AN: Hey guys, probably just about through with this story. I have a couple more chapters left, but it'll definitely be more of a timehopping exploration than anything in depth. Enjoy!
An Epilogue, In parts.
3 months later
Sansa sat in the washroom, looking down at her fingers as she calculated the weeks that had gone by since she'd bled last. For a moment, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope, but pushed it away. The midwife, back in King's Landing, had told her, typically the potion would destroy any chance of conceiving.
She looked down at her belly, and at the familiar bowing of her uterus. She'd seen it, 3 times before, and each time she'd been correct. It all began to add up, what she assumed was a nasty stomach flu had been morning sickness. The mood swings...all of it.
Joy bloomed in her chest, this time, she allowed it. However small the chances, she'd broken them. She figured the gods had given her enough suffering for a lifetime, and now had sent her a gift.
She scrambled from the chamber pot, pulling up her unspotted underclothes. She gathered her skirt, and tied it as fast as she could. She ran from the room, and outside, into the breezeway. She thought, for a moment, where he might be. Then, nearly slipping on the ice, she ran down the stairs, and across the courtyard. She had no time to be dignified. Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest.
She crashed into the office, nearly bubbling over with giddy screams. Jon jumped, and swore, turning round. He saw the look on her face, and his eyes lit up.
"What is it?"
"A baby." she said, her voice thick with emotion. She threw herself at her, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm pregnant, Jon."
"What?" he said, laughing nervously in some disbelief. He pulled back, placing his hands on either side of her head, searching her eyes for any sort of irony or joke. Instead, he saw tears of happiness, tears of relief. "You're serious." he said softly, and then smiled. "Sansa, are you serious?"
She nodded, beaming, her face nearly split in two from the force of the smile. She laughed again, and put a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle herself.
"I can't believe it." he said softly. Then he reached for her, picking her up, and spun her, before setting her on the edge of the wide desk, covering her face in kisses.
"We'll feast, tonight." he said. "I'll have them ring the bells, and make as much lemon cake as you can possibly eat without bursting."
She giggled, nodding, and brushed the tears off his cheeks. She couldn't remember a time he looked this happy. Jon was often very good at hiding his emotions, but when it came to the love of his children, he was as open a book as any.
6 months later
Sansa was in a screaming fit as the contractions hit her, her belly swollen above the blankets. She was immense, sure that this child would break her in half. The midwife was between her legs, urging her to push, and Jon was holding her head, mopping her face up with a cool rag.
With a final push, she felt a release, and then a cry of a child. She began to cry as well, reaching for the baby, but the midwife made a nervous sound, and handed the child to an aide.
"What?" Jon asked. The baby looked smaller than he thought it would, especially with the size Sansa had grown too, bigger than she had been with Aden or Kyria.
"There's another child." she said, sighing, and poking her head lower. "Twins, the first a girl, and this one a boy, by the looks of it. He's breach, though."
"Twins?" Sansa screamed, looking up at Jon. "You said he was just larger..." she began, but was interrupted by the force of another contraction.
"I was incorrect." the midwife said with a small, nervous laugh. "And my dear, you'll have to push again."
Sansa made a soft noise of protest, falling back against the pillows.
"Come on, Sansa." Jon took her, squeezing her hand as tight as he dared. "You know you can do this."
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing with determination. She looked back to the midwife, and leaned forward.
"Push as hard as you can, with breach, it may be even harder than you ever have before." she said. Sansa gripped Jon's arm, and shut her eyes. She leaned forward as she did, and cried out. She screamed for what seemed like an eternity, and then, another stronger release. The midwife laughed, and there was a smack, and the cry of another baby. With all the screaming and crying of the infants, the room had become a complete cacophony. The aide had finished washing and swaddling the first baby, a tiny little girl. She handed it to Jon, who felt his knees buckle with emotion as he took her. He bent, holding her out to Sansa.
"Gods." she said, with a small hiccup. "She's beautiful."
The child had a patch of white blonde hair, and opened her eyes to reveal clear blue beauties.
"She'll look like her aunt, I expect." he said, putting their daughter into Sansa's arms.
"Hello, my sweet little girl." Sansa cooed, kissing her face.
Then, their son. As opposite as his sister as could be. His hair dark, and eyes black, like Jon's.
"Serena." Sansa said, looking down at her daughter. "And him, Jon, what for him?"
"What about Bennard?" he offered, an old family name. "Ben for short?"
She thought for a moment, and then nodded, grinning.
The door open, and Aden and Kyria ran in. She climbed onto the bed, to look at their new siblings.
"Two?" Kyria asked, looking at her father. "We got two?"
"That happens, sometimes." he said. Aden peered over, at the tiny Serena.
"She's little." he whispered.
"Yes, she is very little." Sansa said. "You were once this little too, you know."
"I will keep them safe." he vowed, and Jon and Sansa exchanged smiles. Such bravery for a little boy of 7.
"It smells funny in here." Kyria sighed, settling beside her mother.
"Childbirthing is a messy business, I'm afraid." Sansa agreed.
"I'll never do it." Kyria vowed. Sansa laughed, and took Ben from Jon's hands, looking down at him in awe. "I'll be like aunty Arya, or aunty Dany." Kyria continued.
"If that's what you wish, my darling, so be it." Jon said, ruffling her dark curls. "But I can assure you, there's hardly a better feeling than having your own children."
She rolled her eyes.
"Papa, I'm 4." she said.
"Four going on 75." Sansa laughed, kissing Kyria's forehead.
"Okay, mummy needs to rest now." Jon said, ushering the pair out of the room. Sansa gave him a grateful look, as the high of meeting her children was fading and the post-labor exhaustion was setting in. She settled into the bed comfortably, after the midwife and nurses bound her up, and put the babies in their bassinets.
She fell asleep, so grateful for her life, her children, and Jon by her side.
After the birth of Ben and Serena, came another pregnancy, and then finally, her 6th baby. After the twins, another boy, named Rodrick, and finally, due to her incessant insisting and complaining ("I can't believe you can't be bothered to name at least one of the many children you're producing after your only sister"), the youngest was named Arya, after her aunt. Rodrick looked exactly like Aden, and became his little shadow, usually following him everywhere he went as soon as he could walk. And then, Little Arya, could easily be mistaken as a carbon copy of her mother, with the same ginger hair and blue eyes.
It seemed that the potion hadn't ruined her chances for conceiving, but somehow, improved them, as she couldn't stop having babies. And like Sansa had imagined, so many years before, she walked across the courtyard of Winterfell, her belly round with child, and her other children following her, shouting and playing.
Alys and Sansa had grown close, and Alys was finally pregnant as well. The sisters in law were hardly apart, usually looking after the brood of Stark children. Aden the leader, more like Robb everyday, Kyria the copious bookworm, Ben stubborn and sullen like his father, Serena as incredibly beautiful as any of them, with a soft and gentle countenance, Rodrick usually at Aden's heels, and Arya, with a fierce energy and rugged tomboyish quality.
If Winterfell's walls had eyes, it probably couldn't tell much difference to the Starks now, as it had looked so many years before, in the courtyard, the happy family running, playing, and living well within their home.
Jon and Sansa aged as well, Jon's hair going completely salt and pepper, his eyes getting wrinkles at their corners and on his forehead, which crumpled when he was deep in thought. Sansa, becoming slightly plumper, her hips wider and breasts fuller, but also happier. With all her family around her, was when she felt best, the safest.
All was well in Winterfell, as the children grew. Sansa and Jon were much reminded of their own childhood, and many times in the great hall or around the hearth at night, they were completely blissful.