After a week in the castle, both Sansa and Jon had found a little routine. Jon had been meeting with the small council, to get a feel for the politics in the South, and Dany had asked for his advice now on a few occasions. Sansa spent some time in court, socializing, but she hated it, and only looked forward to the times she had with her family. Her and her children spent hours exploring the library and gardens. They sometimes spent evenings together, on the balcony, Jon reading to Kyria and Sansa and Aden playing with puzzles or games at the table, listening to the sound of the city below.

Daenerys assured them the army was continuing forward, but the retaking of Winterfell was still a few weeks away. And so the Starks made a home in the Red Keep, and found happiness in their own ways.

Sansa awoke in the middle of the night a few days later to a sharp pain in her belly. She sat up so suddenly it startled Jon awake. She recognized the pain immediately, on some level, but didn't want to admit to it.

"Jon." she said, her voice thick with terror. He reached for her, as she threw aside the blankets. The pain was contractions, she knew it was, she'd been in labor with Kyria nearly two days years before, and she was familiar with the sensations.

They came fast, sharp and hot, and thick blood was pooling between her legs. She cried out as another contraction seized her, and she felt lightheaded as she looked at the red spilling from her. She felt bile rising in her stomach.

Jon moved quickly, jumping out of bed and running to call for a maester. His voice, to Sansa, seemed so far away, and her vision grew cloudy and hazy. She began to say his name again, but it came out as a weak whimper. Her body was betraying her.

She felt hands on her again, Jon catching her as she slumped, limp, back towards the wall.

"Sansa." he said, shaking her. Her eyes widened, and she tried to focus on him. "Sansa, look at me." he urged her. "You're fine, darling, you're fine, you're going to be fine."

She grew limper still, and made a soft noise of protest as another contraction hit her. Jon was shaking. It was another moment where he couldn't fight this off. He couldn't wield a sword against this sort of threat. And he was scared.

In her head, Sansa was screaming. She felt herself fading, and she thought for sure, this was it. She was done, she was dying, she couldn't even hold her children for a last time.

The pain was fading. The contractions had finished, but she could feel the blood still pouring out of her. It was coming too fast.

Sansa was getting paler, the blood gone from her cheeks, from her lips. With what little strength she had left she gripped at Jon's arm. She began to close her eyes.

"Sansa!" he cried. "Stay with me, wake up, Sansa, look at me. You're fine, you're fine, darling. Look at me."

Her eyes fluttered for a moment, and she could feel herself slipping away. The last thing she saw was his face, terror stricken and covered in tears.

The maester and his aide pushed Jon aside, and he fell against the table, watching them go to work. He stared, dumbfounded, his heart racing.

He glanced up, and saw Aden, standing at the open door, watching everything with wide tear filled eyes. He seemed frozen, locked in place.

It took him a moment, but then he was across the room, gathering Aden in his arms. He wanted so badly to comfort his son, to hold him close and reassure him it was going to be okay. But it wasn't, it didn't feel okay. So he sunk to the floor, leaning against the cool stone wall, holding Aden. Aden was trembling, but silent.

"She's sick." he whispered to his father, looking up at his face. He'd never seen him cry, not that he could remember. His father was the bravest person in the world, he thought. Everyone told him about the battles he fought, how strong he was, how the North was better with him there.

"Papa." he said, nudging Jon's face. Jon finally looked down, seemingly just realizing he was there. "We are wolves." he reminded him.

Jon had said this line over and over again to Aden, to comfort him when he had bad dreams, to toughen him when he fell or got hurt. 'Wolves are brave, and strong, and fearless. And we are wolves.' he would tell him. And it always made Aden feel better, safer. So he tried to return the favor.

Jon laughed, a watery empty sound.

"That's right." he said.

Aden didn't move his hand off his father's face, but instead kept looking at him with concern.

"It's okay." he said, gently. Jon pressed his forehead against Aden's, nodding.

A woman ran in, past the pair, and up to the bed. Jon had heard the word 'midwife' muttered, and assumed this must be her. She began barking orders at the maester, calling for a dozen different things all at once. Jon watched her move Sansa, and horror sunk into the pit of his stomach as Sansa seemed to move like a limp, lifeless doll.

The maester produced a small bottle from the satchel he carried with him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and the midwife nodded.

"It's the only thing we can do."

Jon stood, lifting Aden. He clutched onto his son like a lifeline, watching them work.

"Lord Stark." the midwife repeated, and he realized she'd been addressing him. She held Sansa's face with one hand, and the potion with the other. "I said, if we administer this, there's a chance she may never have children again."

"I don't care." he said, gruffly. "Do what you must, don't let her-" he trailed off, not wanting to speak life to the word. She nodded, and opened Sansa's mouth, pouring in the liquid. She snapped her fingers, and the maester handed her another bottle. After she waited a few counts, she followed with the second potion.

"When I wake her, with this one." she held up a final, third bottle. "She will be in quite a lot of pain for a time. But it's the only way to stop her bleeding. By morning, she'll be weak, but she'll be alive."

"Fine." Jon said sharply, urgently. He needed to see her eyes again, see the life behind them.

A moment after the potion had been poured down her throat, Sansa gasped awake. Jon's knees nearly buckled beneath him, and if he hadn't caught himself on the bed post, he was sure he would have fallen from the weight of relief.

But she wasn't out of the woods yet. Just like the midwife said, she cried out in pain, reaching for something to grab onto.

"Oh, dearie." the midwife sighed, gently smoothing Sansa's hair.

"Someone take Aden." Jon said, turning around.

"No!" Aden said. "Let me stay with mama." he urged his father. Jon considered this for a moment, and then set him down on the bed. Aden crawled over to her, as she rolled over onto her side, curling into the fetal position. Tears were running down her face, but she smiled through them at her son.

"Come here, my baby." she said, holding her arms out. He settled beside her, taking her hand. Jon saw his chin tremble, and then harden. She looked up at Jon, her eyes barely open now. "Jon, please, stay with me."

He joined them on the bed. The room smelled like blood. Sansa was crying in earnest now. Jon swallowed, and like his son, forced himself to put on a brave face.

"Can we move her?" Jon asked after a while, to the maester. "At least to the other side of the bed." he said, indicating the fact that Sansa was laying, crying, in a pool of rapidly drying blood.

"Aye." he said.

Once she was moved, and changed, Sansa held her son to her chest, tears spilling onto his nightshirt. He continued to comfort her, petting her hair and face like he'd seen her father do to his sister so many times.

"We're okay, mama." he kept repeating. "We are wolves."