled beneath her furs, barely able to mumble she didn't have enough strength to move. The first time, she managed to add she would appreciate it if he left her alone; later on, she stopped bothering. He had never exploited her condition, only sometimes planting a fleeting kiss on her forehead. Once on her lips, because she turned around and pulled him closer, her mouth thirsty for the touch. He kissed her darkly, strongly, and normally it would be more than enough to make her burn; in her current state, tired and sore from simply being, the fire barely flickered. And so she smiled sweetly, told him goodnight, and turned her back to him.

He never stayed.

After a fortnight he stopped paying her his nightly visits. Or maybe she was already fast asleep when he did; she couldn't be quite sure as her eyelids were too heavy to keep them open once her head touched the pillows. She found herself slightly missing seeing his face right before falling asleep. She got used to his melodic "sleep well, Sansa" and the paleness of his eyes saying its own goodbye, his warm, soft lips pressed against her skin.

She blamed the pregnancy for all those feelings. For the sensations of needing the touch, of needing someone - or rather one particular someone, of not wishing to be alone, for all those physical and emotional cravings. It wasn't her, but the babe inside her speaking and wishing.

Wolkan had told her once the second part of carrying a child was usually better, and now claimed she was most probably on the brink of it. Some afflictions will go away, while others will diminish; in general, her spirits should improve. She couldn't wait for that moment to finally arrive, so she would stop being a prisoner of her own body and feel more like herself.

Slowly and steadily, day by day, the maester's words started coming true. Sansa stopped vomiting and as nausea subsided, her appetites grew and from then on she truly started eating for two. The tiredness didn't bother her so much anymore, and she got used to what was left of it. Her breasts felt like they belonged to her once again, and, as she stared at her belly long enough, she could swear it got slightly bigger already.

Definitely possessing much more life force, she greeted everyone with an energetic attitude. Some Northerners seemed slightly taken aback by her optimism in the face of the Long Night, but she couldn't help it: she had just come back from feeling the worst to feeling the best, and there was no end to that cheer.

Her demeanor around Roose was just the same and she truly hoped he would resume his visits. To her profound disappointment, he did not. Her body developed not only a substantial appetite for more food but also some marital activities. After the night of pleasures, as she called it in her mind, there had been only two similar ones before her body refused to cooperate, and she found herself aching. It was some deep ache inside her, a longing for the touch, for all the sensations, for the fire to grow and reign over her. She needed it. She was desperate for it.

Finally, one night, when that itch was so strong she considered resolving it on her own, she snapped and made a decision. She needed him inside her and she was no longer ashamed to admit it. If he could have sought her out whenever he wanted to chase his pleasures, why shouldn't it work for her as well? She was his lady wife, his pregnant lady wife, and she was in need. Who was he to refuse?

Without calling for her handmaiden, she found a dress that was rather too thin for Winter but could be easily discarded, as there were only a few laces on its back. The cleavage reminded her of Margaery - it definitely wasn't Northern, not in the slightest. Sansa had crafted that gown as a fond remembrance, a reminiscence of things long past, never intending to wear it up until this moment. Wondering what her friend would say if she saw her right now, Sansa put on a fur and left the chamber.

Her guards gazed at her in surprise - it was a rather late hour for any voyages.

"Lead me to Lord Bolton's chamber," she said, slightly blushing at the realization she didn't know which chamber her husband was occupying.

"Of course, my lady." They didn't ask any questions as they led the way, stopping at the door of her parents' old chamber, guarded by two soldiers. Sansa smiled at them bashfully and, without further delay, knocked on the door herself.

She waited for a moment, her heart in her throat. She was excited and hoped he would grant her his assistance.

The door finally opened, revealing Roose in a thin tunic and breeches only. He gazed at her, and if he was surprised by her visit, he didn't let it show.

"My lady." He opened the door wider and gestured to her to come inside. She didn't need another invitation.

It was indeed her parents' chamber, though completely rearranged. She glanced at the bed and briefly wondered whether she herself hadn't been created in the very same place. Blushing furiously, she quickly pushed the thought aside. She couldn't ponder on her parents and whatever they could have been doing on this bed if she wanted to receive what she came here for.

As Roose closed the door behind her, she turned around, taking him in. Her eyes slid down his body until they reached the place she desired the most, her mouth going dry. The sheer sight of him with her added imagination was enough to inflame her lust. Had he always looked so good? And if so, how had she not noticed it before?

"I am in need," she blurted, the fire blazing in her veins and clouding her better judgment. His brows went higher as he slowly approached her.

"Anything I can assist you with?" he asked casually, standing right in front of her.

"Yes." Sansa unclasped her fur and let it fall to the floor, pooling at her feet. Although his face didn't change, she noticed his pupils dilating at the sight before him. Her enlarged breasts filled the gown completely, making the cleavage even more impressive. The revealing cut of it also helped clarify her intentions, if he suspected her of any foul play; was she to come with a weapon, she wouldn't have a place to hide it.

"That's a rather pretty dress," he commented, his thumb going down her neck to the valley between her breasts, and then contouring the line where the material met her skin.

"I think I can do better without it," she challenged him boldly and was rewarded with a smirk.

"I concur."

His thumb slowly slid underneath her dress, brushing over her nipple, and she shuddered helplessly, the fire getting stronger. She couldn't help it; her body needed his, and that was all it was about. Her eyes, wide open and trustful, stared into his pale ones, cautious, yet also already flaming with this nightly fire she could see only in the confines of her bedchamber. There was a wandering smirk on his lips as he looked back at her, his free hand going up to caress her cheek.

Somehow, for the first time, she realized they were exactly the same height; the absurdity of having such a revelation at the moment like that almost made her chuckle. In the daylight, she had always done her best to be his equal; in the darkness of the night, she had felt so, so small much too often.

Not today.

Her hazy gaze went down and lingered on his lips. He didn't need another invitation, pulling her closer and sealing her mouth with a kiss. It still tasted with perdition, but she cast the thoughts aside; it wasn't about what was moral or not anymore. It was about the urges her body had. And her body had a lot of urges at the moment.

Her hands landed on his nape and she gave herself completely into the kiss, her mouth opening, inviting his tongue inside. She could lose herself in it alone. His hands traveled down her back, stopping at her waist as he pulled her even closer; their hips crashed and through their clothes she could already feel him hardening. Her urges immediately cried out for more.

Once they parted for the lack of air, Sansa took a step back, her eyes sliding down as her hands leaned against his chest. Her fingers fumbled with the lacing of his tunic, but he didn't rush her - or help her, for the matter - waiting patiently until she was done and would finally release him of it. Before she could think about the next move he spun her around and proceeded to remove her gown.

If she had thought it would come back to her room in the same state, she had been deeply mistaken as her husband ruined it entirely with one quick tear. She felt a sting of sadness - it was a rather pretty dress indeed - and almost asked how she would return to her chamber without proper attire, but the words vanished the moment his fingers returned to her skin. What were words if the only proper language right now was the one of desire? The unholy, sinful one the septas condemned at every single occasion; the thrilling, exciting, devouring one she found herself more and more fluent in.

He slipped the gown down her arms until it joined her fur at her feet; she didn't turn around, waiting, breathing, expecting. The slightest touch of his fingers was enough to set her skin on fire - she wanted more, she needed more, she had to have more. Getting her hair out of the way, he kissed her neck while his hands traveled to her front and found the peaks of her breasts. She sighed contentedly and leaned her whole body against his frame, turning limp, surrendering to him entirely. He gave her breasts such a moment of undivided attention, after which he turned her around once more. She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, her insides burning, her mind realizing something that in other circumstances might have terrified her to the bone.

She trusted him.

He took her by the hand and led her to the bed, but before she could lie down on the furs he sat down on the edge himself and pulled her onto his lap. She wrapped her limbs around him and for a moment just breathed, staring at him, overwhelmed by such a level of intimacy. Somehow, it had never felt so close, so... vulnerable, tempting, and... and something that she couldn't even consider naming. And it still wasn't close enough.

He pulled her down for another kiss, her hair dancing between them. Her breasts moved against his chest, her core radiating her desire, which had to already completely soak his breeches. He was holding her close, closer than ever, as her hands traveled down between them and busied themselves with unlacing his unnecessary clothing. The moment when she had to retreat so he could lose the breeches felt empty, deprived of something she deeply needed for her survival; returning to his lap felt pure, saving even. For a moment she moved experimentally, the wetness from her soaked folds coating his manhood; everything inside her twisted and squirmed, the fire burning brightly, her eyes rolling somewhere in her head. His breath hitched as he moved her slightly up by her buttocks and lowered her onto him. She moaned, stretched and filled in all the right ways; he groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She gave herself a moment before moving, first slowly, in a circular motion, going quicker with every round. Her head was spinning, her whole body arching, wanting more. More, more, always more.

A muffled cry escaped her as his lips found her nipple; she could only close her eyes and pull him closer, always closer, and completely surrender. His hips met her movements, his mouth cherished one of her peaks, his fingers caressed her other breast. What did it feel like exactly? Was it seven hells, or rather seven heavens? She had no idea, nor did she care.

They chased their pleasures together, and even though she seemed to be the one in control she was completely at the mercy of her own body and its machinations. The fire grew and grew, yet didn't want to break; could it grow any more without burning her entirely in the process? She was almost there, she could already feel it, but was unable to exactly reach it, frustration threatening to overwhelm her.

Another gasp came out from somewhere deep within her throat as he took control, holding her firmly by her hips and moving her up and down, his lips still busy with her breasts, his fingers somehow managing to brush that little bundle of nerves that burnt the most. She shuddered, clinging to him for dear life, the "more" reaching entirely new levels, and then finally came apart, clenching around him, falling limp onto him, getting the most of the pleasure. When she recovered from her heights, he flipped her onto her back in one quick move, angling her legs so they landed on his shoulders, and started pounding into her rather furiously, until she burnt once again, until they both came at the same moment, him with a quiet grunt, her with his name on her lips.

He eased out of her and, before she could even think about any possibility of getting up, pulled her by her legs to the edge of the bed, knelt on the floor, and started licking her clean. Oversensitive as she currently was, it didn't take him long to lead her towards completion once more.

Thoroughly spent, she breathed heavily in satiation as Roose laid down next to her, leaning on his elbow. He was also rather drained, and watched her with a steady, satisfied smirk.

"I hope you found such assistance... tolerable," he commented, his eyes moving over her body, coming to a stop on her just slightly outlined belly. Before answering, she reached for his hand, entwining her fingers with his. He looked her in the eyes and in the depths of his irises, she noticed something resembling a question. Smiling, she squeezed his fingers and led them to rest at her stomach, watching him the entire time. His eyes lingered on their conjoined hands, and when she removed her hand on her belly alone. He moved his thumb in a gentle, yet slightly absent-minded caress, making her yearn to know what exactly he was thinking.

She will never know, won't she?

His eyes returned to her face, his lips reaching her mouth in something she understood as a silent "thank you". She will probably never receive any spoken acknowledgment; that had to be enough.

Somehow, at that moment, it was.

She smiled, stretched herself, and finally sat up, feeling positively tired and ready to fall into blissful embraces of sleep. In her own bed, obviously.

"It was rather acceptable," she answered. "I think we might reach perfection in time, with the right amount of practice."

She could swear he wanted to laugh because his eyes sparkled like she had never seen before. And he smiled, not with that unexpected, slightly peculiar smile she had already seen, but the new, peacefully satisfied one. It was his own kind of smile, truly suiting him; it made his face light up, reaching his pale irises.

She liked it even more.

"Anytime, my lady."

She was sure this was that one promise he was definitely going to keep.

And she wasn't going to complain.