Months later
The North had thawed, and despite the place beyond the wall still being a tundra, Winterfell was now surrounded with newly green rolling hills. The forests filled up with game, and nobody was hungry.
Sansa was round and warm with child. She spent much more time outside now, tending to the gardens, feeding the chickens, or just sitting on a turret, watching the quiet countryside. When she walked through the courtyard, she could imagine doing the same several years from now, just as pregnant, but with a mess of children running about her feet. But now, she walked alone, in the quiet, just resting her hands on her belly.
She was getting close, she realized, as she had to make two tries to make it to the top step of the staircase she was climbing.
"How big is that thing?" a voice asked in astonishment from behind her. Sansa turned, glaring at her sister, who laughed.
"Pretty big." Sansa admitted. "Also, that's quite rude."
Arya giggled again, then ducked beside her sister, and gave her a hand to the top of the stairs.
Sansa groaned, uncomfortable.
"Why don't you just have it already?" Arya asked.
"One, it doesn't work like that." Sansa said, walking towards the end of the hall. Arya followed her. "Two, I want Jon to be here."
"To see you screaming and covered in blood?" Arya asked. "Yeah...yeah he'll love that."
"He is a bit past due." Sansa frowned. "I feel like I've been pregnant for ages."
"You have." Arya said. The sisters leaned against the wall, and looked out over the rolling hills. Mist gathered in the lower parts of the land. Arya sat her head in her hands, and smiled over at Sansa.
"You're so pretty, Arya." Sansa said. "Your hair is growing out again, you should let it down."
"Sansa." Arya sighed, rolling her eyes.
"Really!" Sansa said, and reached for a lock of Arya's hair. Arya smacked her away, and Sansa laughed.
"You'll never be the lady we wanted you to be." Sansa sighed. Arya shot her a look. "And I'm perfectly happy that way, Arya." Sansa said, her voice defensive. "I'm proud of you, for being stronger than me. I couldn't have done what you did."
"Mostly because you don't look anything like a boy." Arya sighed. "And I couldn't do what you did either, Sansa. I would have killed that Ramsay the moment he crossed my path, and end up hung for it I'm sure."
"I probably should have." Sansa said, raising a brow.
"Banners!" Arya cried, pointing at the hill beside the castle, where the small party had just crossed.
"He's home." Sansa sighed, relieved.
Arya squinted, watching the banners in the distance grow closer.
"And right as you got to the top, too." Arya said, mocking pity.
Sansa glared at her, and then turned, going back to the staircase. She swept around the corner, and down the steps with as much grace as possible.
She reached the courtyard just as the doors of Winterfell were pulled open. She could hardly contain her excitement, and she bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet. She waited, searching for Jon in the faces of those who rode through the gates. She felt panic in her belly as she didn't see him on the backs of the horses. She ran to the guard closest to her, reaching for his horse.
"Where's Jon?" she asked.
"Oh, m'lady-" the guard said, looking down nervously and then dismounting. She stepped back, waiting, her brow bunched up in horror.
"He just had a fall from his horse...he's in the carriage at the rear."
Before he could explain further, Sansa was running through the horses, slipping in the mud. She saw the carriage, and tore in between the last two horses, and pushed up to the door.
"Oh gods, I told them not to tell you." Jon moaned from the darkness of the carriage.
She growled in frustration, and crawled in. The only light was coming in through the open door. She moved towards him, and then heard him cry out in pain, causing her to jump.
"My leg, Sansa." he sighed. "I broke it."
"How?" she demanded, reaching for his hands.
"I know." he grunted, and she felt him shift. "Made it through three battles and a death, and then break my leg falling off a horse."
"Oh, darling." Sansa said, smiling at him. "We can be bedridden together."
"After the trip I had," he sighed. "That sounds like heaven came for me early."
She stepped out, waving over a couple of stewards.
"No!" he said stubbornly. "You are not carrying me out."
"Jon-" Sansa began to protest.
He swore, and then was pulling himself out of the carriage. He landed on one foot, the other leg tightly splinted. He reached back inside for the makeshift cane he had with him.
"You're more stubborn than a Dornish Ox." Sansa said.
"I'm fine, Sansa." he said, finishing it.
"C'mon, I can teach you to embroider." she said, taking his free arm and guiding him towards the house. He groaned, but was smiling.
Sansa awoke a few nights later, to a sharp pain in her belly and then a flood of water between her legs.
She reached for Jon, but then was rocked by a heavy contraction, and squeaked in pain. Her fist tightened around his arm, and he turned, muttering her name.
"Time." she gasped. "It's time."
"You alright?" he asked, sitting up as Sansa continued squeezing his arm in pain.
She shook her head.
"It's not exactly pleasurable." she hissed through clenched teeth. "Maester. And send for the midwife."
He stood, flinching in pain, and made his way to the door to call for a nearby steward.
Within a few minutes, the maester was there, as well as a couple handmaidens with the midwife on her way. The bed was stripped and re-made, there was a stack of clean towels beside it, and a copper tub of water being warmed beside the fireplace.
Sansa was nervously braiding and rebraiding her hair as she sat on the bed. The contractions were strong, and getting close together faster than she thought. She was in between a pair, and the anxiety waiting for the next one was making her skin crawl.
"Is this normal?" she asked the maester, reaching for the sleeve of his robe. "I read it could take hours, but they're so close together."
"Aye, it's normal, my dear. Especially for your first child. I expect as soon as Cliara gets here, you'll be ready to start." he said in his usual calm voice.
Sansa's eyes widened with panic, right as her body was overtaken by another contraction. She cried out, as it shot up her spine and then around her ribs. She tried to take a deep breath, but expanding her lungs only seemed to deepen the pain. She closed her eyes, moving as little as possible, waiting for the pain to subside.
She felt a cool hand on her face, the rough calloused fingers familiar on her skin.
As she eased away from the contraction, she opened her eyes slowly. Her head was foggy, but the relief from the pain was welcome.
"You're alright." Jon said softly. He was smiling, slightly, and seemed completely oblivious to the other people in the room. "You can do this."
He was standing beside her, balanced on his good leg and teetering on the splint.
"If you don't sit down, your leg is never going to heal." Sansa said, trying to glare at him.
"You're not very intimidating when you're in such pain." he joked with her, and won a glimmer of a grin.
"You don't have to be here." Sansa said to him. "You could go wake Arya."
"And I'm sure she'd be such a comfort." he said dryly.
"Well, I don't want you to feel obligated-"
"Quiet." he said, kissing her on the forehead. "End of discussion."
She nodded.
"Here." he said, moving her forward a bit and sitting behind her. "Let me do this."
He unbraided her loose red locks, and began to braid it from the top of her head. He carefully folded them around one another, chewing on his bottom lip as he worked. He was nearly done when he felt her muscles tighten, and he let the braid fall. Sansa was clutching her stomach, so he reached around and put his hands on top of hers. She clutched at his forearm, and curled to the side. He let her fall into a lying position, and helped her settle into his lap, resting mostly on his good leg.
There were tears on her face when it ended. He smoothed her face and neck, and she closed her eyes. She could feel the inevitable on it's way. The child was moving, and wanted out. As determined and fearsome as it's father and mother.
Through the door walked the midwife, Cliara, who rushed to Sansa's other side. She reached for a towel, and dabbed it across Sansa's forehead.
"Much faster than you'd think, isn't it, m'lady?" Cliara asked in her usual good-humored manner. "Sorry m'lord, she might hurt you if she's on your legs like that." she ushered him away, and she seemed fine with him leaning beside the frame.
Sansa felt like she wanted to run and hide, or break down into tears. But that feeling was one she was familiar with, and she'd long learned to bear it. So she swallowed, and sat up straighter, and clenched her jaw.
Jon saw her fists tightening around the blankets, and saw her lips straighten.
"Sansa, don't worry about being proper right now." Jon said, leaning down. "You have nobody to hide from."
She nodded, and tried to relax. But as soon as she let herself, she felt the tears springing back into her eyes. With every beat of her heart, it brought her that much closer to the pain.
He pressed her head against his, thumbing away the tears as they fell.
She had him to hold onto as she screamed into the night.