The front courtyard of Lady Kanata's manor had become an epicentre of chaos, servants running back and forth as horses were saddled and carts packed. Somewhat serenely, Rey stood in the middle of it all, watching as final preparations were made for their departure. Her steps felt lighter these days; with the threat of the Order of the First Saint now seeming much less significant and with Ren's steady presence constantly within reach, she felt rather at peace with her role in the world.

She was watching a young boy wrestle a rather battered tunic away from one of the kitchen dogs when there was a tap at her elbow. As Rey turned, she found that she had to look down to be able to meet Lady Kanata's friendly smile, wrinkled and warm.

"Lady Kanata," Rey said, gripping the smaller woman's hands. "I cannot thank you enough for your generous hospitality. I've never had such fine oysters."

"I was glad to be of service, your Grace. Before you go, however, I wished to speak to you privately…" Rey obligingly leaned forward, so that Lady Kanata had to do no more than whisper. "I hope it isn't too forward," she began, "but I was surprised to learn that you have accepted Lady Netal's wish to join your retinue back to London."

Lady Kanata wasn't the only one who had been surprised. Rey's ladies had fluttered like birds at the news, too nervous to boldly question her motives but too invested to simply be unconcerned.

Part of Rey felt like explaining that it was better to have one's friends close and one's enemies closer. Part of her wanted to confess that Lady Netal represented a connection to an insurrection that could yet grow fangs. But those things would remain hers and Ren's secret, a joint decision that no one need know about. "It was his Grace's wish," she finally replied, patting Lady Kanata's hand with a smile.

The returned smile grew even more confused. "I see." As Rey nodded and attempted to move away, Lady Kanata suddenly grabbed at her sleeve, as if not willing to let her go quite yet. When Rey stopped, Lady Kanata drew peered at her sharply over her spectacles. Rey suddenly got the sense that the old woman could see right through her. "I hope you know, your Grace, that you do not need to be a King."

"I beg your pardon?"

"There are those who expect you become a man in order to rule." Lady Kanata finally took her hand away from Rey's sleeve. "But we have had Kings before. As a Queen, you have singular gifts that only you can offer. Remember— when the time comes, it will be important."

The novelty of being on the road again soon began to wear thin. The roads somehow seemed muddier, the rain more relentless, the food more stale and dry. Rey, usually as hardy as they came, found herself longing for a warm fire and a soft bed.

It was with some relief, therefore, that they arrived at their final stop before London. In this manor, owned by the small and rather round Lord Sella, Rey could prepare to make an appropriate triumphal return. His was a cultured home; he insisted on entertaining her with an afternoon of music and cards before she could retire, and she was only able to shake his well-meaning care off after several hours of witticisms.

Finally retreating to her rooms, she found Jessika bent over the finest gown they had carried, carefully unpicking some stitches. "Jessika? What are you doing?"

"Making sure this fits properly, your Grace," Jessika said evenly. "I had let the sides out some weeks ago, thinking that we would have a longer stay in the north, but I now think it should be tightened slightly to look its best tomorrow."

"Let out…" Rey frowned. She had been eating well, yes, but not that well, and she'd also been exercising steadily. "Have my measurements changed?"

Jessika looked up with a confused frown. "No? But they will, of course."

"Will— will they? Why?"

The two women stared at each other blankly for a moment before a look of dawning understanding grew in Jessika's eyes. "Your Grace… Had you not noticed? I had assumed you were merely being discreet until we returned to London."

Rey was getting more confused by the moment. "Not noticed what? What are you talking about?"

"Your Grace, I'm responsible for your laundry, if you will recall."

"What–"

"There has been no blood on them for some time."

Finally, slowly, dully, everything clicked into place in Rey's mind. She felt the colour drain from her face. "God's bones."

Jessika immediately got to her feet and reached for Rey's elbows, guiding her to the bed that stood against the far wall. Wobbily, Rey perched on the edge, and Jessika settled gracefully beside her. "I'm so sorry, your Grace, I really thought you knew."

"I was often…" Rey shook her head like there was water in her ears. "For many, many years nothing about my— my cycle was regular— and then I was at war, and I think the stress…" She spun her hands a few times at the wrist. "I never came to expect it. Though there had been some regularity in the months before my marriage, once I was eating properly..."

Her panic was growing with each word as the reality sunk in. It was, of course, exactly what was supposed to happen, what she had wanted to happen, what everyone wanted. But the physical act had become so wrapped up in intimacy and pleasure that she'd rather forgotten its greater purpose, and the travel had kept her so distracted. Now it was real, it had to be, and she was utterly unprepared—

She felt the nudge of concern from Ren in the back of her mind, and it was all she could do to incoherently send a babbled series of thoughts that went something like CHILD LATE COURSES PREGNANT BABY EXPECTING BABY PREGNANT CHILD.

He abruptly disappeared, the connection slammed shut.

Jessika was still watching her with concern. "This is joyous news, is it not?"

"Yes, yes absolutely, wonderful news, it's just a little…" Rey swallowed, waiting for the lightheaded feeling to pass. "I don't believe I know what to expect." It wasn't as though childbirth had been a common part of living in a nunnery, and Luke had hardly bothered to include that in her education.

"Well, my Mother has nine children besides me, and I am the eldest— I believe you'll find no better expert," Jessika grinned.

Rey was nothing if not pragmatic. "Tell me."

The next hour became a blur of learning about the quickening and the sickness that she could expect, the strange cravings, the intense bursts of emotion. Rey was quite certain that some adjustments would have to be made about her confinement— she could hardly withdraw completely from public life for three months— and the thought of the birth itself made her feel a bit nauseous. But Jessika's enthusiasm and joy was infectious, and soon Rey found herself lacing her fingers over her stomach, looking down in some wonder at this very pedestrian miracle that God enacted every day. A child of her own. From her and from him.

Jessika was extolling the virtues of saints' medallions in easing childbirth when there was a loud and steady knock at the door. Rey leaned sideways on the bed so that she could see the entrance to her chambers. "Yes?"

"Your Grace?" The door creaked open to reveal Finn, eyebrows drawn together. "I was wondering if you might know why the Prince is sitting on the edge of the training yard with his head between his knees?"

On the day of her announcement, shortly after their return, all of the churches of London rang their bells to celebrate. It was cacophonous, more even than a saint's day or Christmas, as the bell-ringers toiled for hours to show their joy at the news.

The overflow of goodwill was astounding. The city practically seemed to hum with the excitement at the idea of having an heir, a legitimate royal family, the promise of stability and peace. Every courtier was falling over themselves to offer their congratulations and gifts, and Rey found herself suddenly drowning in feminine advice. It ranged from the helpful ("a hot foot soak can help with the soreness") to the bizarre ("avoid soft cheese, or his male parts will be deformed!"). It was exhausting, but she tried to take it all with patience and good humour.

For his part, Ren spent a solid three days wandering the palace at Whitehall like a man dazed. People offered their congratulations respectfully, but his reaction was impassive. To the outside world, he may have appeared entirely unaffected; Rey, though, could feel the reeling disbelief and fear jostling with excitement and a tentative hope. He gradually relaxed as time went by, enough that he could take advice about fatherhood from his own Father without developing a twitch in his right eye.

They fell into a routine as the weeks crept on. In the evenings, Rey would dismiss her ladies and Ren would join her to quiz her about her health, the day's happenings, and whether she was eating properly. It was the closest thing to a domestic coziness that they had ever experienced. She found she rather liked it. It gave her the strange sense that they could have been any young couple, with the same concerns that danced on the minds of new parents everywhere.

It was on one such night that they were lying in bed, his face level with her stomach, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns lightly over her shift. The subtlest promise of a swell was beginning to develop, really at this point more of a tenseness in her skin than any real protrusion. "Have you felt it move?"

Rey shifted against the pillows, peering down at him, oddly childlike in his position even though his limbs were so long that his legs hung off the end of the bed. "Nothing so far. It may be as much as another month, yet."

He made a humming noise and she felt the puff of air against her side as his fingers swirled again, drawing another circle. "I hope he'll be strong."

"Do you want a son?" As soon as she asked, she felt ridiculous; it was so obvious that it was barely worth saying out loud. He was a man, of course he wanted an heir.

His head twitched as he snorted. "As long as they don't get my ears, I don't care either way."

As ever, there had to be bad news to temper the good. One evening, when Rey was almost ready for bed, Finn sought her out for an audience. After she had dismissed her ladies, he handed her a letter that that was folded and sealed with black wax. "From Dameron," he explained, holding it out towards her. "It was in code, but I translated it for you. I—" he hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "I hope I did not overstep."

"You were aware of this investigation from the start," Rey said easily, taking the letter and walking to her bedside table, where she took her knife and slit the wax open. "I trust you."

The words contained in the parchment were not reassuring.

All signs of Princes lead to dead end. Cannot locate the bodies. All who were at Tower on day cannot be found. Rumours of a guard working that evening now being in Flanders. Investigating personally.

She had known that it wouldn't be simple. Finn had warned her, and it was still relatively early days. Even so, it was a disappointment to see the words written so clearly in ink.

Sighing, Rey folded the letter before tossing it into the fire.

Despite the ever-encroaching promise of spring, the court awoke one morning to find that the world had become blanketed in white.

Rey was delighted. She had seen the occasional smattering of sleet and snow while they were travelling, but never anything thick enough to so completely cover the world. She consented to waiting long enough that her ladies could bundle her into a fur cloak, but after that, she was off like a shot, ready to go enjoy this new novelty.

Standing in the garden, she stamped in the snow, reaching down and padding some of it together in her hands. "It sticks!" she announced joyously, her ladies laughing at her delight.

"Your Grace," Jessika offered, "would you like to make a snowman?"

"A what?"

"A man made from snow. We can roll his body together, find some stones for his eyes."

Nothing could have made Rey happier. She immediately began clumping the snow together, accepting help as they all gradually made it into a man that came about to her waist. After stones had been found for the eyes and sticks attached for arms, Rey grinned and made two protrusions that stuck out the side of the head at a straight angle. Turning to her ladies, she gestured to it with a broad grin. "May I present: his Grace, the Prince of Wales."

They all dissolved into titters of laughter, hands covering their cold-reddened cheeks. That was, until one of them in the back abruptly went pale, laughter dying in her throat as her eyes fixed on something behind Rey.

Rey felt the presence almost at the same moment that her lady saw it. Oh, God's teeth.

"Husband!" she said cheerfully, spinning and deftly skipping sideways to try and block his view of the snowman. She was trying to bite the inside of her cheeks to stop from smiling too broadly, but it was proving a challenge. "What brings you here?"

"On my way to the training yard," he said evenly, which should have been obvious from the sword at his waist and the fully armed escort of men that he was walking with. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," she said immediately, feeling her face turn pink.

"Wife."

"Nothing!"

Leaning down, he bodily lifted her up and a foot over, revealing the offending pile of snow behind her.

For a long moment, everyone was absolutely silent as he circled around and looked at it, face blank. Rey could feel her ladies' anxiety rolling off them, mindful of his famous pride and tantrums.

Abruptly, Ren made a small noise at the back of his throat, one that might have been a growl. But it happened again, and again, and his shoulders started to lightly shake; to the obvious shock of everyone present, he started to laugh, covering his eyes with a hand as the sound boomed out, deep and resonant.

When he finally stopped, he looked back at Rey, eyebrows raised. "If you planned to make an imitation of me, you could at least have given it a big prick as well."

She could feel her blush and the grin stretching across her face, but she made a scoffing noise. "And allowed your ego to grow even larger? No, good sir, I think not."

Everyone present was now following this conversation with wide eyes. A few of her ladies had even let their mouths fall a little open, as if they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing.

Ren snorted and reached out, cupping the back of Rey's head with his palm. Drawing her close, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Relieved, she leaned against his chest.

It was a mistake to let her guard down. As soon as he felt her relax, he deftly swiped a handful of snow off the snowman and stuffed it down the back of her cloak. She immediately twisted and yelped loudly, clawing at the back of her own neck as the snow slipped down her back. He merely stepped back and laughed again, pointing a finger towards her ladies in a mockery of sternness. "Don't let her stay out here for too long."

In a few brisk steps, he was back to walking towards the training yard, his men shuffling along behind him. Rey, meanwhile, continued to stamp her feet and make outraged noises, still trying to stop the trickle of freezing drops down her skin. Jessika shook herself out of her reverie first, stifling her giggles and stepping forward to replace Rey's now-soaked furs with her own cloak.

The rest of her ladies, meanwhile, stayed where they were. Rooted to the ground, all they could do was share astounded looks between them, as if the risen Christ himself had just stepped forward and announced his preference for candied plums.

Author's Notes:

Medieval pregnancy! Oh, what an adventure. Weird advice abounded (just as it does now, to be fair). I've seen a few saint's medallions for birth, along with something that was marked down in the museum as "St. Anne's Girdle". They speculated that it was meant to be worn during childbirth, what with her being the patron saint of mothers. Thank everything sane and holy for modern obstetrics.

Technically, a pregnancy wasn't considered "real" until a quickening (feeling the baby move). But this new regime is in deep need of some good news, so I don't think it's that odd that they would announce a little early.

Oh, and before you go thinking that it's not realistic that she got knocked up so quickly, take a moment to consider that I have these two actually moving slower than their historical counterparts. Henry VII and Elizabeth of York had their first son nine months after the wedding. Wedding night baby, much?