Sansa is pregnant with her first child. Just a playful moment between Lord and Lady Clegane.

Sansa shifted her weight from one swollen foot to the other, bracing one hand against the stone wall of the stairwell. She'd always known she'd have children, and she'd seen many women with child, but experiencing the large swell threatening to topple her with every step was something she hadn't expected. The swollen feet were another negative side effect of something she'd always imagined to be somewhat more … magical.

Carrying a child was one of many things that had let her down where her idealisations were concerned. Flowering for the first time was much messier than she'd been led to believe. The loss of her maidenhead had been even more messy and disappointing. While her husband had not been forceful and rough, he hadn't exactly been gentle either; she'd cried for some time, she remembered with shame, and her husband had to comfort her after. But the pain of her first time had faded fairly quickly. The pains and annoyances of pregnancy, however, had remained with her for eight months now. As her belly grew she became more nauseated, her feet began to swell, she became disgusted by her favorite foods, and even the smallest things either made her cry or made her irrationally angry. She feared she would irritate Sandor to death if not for the overwhelming need to have him inside her nearly every night. It was exhausting and exasperating to feel all these things all the time. Now she couldn't see her feet and making it downstairs from her chambers was such a chore. She couldn't imagine having to go through this more than once.

Sansa let out a long sigh and traced a hand down the side of her belly as her unborn child gave a good hard kick just under her ribs. Sometimes she felt so bloated and big and beat-up from within, she wondered if there were five or ten children squirming around in there.

"Come now, little thing, mother needs to breathe," she murmured, standing taller to attempt to relieve the pressure. She slowly began descending the stairs once more, bracing a slim hand against the worn stones as she went. As she came around the last curve of the staircase, she saw her husband waiting for her at the bottom. Sometimes it was still strange seeing him with no armor, but the sword strapped around his waist was as familiar as ever. Now he was smirking at her, hand braced on his sword hilt, as she stopped to rest just steps from the bottom.

"I was coming up to see if you'd gotten out of bed yet," he said, "but then I heard you cursing the gods as you came down and figured I'd just wait for you here."

"How kind of you," she said flatly, placing her hand on his arm and easing herself off the final step. Even now, several years older, a few inches taller, she was dwarfed by his large body. "I've half a mind to stay down here until the babe is born. I wouldn't have to deal with those wretched stairs until I could see my feet again."

Sandor threw his head back and laughed. He'd been doing much more often of late, especially once he got used to the idea that they were with child. He'd been apprehensive at first-unsure if he was even fit to father any children-but he'd warmed to the idea as the months went by. Now his laugh was jovial, deep, gravelly. Sansa couldn't imagine a more wonderful sound.

"Your septa tried to have you do that when you first started complaining, if you'll recall."

"Yes, well, now I am inclined to accept that advice. I am fairly certain no children are ever this large before they're born."

"You're a little bird; of course our child seems large when compared with you."

"Especially since it's your child," Sansa shot back, playfully swatting at his arm with her free hand.

Sandor stopped suddenly and looked at her sideways. "If you wanted to try out the room to see if you like it, I would be happy to help," he offered slyly. Sansa raised an eyebrow knowingly.

"Always so thoughtful. Lead the way, Lord Clegane."