Epilogue
The first year of marriage passed in a blink of an eye. Establishing Northern independence was one thing, but making the North thrive in that independence was the challenge that faced Queen Sansa Stark. It was a burden made easier by the support of her husband and Prince Consort. While Tyrion's interest in politics and playing the game of thrones hadn't returned to what it was and likely never would, he was a more than capable lord and Prince.
Sansa had been careful to ease Tyrion into his duties gradually, letting him rebuild his confidence with the small folk before involving him more in the higher-level politics, but he took to both with ease – as she'd known he would. The lords of the North could have no complaint about their Prince and Sansa liked to think many now saw beyond Tyrion's past and accepted him for who he'd chosen to be.
It wasn't long after the first anniversary of their marriage that Sansa realised she was with child. The event was as thrilling as it was terrifying. Sansa wasn't immune to the rumours that she was barren after a year of marriage and as much as she longed for children, the absence of her mother was felt more keenly than ever.
"Hello little wolf," said Tyrion, brushing his fingers over her swollen stomach six moons into her pregnancy. "Are you comfortable in there?"
"They have plenty of room," said Sansa. "If I get any bigger we'll need an extra bed."
"I'm happy to sleep elsewhere if you need to spread."
Sansa pouted, making him laugh. "No, little wolf and I want you in bed with us."
Tyrion pulled the covers over them, settling down on his side next to her. "Then that is where I'll stay, but the bed is getting rather crowded."
Having seen her mother's pregnancies, Sansa had some idea of what to expect at this point, but the size of her stomach was ridiculous enough to be embarrassing. Turning in the bed was a challenge and poor Tyrion struggled to get close to her at all.
It had taken time, but after their first night together Sansa's fear of bedding had begun to change to curiosity. It hadn't hurt at all with Tyrion – it had felt wonderful. Since then, her sweet husband had taken the lead in educating her. It was awkward for both but in different ways. Despite his reputation with women, Tyrion was unusually shy about letting a woman explore his body when he wasn't paying them to be kind. Sansa's insecurity was similar but rooted more deeply in fear than shame. Tyrion was a patient teacher, encouraging her to follow her instincts when they joined and try what she liked with him. He'd even shown her how women could take the lead, and Sansa's confidence grew tenfold when he first taught her how to be on top. Many men wouldn't like it, she thought, but Tyrion wasn't insecure in that way and insisted he enjoyed the nights when she took control.
In all the ways they knew each other, physically had been the biggest challenge but over a year of marriage they'd become comfortable with it. Reaching to each other for comfort when nightmares and worries came was as natural as breathing.
Sansa thought it was the intimacy in all areas that finally allowed her to conceive. A child would change things, but Sansa was hopeful it would only bring her and her husband even closer together.
"Have you been thinking about names again?" asked Tyrion.
"It's a lot harder than I thought. Especially since you voided my suggestion of Tyrion."
"A sweet thought my dear, but if we have a boy they will be King – they need a King's name. What about Robb?"
"I'd like to honour my family in the names," she said, "but I'm not sure I'm ready. A fresh start might be better."
"There are plenty of previous Stark generations to look to for inspiration," he said, lying his good hand on her side. "It could be a girl – what name would you like then?"
She bit her lip, considering. "That's even harder. If we only have a daughter they will be Queen."
"We could have a little Sansa."
Sansa scrunched her nose. "Maybe not."
"You were rather enthusiastic for a little Tyrion."
"I see your point. Perhaps we won't name our first son or daughter after us."
"Agreed, though I see you're keeping the option open for the future."
"Never say never, my love."
He smiled, rubbing her side fondly. This life had seemed unimaginable in her youth when the Joffreys and Ramsays of the world stole everything from her. She knew Tyrion felt it too. Almost two years had passed since he was a prisoner in Kings Landing and he'd healed far better than anyone believed he would, apart from her – she always knew he had the strength to heal. His golden hair had grown out, though Tyrion still kept it far shorter than he used to. Rebuilding his endurance had been the biggest challenge but that had greatly improved as he became more active in the castle. Arya had played a role in that too – insisting on teaching him to use a dagger in his left hand before she left for her explorations. A pang went through her chest as she thought of her sister and then Jon. They'd both remained in Winterfell for a few months after the marriage but Jon had taken Drogon beyond the Wall then, and Arya left to find what lay west of Westeros soon after.
Since then it had just been her and Tyrion, and for the last six moons their growing little wolf. Sansa reached for Tyrion, running her hand through his curly golden hair.
"I hope our little wolf is as golden as you," she said.
Tyrion drew in a breath in mock horror. "What about my little red wolf?"
"Too late, I've given our child specific instructions."
Tyrion lifted the covers to address her bump. "No, no, my sweet. You're a little red wolf – just like your mother."
Sansa laughed, enjoying the closeness with her husband. Their evenings in bed were one of her favourite times of the day. Things would change when their baby arrived, but she hoped this didn't. This would be a new experience for both of them without anyone to turn to for guidance. Sansa had confessed to Tyrion a few times how she wished her mother was here to help her and she suspected that was why Tyrion was trying to hide his insecurities. It didn't quite work – she could see he was nervous to become a father, though Sansa was certain he would be a great one.
Shuffling at the bottom of the bed drew both of their attention, only to find Gerry with his paws on the bottom. Jenny stood next to him, her red coat bright and fluffy.
"Absolutely not," said Tyrion. "This bed is crowded enough without you two joining us."
Gerry tilted his large head to one side as if considering his master's words. Both direwolves had grown large over the last year and a half, though they maintained large heads and gangly limbs. Jenny was more graceful than Gerry, who didn't seem to understand he'd outgrown cuddling with Tyrion.
Gerry whined, wandering around to his master's side of the bed and nudging his nose against him.
"Aww," said Sansa, "poor Gerry wants some love."
Tyrion rolled his eyes playfully. "I suppose I can indulge him."
As he turned to appease his wolf, Sansa managed to lie on her back and reach out for Jenny. The red wolf was a calm, soothing presence – reminding her of her mother in some ways.
Sansa rubbed her stomach, thinking of her growing child. Three moons would pass quickly, and there would be a new Prince or Princess of the North.
It was one of Tyrion's favourite drawings. As much as he enjoyed the practice of drawing, he still saw his art as amateur at best, despite how often Sansa told him they were excellent. His wife was ultimately biased towards him, but on this particular piece, Tyrion saw some goodness in it. It helped that Sansa was such an inspiring subject for his art. While he generally stuck to things he saw around the castle, the birds at the window or the direwolves, he couldn't resist attempting Sansa in her pregnancy.
The Queen's pregnancy had taken a toll on her, with severe sickness early on and the size of her pregnant belly making her self-conscious, but Tyrion thought she looked stunning. The Queen practically glowed in her pregnancy and Tyrion had tried to capture that in this drawing. With only a moon to go before their child arrived, Tyrion thought it might be nice to give to Sansa as a gift for these last few weeks – some small token for her to recall her first pregnancy by, and how beautiful he thought she looked throughout.
He sat back in his chair, checking over the drawing for anything he might have missed. Life was busy now but drawing was such a calming practice. A chance to pull his mind from the insecurities or memories that intruded on him throughout the day – and Sansa encouraged him to draw. According to his lovely wife it was quite the turn-on.
Tyrion brushed his fingers lightly over Sansa's baby bump in the sketch. In a few weeks, he would be a father. The last year and a half of marriage with Sansa had been nothing but bliss. Day by day, Sansa had opened up to him, growing in confidence and seeking his comfort freely. She was a formidable woman, and her constant care and attention had transformed him from the beaten, broken creature of Kings Landing into a Stark of Winterfell. The Prince Consort of the North and lord of Winterfell. What might have become of him without Sansa's care? It wasn't a future he liked to dwell on. His life was in Winterfell and soon there would be a little wolf joining them.
Since Sansa told him of the pregnancy, with tears in her eyes and a broad smile on her face, he'd passed through every possible emotion towards it; excitement, joy, worry, insecurity and a looming fear that he would lose Sansa. That was the biggest fear that dogged him and the only one he wouldn't share with Sansa. In fact, the only person he'd shared it with was Godwin.
"You were around when I was born," asked Tyrion, pouring wine for both him and the captain. "Tell me honestly, did I kill my mother?"
The old captain's face darkened. "You did not, though that lie was often repeated by many who should have known better. I'm not surprised Cersei picked up on it, given how often it was repeated around Casterly Rock."
"You can't know I didn't kill her."
"Are newborn babes capable of killing?"
"I was hideously deformed, that's what killed her."
Godwin sighed, taking a large gulp of wine. "My Prince, I fear you're asking questions I can't entirely answer. I wasn't captain when you were born though I was heavily involved in Casterly Rock."
"I've no one else to ask," said Tyrion, leaning forward in his chair. "You know the Queen is carrying my child – you can understand why I want to know."
Sympathy passed through the captain's eyes and he sank back in the chair. "To start with, you were not hideously deformed. You were different from other babes – smaller. Your arms and legs were particularly short and your head a little large, but many of the servants thought you rather sweet and despite Cersei telling everyone of her monstrous new brother, nearly everyone who saw you was unimpressed."
"I ripped my mother apart."
Godwin lifted an eyebrow. "You're clever enough to know that's not true. Your mother bled out, but until she gave birth her pregnancy was no different than any other woman's. The Maester and the wet nurses agreed with Tywin's version of events – that it was your fault – but Gods be good, anybody with sense knew that wasn't true. Many women die in childbirth, no matter what the child looks like…"
The conversation had been little comfort to Tyrion, but at the same time, Godwin had told him nothing he didn't already know. Rationally, he'd always known it wasn't his fault Joanna Lannister died but the guilt had clung to him anyway. Why would he have wanted to kill the only person who may have offered him love and care? Godwin's memories from that time matched up exactly with what Prince Oberyn had once told him – he was just a baby.
That was how Tyrion tried to think of the child Sansa carried. He already loved the child, but if anything happened to Sansa…would he turn into his father? Losing Sansa would destroy him, and the fear of that possibility haunted him every day as Sansa's pregnancy progressed. It wasn't a fear he could or would share with his wife who was already nervous and in need of support, but it followed him like a shadow anyway.
Sansa was resting on her balcony when she felt a pop, followed by a rush of fluid running down her legs. In the last two weeks of her pregnancy she'd essentially been on bed rest. The sheer size of her swollen stomach made everyday tasks difficult and she'd been struggling to sleep. With Sansa having to rest, her duties had fallen squarely on Tyrion's shoulders, keeping her husband so busy around the castle she barely had chance to enjoy his company, though he'd still found time to surprise her with a lovely sketch of her in her pregnancy.
"For my beautiful wife," he'd said, kissing her cheek as tears filled her eyes. "I know this pregnancy has been hard on you, and I thought this might capture how stunningly perfect I see you as."
The drawing took pride of place on her drawers and the love behind the sketch had touched her. Today, she'd tired of her chambers, however. Sansa had retreated to her balcony for lunch with Tyrion and stayed a little longer when he left to cover her Court session. Jenny kept her company, lying peacefully at her feet.
As the liquid ran between her legs, Sansa froze, first in panic and then realisation. It couldn't be – the baby wasn't due for a fortnight. What had she done wrong? Maester Wolkan had thought everything to be going well but admitted he couldn't feel much because of how large she was.
Sansa pulled in a deep breath of the crisp Northern air and slowly moved to her feet. Liquid soaked her underskirt and dripped onto the ground as she forced her shaky legs to action. Jenny rose too but the direwolf showed no urgency or distress. That was a good thing, wasn't it? Jenny would surely sense if something were wrong. As soon as she stepped through the passage and into the corridor, her guard snapped to attention.
"Your Grace," he greeted.
A wave of unease washed over Sansa. She felt like a child – unsure what to do. "I-I need the Maester, send him to my chambers."
The guard looked her over, understanding dawning in his eyes. Had her voice given it away, or was the damp spreading?
"Of course, your Grace," he said. "I'll have someone help you to your chambers."
"Thank you," she managed. "And Tyrion. I need Tyrion too…"
"Aye, your Grace, the Prince will be told."
There was little difference between Tyrion's Court sessions and Sansa's, other than who attended them. Where he generally dealt more with the small folk and local merchants, Sansa more frequently heard from minor lords and traders. On occasion, they would swap and cover each other's sessions and it always struck Tyrion how similar the issues were. The biggest difference was the cost involved and how important the people thought they were.
Today's session was progressing in the usual manner. Some of the petitioners seemed affronted to be seeing him rather than the Queen, but they wisely didn't voice any such complaints. There had been one such instance not long after they married and Sansa had ordered the merchant be taken from Winterfell. It wasn't a shame that anyone else wanted to experience and Tyrion thought he did a decent enough job that no one could have real cause to complain about him. Besides, if they wanted to complain, the large direwolf at his feet was a good deterrent, not that Gerry paid much attention to the petitioners.
He tried not to slump in his chair as the man before him droned on about some petty squabble with another merchant. Maester Wolkan sat along from him taking notes on the proceedings, but it was the side door opening that caught his attention. A guard hurried in, whispering in the Maester's ear. The Maester stood without a word, hurrying from the Great Hall.
Tyrion's whole body tensed as he saw the Maester leave, but the guard stood waiting to catch his attention next.
"I'm sorry," said Tyrion, cutting off the merchant. "Forgive me a moment."
The guard quickly approached, dropping his voice to a whisper. "The Queen is in labour, my Prince. She asked for you and the Maester."
For a moment, Tyrion forgot the packed Great Hall and expectant petitioners. He almost forgot his own name as the words sunk in. It couldn't be. Sansa wasn't due for nearly two weeks…
Bile crawled up his throat, threatening to choke him as he lurched to his feet. Somehow, he managed to choke out the words. "Apologies to all of you, but I must cut today's session short. Leave your names with Godwin and I will make certain you are seen as soon as possible, but that will not be today."
The Queen's pregnancy was known throughout the North and the lords awaited news of the heir to the Northern throne. It was likely many petitioners would guess at why he and Maester Wolkan had left so abruptly, but in that moment he didn't care. He followed the guard from the room, with Gerry quickly stirring to life at his feet and following. He only glimpsed Godwin's surprised face before he was out of the Great Hall and hurrying to reach Sansa.
Tyrion's injuries had healed far better than anyone ever expected and his endurance had steadily improved too, but racing through Winterfell was still a strain. No amount of strain was enough to slow him, however, as he rushed towards their chambers, peppering the guard with questions in between gasping for breath.
"What happened?"
"The Queen was on the balcony, my Prince. She came out and asked me to send for the Maester and for you."
"You left her?"
"No, my Prince, I stayed with her until I found servants to assist."
"And…you're sure…she's in labour?"
The guard smiled slightly. "I have two daughters, and I remember when they were born. My wife's waters broke, soaking the chair."
Tyrion had read enough about pregnancy in preparing to assist Sansa with hers that he understood the guard was likely correct, but the Maester had predicted Sansa wasn't due this early. Fear bubbled in his chest, split equally between his wife and their unborn child.
The door to their chambers finally came into view, and Tyrion wasn't sure whether the quiet was a positive sign or ominous. The guard took up position guarding the door as he and Gerry burst into the room, his eyes quickly finding his wife. Sweat trickled down his back and he half-limped to the bed, but he was here.
The room was a hive of activity with Maester Wolkan directing two middle-aged women in preparing the Queen. For her part, Sansa looked more like a girl than a woman grown as she lay in the bed, one hand resting carefully on her stomach.
"Sansa," he called, hurrying to her side of the bed. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, my love, I'm fine." She gave a watery smile. "Our little wolf wants to come early."
"Is that so? I don't recall that being our agreement – they were to give you an easy, stress-free pregnancy."
Sansa reached for his hand, her blue eyes bright but unsettled. "You'll stay, won't you?"
At that Maester Wolkan lifted his head. "Your Grace, childbirth isn't something usually witnessed by the father."
"It will be in this case," said Tyrion. "I've never understood why men didn't want to see it. The process of bringing a new life to the world is fascinating."
"I say it only because most men lack the stomach for it and have no interest in the process, as well as being little help to their wives," said Wolkan, lifting an eyebrow. "You may be the exception."
One of the servants brought a chair to Sansa's side of the bed and Tyrion almost fell into it. "I will do whatever I can to help my lovely wife through this, and I can assure you Maester, my stomach is quite strong enough for this."
"Certainly, Prince Tyrion."
Sansa giggled lightly, lacing her fingers around his damaged hand. The damned thing was mostly curled in but daily exercises allowed him some slight twitch of movement and Sansa always liked holding that hand, telling him once it was because he couldn't let go.
"Now my dear," said Tyrion, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Let's get ready to meet our little wolf."
Sansa feared her view of childbirth was rose-tinted. She recalled the birth of her younger siblings and her mother's happy glow as she introduced them to the new babes, but looking back she wasn't sure how her mother managed it. Was there exhaustion in her face too that she just hadn't noticed? She didn't remember her mother's stomach swelling to this size with any of her siblings, nor was Catelyn Stark afflicted by such severe symptoms as Sansa had been throughout her pregnancy. The sickness had plagued her for weeks, often leaving her unable to do more than rest while Tyrion covered her duties, and that was before she considered the swelling in her feet, irritability and wolfish appetite when the mood took her. How Tyrion could still look at her with such reverence was a mystery. At no point in her pregnancy had Sansa felt herself glowing. It was mostly a blend of fear and excitement, coupled with insecurity over the huge changes to her body.
"You're stunning," said Tyrion, patting her face with a damp cloth. "I'm so proud of you. It takes great courage to have children, even more so when your mother isn't here to guide you through it."
"This isn't how I imagined it," she said softly.
"In what way?"
"I-I thought I'd feel more certain. More in control. I can't even see my feet!"
Tyrion made a show of glancing down the bed. "Hmm. I can assure you that they're still there, just as delicate as ever."
Sansa laughed. "You always know what to say."
"At the very least, I always have something to say." He leaned in, kissing her forehead. "I don't think anyone ever feels in control of these things, but we can make mistakes together."
"My mother always seemed so in control when she was pregnant."
He snorted. "You were the second child, yes? So when you remember your mother's pregnancies you're likely remembering her with Bran and Rickon."
"Yes, especially Rickon – I was fascinated."
"My dear, by the fourth and fifth children I dare say lady Stark was well-practiced at pregnancy. Her nerves and mistakes would have surely been made with you and Robb, though a strong argument could be made for Arya given the way she is."
Sansa blushed slightly, realising the truth in her husband's words. "You're right."
"I'm certain by the time our fourth and fifth are here you'll be just like your mother."
"Planning our own pack, my love?"
"The process is particularly enjoyable…"
The evening passed similarly, with Tyrion wiping the sweat from her forehead as her cramps intensified and lightening her mood with his familiar warmth and humour. Despite the Maester's assurances that the date he'd given them had only been a rough estimation and there was no reason to believe there was anything wrong, Sansa couldn't help but worry. For months, she and Tyrion had spoken to their growing babe, pouring their love and attention into the little life. The idea that something might go wrong and they may not have their baby haunted her every minute as the hour grew later.
Night had long since fallen when Sansa's cramps and pains turned to a need to push. Sansa thought she had a high pain tolerance, particularly after her time with Ramsay, but the ripping and tearing as she pushed brought a cry to her throat and tears to her cheeks.
Tyrion leaned on the bed beside her, having surrendered his damaged hand to her iron grip while stroking her face with the other. Words of comfort tumbled from his lips, but Sansa could see the fear in his green eyes. Tyrion was terrified and so was she – this wasn't how she'd imagined childbirth.
Maester Wolkan was positioned between her legs and the two servants held her still, joining Tyrion in encouraging her, promising the pain was normal and telling her to push.
"I love you," whispered Sansa, clutching Tyrion's hand. "With all my heart, I love you."
"I love you too. You're going to be fine – our little wolf is nearly here."
Somewhere in the pain, there was a natural urge to push and Sansa latched onto it, concentrating on that sensation until a tiny cry broke through the bustle of the room. At the sound, Sansa's pain faded to a secondary concern. Nothing mattered beyond the sound. Tyrion was in a similar state, his eyes wide as he stared at the bottom of the bed, where Maester Wolkan carefully lifted the crying newborn for them to see.
"A son, your Grace," said Wolkan.
Sansa started to smile as she drank in the sight of their new son, but the moment was shattered by a sharp cramping pain in her lower region, followed by the sensation of something tearing. Maester Wolkan noticed immediately, quickly handing the baby to one of the servants. Sansa's heart hammered in her chest. Was this it? Was she to meet the same fate as Tyrion and Jon's mothers? Her husband was frozen, staring at the child as if he'd never seen anything quite like it, but her hand tightening in agony around his soon drew him back to the present.
"The baby," she said her voice breaking. "I want the baby. Tyrion…"
Maester Wolkan was examining between her legs as her battered body gave another lurch, and Sansa glimpsed crimson running on the sheets. Tyrion had seen it too, and pulled his gaze to hers with great difficulty. His normally warm eyes were damp and rimmed in red.
"Sansa…you don't look well…" he said.
"Our son," she repeated, as another cramp took her. "I want him."
"There's something else!" said Maester Wolkan, quickly sending one servant for more supplies. "By the Gods, it's another baby. Push, your Grace, push!"
Panic climbed up Sansa's throat. Could it be? Two babies. The Maester hadn't felt anything during her pregnancy to indicate twins, but she was so large examination had been difficult. She wasn't strong enough to birth another, already she felt faint…
"The baby," she moaned, her eyes locking on her newborn in the servant's arms. "Give him to me."
"Not now," said Wolkan, turning sharply to the servant. "It isn't safe. The Queen must push and I need your help. Give the boy to his father and assist me with the Queen. Quickly!"
Sansa ached to hold her baby boy, but somewhere between the pain and panic she knew the Maester was right. The servant wrapped the crying boy in a blanket and quickly moved to pass him to Tyrion. He hesitated for a long moment, before letting go of her hand to take their son. It was a fast and awkward handover, with Tyrion having no time to adjust before he was left with the baby and the servant moved to assist the Maester.
Tyrion turned immediately to her, struggling to find a comfortable hold on the newborn and likely nervous about his ruined hand.
"Shh, it's alright," said Tyrion, instinctively rocking the baby. "Your mother is right here, I'll show you."
Liquid trickled from between Sansa's legs as the urge to push began to build again. She was so tired. Tyrion was crying as he held their son, and leaned on the bed beside her so she could see. Sansa already missed the security of Tyrion's hand in hers, but their child came first. If she couldn't soothe their son in these first minutes of life then his father should.
The boy's face was scrunched in upset as he cried, but Sansa had never seen anything so perfect. He had only a few wisps of hair, but they were a dark red like hers.
"He's so beautiful," said Sansa. "Hello, my little wolf."
Tyrion smiled tightly. "Our perfect boy. He's not like me."
He said it with great relief, but it wouldn't have mattered to Sansa if the boy shared his father's condition. Sansa's strength ebbed away as the Maester and servants urged her to keep pushing. When had the second servant come back in? She didn't remember that.
Sansa stared at their son as Tyrion tried to comfort him and soothe her. Poor love, struggling to balance his first experience of fatherhood with his fear over her worsening condition. Sansa felt the fear too, even more so as her lower body cramped and pained, but her child's face was a comfort in itself.
The boy's cries lessened as he tired himself out, opening his eyes to allow his mother a single glimpse.
Sansa smiled, lifting a shaky hand to brush the baby's. "He is like you Tyrion. He has your eyes, my love."
Meera didn't bother knocking before entering the King's chambers. When a single raven watched her practicing with Ser Brienne all afternoon and then followed her back to the Red Keep, it was obvious what Bran wanted.
True to form, Bran showed no surprise at her appearance.
"A quiet day?" she asked, taking the seat opposite his wheelchair.
"Nothing urgent," said Bran, "but I've spent so much time seeing through the raven's eyes that I took a break."
"To look through an actual raven's eyes instead?"
He half-smiled. "I see that, but I was in the moment at least."
"An improvement, but you do realise you are King. You may be in a wheelchair but the guards are well-practiced at moving you around. You can always come to the practice yard and see with your own eyes."
"I thought that might be awkward."
Meera sat back in the chair, lifting an eyebrow. "More awkward than being stalked by a raven? Brienne might not notice, but I always know when it's you."
"And that's why you're my Hand."
"Because I notice the bird that doesn't behave like a bird?"
"Because you notice Bran Stark, where others see only the three-eyed raven or the King."
Meera smiled, pleased that Bran continued to uphold his side of their bargain. She wouldn't serve the three-eyed raven, but she would be Hand to Bran Stark, as long as she felt he was there. It was good for Bran too, she thought. The change had been gradual over the past year and a half, but slowly Bran had learned how to separate the three-eyed raven from himself. Bran couldn't live while the Raven spent all his time seeing through his third eye. Balancing both made for a good King and had the added bonus of making Bran a more active presence in the castle. The guards who feared him had warmed to the King. The Council discussed more openly and Bran had strengthened his relationships with its members. Samwell was his most constant companion, but he often spent evenings with Ser Davos, or Bronn if he desired humour. Pod and Brienne were Bran's most regular choices for escorts when he left his chambers but Meera spent the most time with Bran.
All they'd experienced in childhood had formed a bond between them that few could understand. It was an unusual arrangement for there to be a Northern Hand to the King of the six Kingdoms, but Meera found she liked the work and believed that Bran acted for the greater good.
"I wasn't just watching you today," said Bran, a smile pulling at his mouth.
"Who else were you stalking?"
"My sister."
She pulled a face. "Boundaries, Bran. Sansa or Arya?"
"Sansa." He folded his hands in front of them. "Not for long. Just to see the outcome of Sansa's pregnancy."
"And?"
"Boundaries, Meera."
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I know you want to tell me. That's what you've been waiting for, isn't it?"
His smile widened, surprising Meera. While Bran more frequently showed his amusement, it was rare to see a full, genuine smile from him.
"I'll tell you if you like."
"Go on then - I am curious, after all."
"The North's future is secured," he said, his dark eyes brightening, "and I'm now an uncle."
There wasn't a word strong enough to describe the exhaustion that weighed down Tyrion. It seeped into his bones, leaving him drained in body and mind. One glance at the bed told him he shouldn't be complaining of such things. There was an entirely different level of exhaustion that existed and currently plagued Sansa Stark – his brave wife who only hours before he'd feared losing. The Queen in the North who'd given life to not one Prince but two Princes.
Tyrion stretched in the chair, turning his attention to the cradle that for now held both their twin boys. Jenny and Gerry had taken residence near the cradle, after several minutes of staring at the babies, and Tyrion found comfort in their presence. Direwolves were clever – if anything was amiss, the wolves would sense it.
A second cradle had already been ordered and was likely being made even now in the early hours. In preparing for the baby, they'd arranged for a lovely cradle to be made with direwolves carved into the headboard and an intricate pattern of branches stretching outward from the wolf. Tyrion had been pleased with how it turned out, considering he drew the initial designs. Sansa thought it was beautiful, and their second son would have the same, but for now, he shared the cradle with his elder brother – an arrangement that seemed to settle both boys, giving their exhausted parents some rest.
"Are the boys alright, my love?"
Sansa's soft voice startled him, drawing his attention to his wife. The Queen was far too pale for his liking, and her face was lined with exhaustion, but Maester Wolkan insisted she would be fine with rest.
"Resting comfortably," said Tyrion, lightly stroking her cheek as she lay in the bed. Already her eyes were glancing at the cradle, her instinct for their sons already so strong. "You should be resting too, my sweet. The boys are fine, I promise."
"Twins…I still can't believe it."
"That does make sense of how large you were in your pregnancy – there needed to be room for two babies."
Sansa bit her lip. "I should have known. I talked to our baby all the time, but I never felt like there were two."
"Yes, well, I'll be having a serious talk with little Benjen when he wakes up. He seemed to find it amusing to hide behind his big brother and then make his own appearance – a cruel trick indeed."
She smiled. "I think Benjen has your sense of humour. You were so nervous when they passed Eyron to you."
"I was absolutely terrified to be handed such a small, precious thing. My plan was to learn from you, not to be handed our newborn son and left to figure it out. It's a miracle I didn't drop the poor boy."
"You did wonderfully," she said softly.
"Not as well as you," he said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "Your strength amazed me today. I feared I would lose you, but you fought on, bringing our two sons safely into the world."
"I was worried too…there was so much tearing and pulling."
Tyrion grimaced at the memory of Sansa's agony. With Eyron crying in his arms and his wife struggling in the birthing bed, he'd almost missed the arrival of Benjen. Like his brother, their second son had red hair and green eyes, but Benjen was a smaller baby. His cries were so weak when he was born that Tyrion feared the child wouldn't survive. Sansa had insisted on holding him immediately, despite her pains, and the servants had hurried to support her while poor Eyron had to make do with him.
When the Maester had finished cleaning up Sansa and both babies were fed and put to bed, there was finally some time to breathe and process what had happened. He and Sansa were now parents to two. Eyron Stark, their first son and heir. Benjen Stark, their surprise son.
"Your Grace, I beg your forgiveness," said the Maester, his head low. "I considered and dismissed the possibility of twins because I only ever felt one baby on examination, and even then it was difficult to feel Prince Eyron."
It would be easy to blame the Maester, but Tyrion knew that would be unfair. From what he'd researched of pregnancy, Sansa had carried a great deal of water. Enough to make it difficult to feel one child, let alone two.
"There's nothing to forgive," said Sansa shakily drinking some foul-smelling potion that would help her recovery. "I never thought I carried twins."
"I should not have dismissed the idea, given how twins run in Prince Tyrion's family."
"Will Benjen be alright?" asked Tyrion. "He is smaller and doesn't look as well as Eyron."
"That is quite common with twins, my Prince. One tends to be bigger and stronger at birth than the other. The difference will likely even out as they grow, but for now, Prince Benjen will need some careful attention to build him up."
To Tyrion's relief, neither boy shared his condition but both were blessed with their mother's hair. As soon as he saw his sons, he fell in love with them. The difficulty of the birth had terrified him though, despite the Maester's assurances of the reason.
Tyrion leaned on the bed, continuing to brush his thumb over Sansa's cheek. "Are you in much pain now?"
"Some soreness," she said, "nothing like before."
"I hate seeing you in pain."
"All women suffer pains in the birthing bed, my love."
It was, of course, true – but Sansa's pain had gone far beyond the norm. Internal damage and scarring, brought to their attention by the already painful process of birthing.
"Some tearing is perfectly normal, your Grace," explained Wolkan, "but I fear there was existing internal damage that has been aggravated by the birth, causing you such pains."
"Ramsay," she whispered, lowering her eyes. "He liked to cut me…he liked to be rough."
It sickened Tyrion to the bottom of his stomach. Throughout their marriage Tyrion had done his best to help Sansa be comfortable in bed and it was an aspect of their marriage his wife now enjoyed, but Tyrion would never forget Sansa's early amazement that the process didn't hurt her. The Queen had never once complained of pain or discomfort when they joined, but childbirth was a different matter and the process had clearly aggravated old wounds.
Tyrion shifted tiredly in the chair beside the bed, smiling softly at Sansa. "You should rest. I'll watch Eyron and Benjen."
"You need sleep too…I don't think I'll be able to do Court tomorrow…"
"You won't be doing Court for a while. I'll cover your duties as long as necessary, but you will be getting plenty of rest."
Sansa smiled, reaching for his hand. "We're very lucky to have you."
"Not as lucky as I am."
One baby was overwhelming for any new parent, but a difficult labour and two babies was a different level of draining, particularly when there was a kingdom to run. Sansa was certain her mother hadn't spent hours abed after birthing her younger siblings, but Sansa lacked the energy to leave the bed and any attempt caused stabbing pains in her abused lower half.
Tyrion had been nothing but understanding. After staying awake most of the night with them all, he'd finally agreed to rest for a few hours when help arrived for the babies this morning. Yvette had remained Tyrion's faithful servant even after their marriage and in planning how they would care for any children, Tyrion had instantly suggested Yvette as his first choice. The older woman had, of course, been thrilled at the idea she might play nanny to their children. When Tyrion left them at midday to begin his duties, it was Yvette who arrived with the Maester to help her.
Sansa was grateful for the help, but part of her wanted to do things alone too – as her mother had done. Accepting she couldn't do everything was difficult, but her tiredness and the needs of the babies made it impossible to go on without help.
"Oh, come now, my Prince, won't you settle?" cooed Yvette, lightly rocking Eyron in her arms.
Sansa's heart ached at her first son's cries, but Benjen needed her attention. He didn't look as hale or hearty as Eyron, and the Maester had suggested that nursing him and skin-to-skin contact was the best way to build his strength. Sansa would do anything for her sons, but she couldn't nurse them both and give Benjen all the attention he needed to get strong. No one would say it, but Sansa knew the way Ramsay had damaged her was the reason motherhood was now a struggle. She struggled to birth the boys and now barely managed to feed Benjen. With tears in her eyes she'd allowed Eyron to go to the wet nurse for feeding, and the boy was now back in Yvette's arms, though he still didn't seem happy.
"I'm sorry, my little love," said Sansa. "Your brother needs me more right now, but I so wish I was strong enough to nurse you too."
The afternoon passed in a similar manner, with Yvette taking care of Eyron while she monitored Benjen. Their second son had a bright, warm smile reminiscent of his father but he was so skinny and pale Sansa was nervous to let him out of her arms.
"Beautiful names, if I may say, your Grace," said Yvette. "Eyron is an old King's name, Prince Tyrion tells me?"
"We talked about naming our children after my parents or brothers, but it didn't seem right. We liked Eyron for a son because it's different, and it starts with an E, like my father."
"What about Benjen?"
"That was Tyrion. I wanted a little Tyrion, or a name that starts with a T, but he thought Benjen would suit our second son. When he met my uncle Benjen he thought he lacked a sense of humour and our second son seems to have one, so he suggested the name."
While they'd gone back and forth over names in preparing for the baby, Sansa hadn't been prepared to find two boy names at once. Eyron was their first choice for a son, and Tyrion's suggestion of Benjen suited their second son nicely.
Sansa cursed and thanked the Gods in equal measure over that first day of motherhood. She was blessed with two beautiful sons, but the ordeal of bringing them into the world had drained her to the point she had barely the strength to care for one. It had to be Benjen for now, and it broke Sansa's heart every time she heard Eyron cry. She did what she could over the afternoon. Holding his tiny hand while Yvette rocked him, stroking his foot and telling him how loved he was. Benjen seemed more tired than her and slept comfortably against her. When this happened, she would swap the boys around, doing her best to soothe Eyron in brief bursts while Yvette watched Benjen. Every time she managed to settle Eyron, it was soon time to swap the boys back, beginning the sorry cycle all over again.
By the time Tyrion returned in the early evening, Sansa was chewing her lip to hold back the tears.
"I can't do it Tyrion," she said. "They both need me and I'm not strong enough…"
Without a word, Tyrion began to remove his doublet, pausing only a moment before his shift followed. When he was down to his breeches, Tyrion climbed into the bed beside her, propping himself up on the pillows. The tattoos he'd once been ashamed of didn't bother him so much ow – the direwolf suited him well.
He held his arms out to her, indicating Benjen. "You're more than strong enough, and you're not doing this alone. I spoke to the Maester and any skin-on-skin contact will help him. I'd like to spend some time with my baby boy, and I know you'd like some time with our first."
Benjen peeled his eyes open as he was passed to his father, gurgling at the sight of him.
"Hello," cooed Tyrion. "It's my turn to cuddle you, isn't it?"
As soon as she'd passed Benjen to Tyrion, Yvette passed Eyron into her arms, and Sansa wasted no time in smothering her first boy with affection. Sansa was so distracted with soothing the crying babe, she barely noticed Tyrion and Yvette's quiet exchange and then the servant slipping out.
"I thought you were hoping for something else when you started undressing," said Sansa, carefully shuffling her and Eyron closer to her husband and Benjen.
He lifted an eyebrow. "As irresistible as you are, I think you might like a longer recovery before we enjoy ourselves in bed again. You might want to take moon tea too."
"Moon tea…you don't want more children?"
"I was terrified of losing you, and your pregnancy was so difficult – I think it's wise to at least wait a while before having more children."
During her labour, Sansa had no desire to ever repeat the experience but hearing the same thought from Tyrion hit differently, however much she could see the truth.
"I'm not saying never," said Tyrion, nudging her arm. "I'm only saying we should see how quickly the boys wear us out before having any more. Doesn't this face look troublesome to you?"
Sansa laughed as Tyrion lifted Benjen towards her. The boy was smiling happily, his eyes watching his father.
"They take after you," she said, stroking Eyron's cheek. "I've never seen such beautiful babies in all my life."
"They are rather perfect, aren't they? I got my little red wolves."
"They have your lovely green eyes."
"Handsome lads," said Tyrion, smiling fondly. "You do realise we won't get a moment's peace for years to come."
"I can imagine it now," said Sansa, leaning into her husband until the boys could see each other. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Jon didn't think life beyond the wall had changed him that much. With Drogon and Night, he'd explored further than many before him and seen sights only wildlings had ever seen. He smiled – he was almost a wildling now anyway. Tormund and the remaining free folk were his most consistent companions, but quite often, Jon would disappear with Drogon.
His relationship with the dragon had improved by familiarity, and Jon thought Drogon shared his appreciation of the solitary beauty the true North offered.
For three years, Jon had stayed North of the wall, sending the occasional letter to Sansa from Castle Black as proof he was alive. The last time he went North of the wall time lost all meaning. He returned to Castle Black and several letters from Sansa, the contents of which convinced him he was long overdue for a visit.
It was nice to see his family again, but he could do without the staring. Both Sansa and Tyrion had looked at him as if he'd lost his mind when he reached Winterfell.
"Jon?" asked Sansa, as if she wasn't entirely certain.
Tyrion scrunched his face. "Gods be good, is that you Snow?"
"You know someone else who would arrive with a dragon and a direwolf?"
They'd both quickly accepted it was him, but that hadn't stopped the staring. Jon didn't think he'd changed. He felt lighter, if anything, without the crushing weight of duty on his shoulders, but that was it.
The light snow crunched underfoot as Jon led them away from the castle and towards the clearing. Night seemed happy to be back with his siblings, and after much sniffing was now happily padding around the group with Gerry and Jenny. Slowing his pace, Jon glanced behind him. Tyrion and Sansa each had one of their sons with them. The Queen carried Benjen in her arms, while Eyron toddled along holding his father's hand. Jon smiled, enjoying the sight of his nephews. He'd always intended to visit Winterfell and his family regularly, but Sansa's letter about the birth of their sons had compelled him to come here immediately. Seeing the boys was the biggest indication of how long he'd been away.
Eyron and Benjen had just celebrated their second name day and were passing into the curious, mischief-causing stage of young childhood. Eyron reminded Jon of Robb. The boy had his red hair, serious face and natural leadership. Benjen was a mirror of his twin, though slighter in build. However similar the boys looked their personalities couldn't be more different. Benjen laughed often and over the week since Jon had arrived, the boy had managed to get in all kinds of trouble following his curiosity. As brothers tended to, Eyron often followed him into situations, but whether it was to join in or stop him depended on the day. All in all, the young princes were a handful for their parents.
"What that?" asked Eyron, tugging on his father's hand.
"Another tree, my sweet. You're very good at finding them, aren't you? That must be the fifteenth tree since we left Winterfell."
Sansa stifled a laugh, sharing a knowing smile with her husband. Benjen had so far been enjoying the walk from his high-up position in his mother's arms, but now he began to fuss.
"Down," he said. "Want Father!"
She glanced at Jon. "Is it much further?"
"No, we're nearly there."
As soon as Sansa put Benjen down, Eyron let go of his father's hand, holding his arms out to his mother.
"I'm forgotten now, am I?" said Tyrion. It wasn't for long as Benjen soon attached himself to him, seemingly trying to climb on his father.
Sansa quickly scooped up Eyron, cuddling him into her side. "How's my boy? You've been very good on our walk. All those trees you found!"
Jon smiled at the scene, and the ease with which Sansa and Tyrion worked together. Almost four years of marriage had been good for them. Tyrion appeared at ease with his position in Winterfell and his place as a Stark, while Sansa's icy edges had melted enough to allow more of her childhood warmth to come to the surface.
The group continued on their way, and Jon enjoyed the sound of his young nephews peppering their parents with questions and sharing every discovery. The direwolves seemed to enjoy the exercise just as much, with Gerry bumbling alongside Tyrion and Benjen while Jenny and Night trotted behind them.
When they came to a stop, it was a relief all around. By all accounts, Tyrion's recovery had continued to the point where he seemed in full health, but too much activity strained his old injuries. The Prince grimaced as they stopped and his sons seemed tired at the journey.
"Why?" asked Eyron, as Sansa set him on the ground with his brother.
The queen brushed his soft red hair. "Why, what, sweetheart?"
Eyron looked around him at the empty clearing. "Why?"
"I think you should ask your uncle Jon."
The boys were both curious but still somewhat wary of the uncle they'd never met before this week. After some confused looks between them, Eyron led Benjen as they toddled towards him.
"Why?" repeated the boy.
Jon knelt down to meet their eye level. "I thought you might like to see a dragon."
It was several moments before Drogon appeared, a great black shape in the sky. When they were older, Eyron and Benjen would be taught to never approach Drogon alone, but for now, Jon enjoyed the childish delight that spread over their faces as Drogon landed in the clearing. Sansa hovered behind them, as any mother would, but it was Tyrion's reaction that Jon checked. While Sansa thought seeing Drogon was a nice experience for the Princes and a good way to teach them safety early, Tyrion was the most reluctant to allow the excursion.
"I'm not sure it's safe," said Tyrion.
"We won't go too close, but it's important they understand what a dragon is and what it can do," said Jon.
"Drogon could turn on them. They're so small and vulnerable – it would only take a moment and I'd lose them forever…"
Sansa had persuaded him in the end, though Tyrion had still been wary. The manner of Jamie's death was surely what had soured his childhood love of dragons, but Jon could see some of that fading as he took in his children's happy faces.
"Mother, look!" said Benjen, bouncing on the spot.
The Queen smiled, taking Tyrion's hand and urging him forward with them.
Eyron quickly latched on to his father, asking his favourite question of 'why'. Tyrion encouraged him to ask his uncle, but the longer they watched Drogon, the more Tyrion's knowledge came to the surface and he was soon sharing in his sons' newfound enthusiasm for dragons.
Sansa moved next to Jon, linking his arm. "I'm glad you're back."
"Aye, me too."
It was a delicate operation, and it had taken two weeks of work, but the twins were spending the night with uncle Jon – giving their parents some brief respite.
Tyrion let the wine warm him as he finished his cup, watching his wife do the same.
"I didn't think Jon would go for it," she said.
"Neither did I, but it's hard to refuse the boys."
"They looked so cute in their black outfits."
Both Eyron and Benjen enjoyed hearing stories of their uncle Jon and the Nights Watch so it wasn't overly difficult to plant the idea that they could spend the night pretending to be men of the Nights Watch. The Watch was a cause Jon had been deeply committed to, and he couldn't refuse his nephews' repeated requests to be men of the Watch with him for a night.
He and Sansa had delivered the boys, dressed all in black, to one of the Winterfell watch towers, where basic beds and food had been prepared. Even Jon Snow had smiled at the toddlers wearing black and trying to say 'winter is coming'. They would spend the evening learning how to 'watch' for intruders and living like men of the Watch, and he and Sansa would enjoy the break.
Sansa sank against him on the chaise, cuddling close. "Do you think they'll be ok?"
"I'm more concerned about Jon."
"He did look worried."
"Godwin is joining them for a while, and Yvette is staying in the next room to help. I'm sure they'll have a wonderful night together – as can we."
Sansa gasped. "You mean a night without two little wolves climbing in bed with us."
"A night where you and I are the only wolves," said Tyrion. "I sent Jenny and Gerry with the boys too."
"Ooh, you were planning ahead, my love."
"I couldn't risk Gerry trying to cuddle with me in the night. Gods bless him, he's not the most graceful direwolf."
Sansa giggled. "It's sweet he still wants to get in bed with you."
"It's less endearing when he's smothering me, and the boys are trying to climb all over me."
"I rather like that sight."
He lifted an eyebrow. "You would. Your direwolf is perfectly behaved and graceful. I've noticed the two of you watching my morning struggle!"
"You're very in demand."
This was far from the only night he and Sansa had shared in peace – Yvette and Godwin were the usual choices to watch the young Princes – but leaving them with their uncle was a different opportunity and Tyrion was keen to make the most of it. After Sansa's difficult delivery of the twins, the following weeks had been a frantic mess of panic and tears. The Queen had been exhausted by the delivery and overwhelmed with the needs of the twins, whereas he'd covered Sansa's duty far more than anticipated, returning to their chambers late and equally overwhelmed with new parenthood. Slowly, they'd established a routine and things got better. Benjen needed more attention in those early days to build his strength, but both boys were now healthy and happy, even if Benjen did bear sickness worse than Eyron.
The North had breathed a collective sigh of relief when the births were announced. The Queen in the North had delivered two sons, an heir and a spare. A sour taste filled his mouth at the thought of how his younger son was viewed – both he and Sansa were careful to treat the boys equally and Tyrion did not want any of his children to ever feel spare, having lived as such for most of his life.
"It's strange, but I expected Jon to look no different than when he left Winterfell," said Sansa.
Tyrion scrunched his nose. "If not for the dragon and direwolf he could easily pass as a wildling. No wonder Eyron and Benjen were so wary of him."
While Jon had sent a raven to warn them he was coming, the brief note hadn't prepared them for the sight that met them. Jon's dark hair was now very long and styled in a loose bun. He had a full beard and wore all the signs of rough living, though far from making him appear weak, they oddly suited him – even if it was a different style choice. His demeanour had changed too, though more subtly. Tyrion thought he was more comfortable with himself, no longer keen to prove his worth.
For all his differences, it was nice to have Jon in Winterfell once more, and Tyrion intended to make the most of it.
Tyrion cuddled closer to his wife, letting his good hand fiddle with the edge of her gown. "Did I tell you how stunning you are? I fear I've not been telling you enough."
"You tell me quite often, love, though it is nice to hear. I don't tell you how desirable you are anywhere near enough."
"Not true, I've noticed you watching me get dressed."
Sansa leaned in, cuddling his side and letting her hand fiddle with his curly golden hair. "I do find it distracting when you get dressed."
"You'd find it less distracting if I were to get undressed?"
"That could distract me even more."
Tyrion smiled, turning to face Sansa. Within a moment, her lips were on his – it was a feeling he would never take for granted. No matter how long they were married, Tyrion knew Sansa would always excite him.
"Lord Stark, are you trying to seduce me?"
"I hope I'm doing more than trying, my Queen."
After so long alone, or with few companions, returning to Winterfell was a drastic change. Naturally, Sansa and Tyrion were eager to catch up with him and share news of the North, as well as hearing of his own adventures. The twins were the biggest change. While they'd initially appeared wary of him, curiosity and building familiarity had quickly won them over. Jon eyed their sleeping forms, huddled beneath a pile of black blankets – they'd enjoyed their evening of being men of the Watch and Jon had quickly discovered stories were the best way to quell their energy.
After seeing the boys to bed, Yvette retired to the next room for her own rest, leaving him and Godwin in the main room. The captain was little changed from when Jon last saw him, though a few more signs of age could be seen.
"Good lads, aren't they?" said Godwin, nodding towards the twins.
"Clever too," said Jon. "I don't know how Sansa and Tyrion keep up with them."
"More of a challenge now they're toddling about the castle, though Gerry and Jenny are quite watchful of them too."
"They've got you and Yvette as well, I'm sure," said Jon. It had taken the boys some time to warm up to being with him, and they'd both looked to Yvette and Godwin for reassurance. It was obvious from when Jon first arrived that the captain and servant played a vital role in his nephews' lives.
"We are fortunate the Queen and Prince trust us to watch the young princes when they aren't able." Godwin smiled. "It is quite rewarding."
"Any word of Arya?" he asked.
"Unfortunately no. There has been no sign of her since she left Winterfell."
"She's alive," said Jon, ruffling Night's fur. "I'd know if she wasn't."
Godwin lifted an eyebrow. "Queen Sansa often says the same, and about you on several occasions."
"I should write more often," said Jon. "I'll have to visit more too, now that I have two nephews to watch grow up."
"I'm certain the Queen and Prince will appreciate that."
Jon snorted. "They'll appreciate the free time they get. Do they think I didn't know what they were doing, telling Eyron and Benjen they could be men of the watch?"
"I'm sure they thought it was a good bonding opportunity…"
"Lord Stark could barely keep a straight face."
"Yes, well…"
Godwin was saved from finding an excuse for the Queen and Prince by soft giggles coming from the pile of blankets. Jon moved the torch closer to the blankets, illuminating twin pairs of green eyes watching them. The boys laughed, pretending to hide beneath the covers.
"Can you blame them for their scheme?" said Godwin, looking between Jon and the boys.
Jon sighed, accepting he would get no sleep tonight – but he wouldn't change it.
A decade of marriage passed in the blink of an eye. The crisp northern air greeted Sansa like an old friend as they made their way through the woods and towards the stream they'd promised to show the boys.
Ahead of her, Eyron and Benjen jostled with each other as they raced ahead, issuing challenges between them as they went. Both boys were competitive but Sansa thought they understood enough to not take it too seriously – if anything it reminded her of Robb and Jon.
The eight-year-old twins were a handful at times, but Sansa couldn't be prouder of her sons. Both boys were growing well and their similar appearance often caused havoc in Winterfell, even if she and Tyrion could tell them apart easily. Eyron was broader and slightly taller, whereas Benjen had a slighter frame with narrower features. At a glance, the young princes were identical, however.
"Don't go too far ahead," called Sansa, as the trees grew denser.
"We won't Mother!" they chorused back, still moving out of sight.
Tyrion laughed beside her. "They're alright, their aunt is watching them."
"I can't see Arya either."
"I believe that's their current game."
Sansa turned to the direwolf padding alongside her. "Jenny, keep an eye on them."
The wolf trotted off, quickly catching up to the young princes.
"You worry too much, my dear," said Tyrion.
"It's a mother's instincts. Besides, you're usually far worse than I am."
"That's different, that's a father's instincts."
Ten years of marriage had changed many things, but some stayed the same. Tyrion was still the kind, charming man she loved. Over time, the ghosts of Kings Landing had faded away, helping her husband move into his new life Tyrion Stark. Her ghosts had lost their hold on her too, driven away by the patient, consistent love of Tyrion and their little family. The nightmares still crept up on them from time to time, but comfort was as easy to find as turning over in bed.
Jon visited every so often, usually at least once a year to see the boys. Godwin and Yvette were the most trusted members of the household and considered an extension of the family. The children were attached to both and she and Tyrion trusted them implicitly.
After nine years of travelling, Arya had finally returned to Winterfell. What she found West of Westeros was something of a mystery. Sometimes, Arya would tell a story - usually to her nephews - of her adventures, but more often than not she was cryptic as to what she found. Sansa's smile dropped a little as she considered her sister. Arya had returned with several scars and a wildness to her that made Jon's new wildling lifestyle seem civilized. She'd declared her intent to stay in Winterfell for a while, and gradually Arya had acclimatized to castle life again. Naturally, Eyron and Benjen were fascinated by their mysterious aunt and Arya had a soft spot for her nephews. She'd begun joining them in the practice yard recently and the boy's admiration had only grown
"Bran will be here in a fortnight," said Tyrion. "Maybe longer. I believe they're stopping at lord Reed's castle first."
"I'm sure Meera is keen to visit her father, given his age."
"Pod and Brienne are coming too."
Sansa smiled. "That will be nice. It's been so long since we saw them."
"Bran says this is business but I think he just wants to meet the boys."
"As if he doesn't watch them through the raven's eyes. Eyron told me a raven was watching him in the practice yard the other day."
"As long as that's all he's watching."
Sansa laughed, adjusting the bundle in her arms. Little arms wrapped around her neck, cuddling her close.
"Comfortable, sweetheart?" she asked. "Are you excited to meet your uncle Bran?"
The child nodded, his eyes bright.
Their third son – and a bigger surprise than even Benjen had been.
Sansa couldn't remember being so tired in all her life. She didn't understand – all had been well until a week ago. The last time she'd felt so unwell was when she had those few days of vomiting a few moons before. This time, there was nothing obvious to blame, she just wasn't well. Her appetite was gone, she was aching and exhausted all the time – it worried Tyrion to death.
"The Maester says you're not eating," he said. "Won't you have some soup?"
"Later love, I don't think I can keep anything down right now. How are Eyron and Benjen?"
"They're fine. Yvette is telling them a story." He reached for her hand, squeezing lightly. "You're scaring me Sansa. I don't know how to help you."
"I'll be better with rest. Perhaps I've caught a flu."
It didn't get better with rest. Over the coming days, Sansa felt herself fading away. Her body wasn't right, but she couldn't tell why. Aside from some bloating and an aching back, there was nothing she could pinpoint as the source of the changes. Confined to bed, Sansa hoped for the illness to pass quickly. Her boys needed her. Tyrion needed her. As Prince Consort, Tyrion was more than capable of covering her duties, but he'd never regained a love of politics. Over the past five years, he'd done his duty as lord but found greater fulfilment in caring for their sons - teaching them all he knew and playing games with them. As Queen, Sansa's burden was heavier, but it was a relief knowing the boys had their father when she wasn't available. That was why she had to get better – they needed her.
Eyron and Benjen visited her sick bed, cheering her mood with their antics and humour. Benjen had his father's warmth and charm, while Eyron was like a little knight – gallant and loyal.
The Queen's condition grew steadily worse until it reached a climax one evening. The boys were regaling her with all they'd learned in their lessons when the dull ache in Sansa's stomach turned to a knife-like stabbing pain. The intensity made her gasp, startling the twins and drawing their father's attention from the desk where he was reviewing correspondence.
Sansa remembered little of what happened next. She recalled Tyrion's panicked face as he sent the guard to get the Maester. Eyron and Benjen didn't understand what was going on but they picked up on the change in mood instantly.
"Mother!" cried Eyron, grabbing at the bed sheets.
Sansa's world spun. "Tyrion…don't let them see…Tyrion…"
"Mother's not well, my sweet," said Tyrion, pulling the boy against him and gathering Benjen from the other side. "I think it's time you two went to bed and let your mother rest."
"No…" moaned Benjen. "Want to stay!"
"I love you both so much…" said Sansa, grimacing as the pain intensified. "Go with your father. Be good, my little loves."
Tyrion's frantic green eyes looked between her and the boys before he hurried them to the door. "I'll get Yvette and Godwin to stay with them. I'll be back soon Sansa."
In the moment, Sansa had thought that would be her last sight of her husband and sons. The agony spread through the whole of Sansa's lower half with alarming speed. It was all she could focus on, even as Wolkan burst into the room, alarm etched on his features.
"I'm dying," said Sansa, fear colouring her words. Tears slipped down her cheeks. "I don't want to leave Tyrion. I can't leave Eyron and Benjen…"
She remembered little of the Maester's frantic investigations, but she remembered clearly his command to push.
Tyrion was gone only as long as it took to reassure the boys and leave them under Yvette and Godwin's watch. By the time he returned, blood stained the bed sheets and hung heavily in the air, but Sansa was smiling.
He froze in the doorway as Sansa lifted the tiny bundle from her chest so he could see. "Surprise."
Now, the boy squirmed in her arms, gesturing to the ground. "Walk mother, walk!"
Sansa laughed, ruffling his curly golden hair. "Alright, we're nearly there anyway."
"I'm big boy now," he said. Sansa placed him on the ground, where he immediately wandered to his father.
"Hello there," said Tyrion, taking the boy's hand. "Come to join father have you?"
Sansa's heart warmed watching Tyrion talk to their youngest boy. She would never forget the shock on his face when he returned to their chambers to find her with a newborn.
"How?" he breathed, moving closer to the bed. "I-I had no idea you were pregnant."
"Neither did I. My red flower never stopped…I was huge with the twins…"
Maester Wolkan had summoned servants to assist and while getting cleaned up, Sansa passed the tiny bundle to her husband. Tyrion's smile faltered as he saw his son.
"He takes after me," said Tyrion. "I'm sorry."
"He's beautiful," said Sansa. "My little golden wolf."
"Where did you come from, hmm?" said Tyrion, cuddling the child. "You're quite the surprise."
The baby blinked up at his father, gazing at him with bright blue eyes.
Unlike the twins, their baby boy shared his father's curly golden hair, and to Tyrion's heartbreak, his condition. Sansa had always accepted their children could inherit his condition, but she knew it was something Tyrion struggled with and felt guilty for. Not that he had any need to – their boy was the happiest baby Sansa had ever seen. He rarely fussed or cried and had a way of charming all who met him. The shock of giving birth had hit the Queen hard, however. In her first pregnancy, she and Tyrion had spoken to their growing baby regularly, telling them how loved they were and preparing for the arrival. Having missed the opportunity in her second pregnancy, both she and Tyrion were guilty of overcompensating. Even now, Sansa felt the need to smother her baby boy, making sure he knew how loved he was.
Two days after the surprise birth, their new son rested in his cradle under the cheerful supervision of his proud older brothers – who were being supervised by Yvette. With the children occupied, Sansa and Tyrion had a chance to speak to the Maester in peace.
"How in the seven hells can you miss a pregnancy?" asked Tyrion.
"My Prince, this was far from a usual pregnancy…"
Still somewhat shaky, Sansa lay propped up in bed, her hand wrapped around Tyrion's damaged one. "He's right, love, I had none of the symptoms I did with the twins."
"The Queen's red flower has continued to bloom these past months, and as you are aware, she did not appear pregnant. The only bout of sickness was weeks ago and fleeting enough that it was more likely to be a stomach flu." Wolkan bowed his head towards Sansa. "Your Grace, I beg your forgiveness. When you noticeably became ill some weeks ago, we discussed the possibility of pregnancy but there were no clear signs you were with child – let alone so close to giving birth."
"That was why Sansa felt so unwell," said Tyrion, "is she alright now?"
"I'm fine, my love, just a little sore."
"I came too close to losing you."
"The Queen will be well with rest, my Prince. These past two days I have researched what happened and it is highly unusual but not unheard of. There are cases of women who have given birth without ever realising they were pregnant - some Maesters suggest trauma could be a key factor."
Of course it came back to Joffrey and Ramsay – it always would.
"I feel so guilty," said Sansa, "we talked to Eyron and Benjen all the time. We were prepared for a baby last time and got two. We have nothing ready for our baby boy."
"We couldn't have known," said Tyrion, "I didn't even see the poor lad being born."
"Have you considered a name for the new Prince?" asked Wolkan.
Tyrion turned to her, his eyes warm. "It's only right Sansa should choose, considering I managed to miss the birth entirely."
"I think the time is right to honour two great fathers," said Sansa. "I think Teddard would suit our little wolf nicely. You won't have a little Tyrion, and I'm not ready for an Eddard – combining the two seems the best option."
Her husband smiled widely. "I think that will suit him well."
It was an unusual choice of name, but suited the child well. It didn't take long for his older brothers to nickname him Teddy either.
They walked a little further into the woods, with Gerry running back and forth around them to the boy's delight. They were nearing the stream when Eyron and Benjen came back in sight, and Sansa spied Arya in the shadows further ahead. Her wolf, Shadow, stood waiting with Jenny.
"Teddy, come with us!" called Benjen, running up to them.
Eyron was right on his heels, appealing to Tyrion. "We'll take Teddy, Father, the stream is only through the trees."
"If you're both careful with your brother," said Tyrion.
Teddy was already pulling at his hand, keen to go with his big brothers. "Big boy, father!"
Tyrion pretended to consider. "Alright then, just stay on the path."
"We will!" said Eyron and Benjen.
Taking a hand each, Teddy proudly toddled off with his older brothers, and Gerry soon followed. With Arya up ahead and the boys safely between them, Sansa took her husband's now available good hand.
"All mine now," she said.
"Good, it's been far too long since I've had the opportunity to hold your hand, dear wife."
Sansa breathed in, relishing the cool, fresh air. As a girl, Sansa had imagined many possible futures, but none compared to the life she had now, or the family that surrounded her. Settled in her home of Winterfell, Sansa knew this was all she'd ever needed.
A safe, happy home; three beautiful sons – and a husband who was everything her father had once promised her.
A/N - Thanks so much to everyone who has read this story and stuck with it to the end! I hope you've all enjoyed :)
