This is the last chapter I have a thoroughly planned plot for, everything that comes after is just random ideas that I have in my mind.
Kyra
Within the bedchamber, the air was thick with anticipation and the scent of healing herbs. Sansa lay upon her ornate bed, her hands clutching the bedsheets, knuckles white with the effort of enduring each wave of pain. Midwives and nurses moved with the practised precision of those who had seen countless births, while Maester Wolkan stood at the ready. As the pains intensified, she cast her mind back to all the stories she had heard about the strength of Stark women in childbirth.
Outside the chamber, Gwayne paced nervously, his anxiety evident in every stride. The waiting was agony, and the uncertainty weighed on him. He wished with all his heart to be by Sansa's side, to support her in this crucial moment, but propriety dictated otherwise. Instead, he paced back and forth, clenching his fists in anxious anticipation.
The passage of time felt like an eternity, each second stretched to its limits. Yet, in the bedchamber, Sansa's strength never wavered. She summoned her courage and focused on the child that would soon enter the world, her determination unwavering.
The time dragged on, stretching into what felt like an eternity for both Sansa and Gwayne. The sounds of labour were a symphony of anguish and hope, echoing through the chambers of Winterfell.
Sansa's breath came in ragged gasps as she pushed with every ounce of her strength. The midwives encouraged her, their voices calm and soothing, offering praise and support. Maester Wolkan stood ready with his knowledge and expertise, offering words of encouragement and guidance.
Outside, Gwayne paced with a restlessness born of love and anxiety. He had never felt more helpless, wanting nothing more than to be by Sansa's side, to hold her hand and reassure her. The weight of responsibility as her husband and as a future father pressed upon him.
Then, in a miraculous moment, the cry of a newborn filled the room. The midwives' voices rose in joyous celebration as they announced the birth of the royal child. Gwayne's heart soared, and he rushed into the chamber with a mixture of relief and unadulterated joy.
There, in the dim candlelit room, he found Sansa, her cheeks flushed with exertion, but a radiant smile on her face. In her arms, she cradled their newborn child, a tiny bundle swathed in blankets. The baby's first cries were a sweet melody, and Gwayne felt his eyes brim with tears of happiness.
As the newborn's cries filled the room, revealing her to be a healthy girl, a flicker of anxiety passed through Sansa. Tradition and expectations weighed heavily on her mind. She had always understood the importance of a male heir, especially for the stability of the North.
Carefully, Gwayne approached his wife and child, his heart filled with love and awe. He reached out to gently touch the baby's tiny fingers, and Sansa's eyes, still glistening with tears, met his.
"Look, Gwayne," she whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "Our girl, our little miracle."
He leaned down to kiss her, his heart bursting with love and gratitude. "Our family is complete, my love."
Gwayne, however, seemed unaffected by the revelation. His joy knew no bounds as he marvelled at their daughter, his eyes shining with love and adoration. He bent down to kiss Sansa again, and his words reassured her.
"Our child, Sansa, our beautiful daughter," he whispered. "She is perfect."
The midwives, sensing Sansa's momentary concern, offered their encouragement. "A healthy child is a precious blessing, my lady. Your daughter will bring joy and prosperity to your family and your realm."
"Our child, Sansa, our beautiful daughter," he repeated, his voice trembling with emotion and joy. He placed a gentle hand on the child's downy head, his fingers tenderly brushing her soft, reddish-brown hair. "She is perfect."
Gwayne's words carried a deep sense of love and pride, affirming that, in his eyes, their daughter was everything they had hoped for. The happiness that radiated from him filled the room, casting aside any doubts and insecurities that might have briefly clouded Sansa's heart.
Once the labour and birth were behind them, the chamber was transformed from a place of intensity and apprehension into a haven of serenity. The scent of fresh, white linen filled the room as diligent servants tidied and cleaned, ensuring that the space was tranquil and spotless.
Sansa had endured the rigours of childbirth with an unwavering resolve, and her body ached with exhaustion. She lay on her bed, her auburn hair spread across the pillows like a river of silk. Her eyes were closed, and she was finally able to take the much-needed rest she had earned. It was a deep, dreamless sleep that washed over her, momentarily suspending the worries and concerns of the world.
Meanwhile, Gwayne sat in a plush armchair, their newborn daughter cradled gently in his arms. The child, a precious bundle wrapped in soft, warm blankets, was a miracle to him. Her small fingers, delicate and perfectly formed, grasped at the air, and her contented coos filled the room. Gwayne's heart swelled with joy and love as he watched her.
He leaned over and whispered sweet words to their daughter as he held her close. "You are a wonder, my little one," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "Your mother is an extraordinary woman, and you will grow up to be as remarkable as she is."
The newborn's eyes, still adjusting to the world outside, fluttered open. They were a shade of blue, like the vast summer sky. Gwayne gazed into those eyes, filled with awe, as a hint of a smile graced her delicate features. "I will protect you, cherish you, and ensure you know nothing but love," he promised, planting a gentle kiss on her downy forehead.
He took in every detail of their daughter, from her wisps of fine, to her rosy cheeks. Her presence brought an overwhelming sense of completeness to their lives, a beacon of hope and happiness in a world that often felt cold and unforgiving. Gwayne knew that their child was a blessing, and he was determined to be the best father he could be.
After some time, Gwayne gently placed their daughter in the crib, ensuring she was snug and comfortable. He watched her for a moment, marvelling at the serenity that her presence brought to the room.
Before leaving, Gwayne planted a delicate kiss on the baby's forehead, his lips lingering as he whispered softly, "Sleep well, my precious one. Your mother and I will always be here to protect you."
He took one more admiring glance at his daughter, her tiny fingers and perfect, rosebud lips. Then, with a reassuring smile, he stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Outside, the castle of Winterfell buzzed with the routines of daily life, and Gwayne had his duties to attend to.
As he made his way through the castle's hallways, he couldn't help but reflect on the significance of this moment. The responsibilities that rested upon his shoulders had expanded with the birth of their child. The North's affairs needed to be managed, and he was determined to ensure that Sansa was not burdened during this precious time. It was a delicate balance, but it was one he was more than willing to undertake.
In the soft glow of the evening light, Gwayne entered the chambers he shared with Sansa, his heart filled with anticipation. As he walked in, he saw Sansa seated comfortable by the window, cradling their baby in her arms.
Their daughter latched onto Sansa, suckling contentedly, her tiny fingers clutching at her mother's gown. It was a moment of pure, unspoken connection between mother and child, and Gwayne couldn't help but marvel at the sight.
He moved quietly, careful not to disrupt the serene tableau. Gwayne approached Sansa and, with great tenderness, slid his arms around her from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his gaze focused on their daughter's tiny, perfect face.
"Sansa," he whispered, his voice filled with awe, "she is a true blessing. Our little Northern rose, a Stark through and through."
Sansa turned her head to meet his gaze, her expression radiant with love and gratitude. "Yes, she is," she replied, her voice soft and filled with warmth. "I can't imagine a greater joy, Gwayne. We have a family now, our own little corner of happiness."
Gwayne's heart swelled with love for both his wife and their daughter. He pressed a gentle kiss to Sansa's cheek, then leaned down to plant a kiss on the baby's forehead. "We're truly blessed," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "and I'll cherish this moment, always."
The chamber was bathed in the soft, flickering light of candles. Sansa and Gwayne were wrapped in the warmth of each other's arms, sharing the intimate moments that only a married couple could. Gwayne had a contented smile on his face, still marvelling at the blessing of fatherhood.
Sansa gently traced her fingers along his cheek, her eyes locked onto his. "This is the kind of happiness I had dreamed of," she admitted, her voice tender and filled with affection.
Gwayne leaned in to press a loving kiss to her lips. "I feel the same way, Sansa. Every day with you is a gift."
A comfortable silence filled the room, their hands entwined as they lay together, savouring the simple joy of being close. Then, Sansa broke the quiet with a soft laugh.
"You know, with all the busyness today, we didn't even discuss a name for our daughter," she said.
Gwayne chuckled, a deep and affectionate sound. "You're right, my love. It seems we've been too enchanted by her to think of a name."
Sansa's expression turned thoughtful. "I've been considering a name, Gwayne. What do you think of Kyra?"
Gwayne looked down at her, his eyes filled with curiosity. "Kyra? It's a beautiful name. It's strong and elegant, much like her mother."
Sansa smiled at his words. "Then it's settled. Our daughter will be Kyra."
Gwayne leaned in to kiss her, his affection deepening with the name they had chosen for their daughter. "Kyra," he whispered, as if testing the name on his lips. "It's perfect."
In each other's arms, they found solace and happiness, knowing that they were embarking on a journey of parenthood together, with their precious daughter Kyra by their side.
The days turned into a week, and Sansa, weakened from childbirth, had to remain in her chambers to recover. She was grateful for Gwayne's unwavering support during this time. He dutifully represented her at court and in the council meetings, ensuring that the affairs of the North were well managed in her absence.
With Gwayne taking charge and her trusted advisors by his side, the realm continued to run smoothly. The lords and ladies of the North were understanding of Sansa's situation, and they respected Gwayne's capable leadership. Sansa's confidence in him grew with each passing day, and she took comfort in knowing that she could rely on him not only as her loving husband but as a steadfast and responsible steward of the North.
To help Sansa with the care of their daughter, a wet nurse had been found. The woman was experienced and compassionate, ensuring that Kyra was well-fed and content. Her presence allowed Sansa to rest and regain her strength, knowing that her child was in capable hands.
As the days went by, Sansa's health gradually improved. She spent time bonding with Kyra, who was growing more beautiful with each passing day. The three of them, Sansa, Gwayne, and Kyra, became an inseparable family, forging bonds that were unbreakable.
As Sansa's strength gradually returned, she felt an undeniable urge deep within her to visit the godswood with her newborn daughter, Kyra. The ancient heart tree had witnessed the most pivotal moments of her life, from the time she was a young girl playing among the trees to her wedding with Gwayne. She felt a connection to the old gods, and now, as a mother, she wanted to introduce her daughter to the sacred place and seek the blessings of the ancient gods for the newest member of their family.
With Kyra cradled in her arms, Sansa made her way to the godswood. She could feel the presence of the large direwolf, Fylgja, which had become a near-constant companion in the godswood since the day they had first met. As she stepped beneath the ancient, gnarled branches of the heart tree, she felt a sense of peace wash over her.
Gwayne accompanied her on this journey, walking by her side and supporting her as she held their precious child. They stood before the heart tree, its red leaves rustling in the wind, and Sansa lowered Kyra for a moment, allowing the baby to touch the rough bark of the ancient tree.
"Kyra, my love," Sansa whispered to her daughter, "this is the godswood, where the old gods reside. We come to seek their blessings for you, our beautiful child."
Gwayne, with reverence in his eyes, knelt beside her. "May the old gods watch over you, Kyra," he said, touching his finger to the bark of the heart tree. "May they protect you, guide you, and fill your life with love and wisdom."
As they offered their silent prayers, the presence of the large direwolf became more pronounced. Fylgja emerged from the shadows of the godswood, moving closer to them. Sansa watched as her daughter's eyes widened in awe at the sight of the majestic creature.
As Sansa, Gwayne, and Kyra stood before the heart tree in the godswood, the large direwolf, Fylgja, was not alone. She was followed by a litter of five little direwolf pups, their small, furry bodies filled with boundless curiosity and a hint of caution. The pups closely followed their mother, their tiny paws leaving delicate imprints in the soft ground as they approached the newcomers.
Sansa felt her heart swell with wonder and astonishment. These were the rarest and most revered creatures in the North, the direwolves, a symbol of strength and resilience. The mother direwolf, Fylgja, stood tall and protective, her eyes fixed on Kyra with an intensity that seemed to convey a sense of understanding.
Gwayne knelt down, reaching out his hand slowly towards the mother direwolf. "Greetings, Fylgja," he said, using a gentle and reassuring tone. "We mean no harm, and we're grateful for your presence."
The mother direwolf responded with a low, rumbling growl, her way of acknowledging their words.
Kyra, still cradled in Sansa's arms, watched the tiny direwolf pups with a sense of wonder. They were a different sight altogether, their coats soft and silvery, eyes still closed, and their movements unsteady. They nuzzled their mother's side, seeking comfort and sustenance.
"Look, Kyra," Sansa whispered to her daughter, her voice filled with awe. "These are direwolves, the guardians of the North. They are a part of this place, of our history."
Kyra's eyes remained wide, taking in the sight of the pups. She extended a tiny hand, reaching towards one of them. The pup, small and fluffy, sniffed her fingers, its tiny pink tongue licking her hand.
Gwayne couldn't help but smile, seeing the innocence of their daughter and the gentle nature of the direwolf pups. "It's a remarkable sight, Sansa," he said, looking at her with admiration. "To have our family welcomed by these creatures of the old gods, it's something truly special."
Fylgja, sensing the trust and reverence from the humans, allowed her pups to explore further. The little direwolf pups, guided by their mother's watchful eyes, approached Gwayne and Sansa, sniffing at their hands and clothes. There was a sense of connection, an unspoken bond that seemed to stretch across time and ancient traditions.
For a while, the family stood there, Sansa, Gwayne, Kyra, and the direwolf family, under the protective gaze of the heart tree. At that moment, they felt that they were part of something greater, that they were connected to the deep-rooted history and magic of the North.
With utmost care, Sansa handed little Kyra to Gwayne, and the child nestled safely in her father's arms. Gwayne watched his daughter with love in his eyes as Sansa moved closer to the magnificent direwolf, Fylgja. Standing nearly as tall as Sansa herself, the massive creature seemed to accept her presence without hesitation. As Sansa extended her hand towards Fylgja, her fingers found the thick, silvery fur behind the wolf's ears, scratching gently.
Fylgja lowered her head, her eyes half-lidded, clearly enjoying the attention. She leaned into Sansa's touch, a deep and rumbling growl escaping her throat, a sound that echoed as contentment. It was a powerful connection between a Stark and the guardian of the North, a symbol of their unity and shared purpose.
After a while, Fylgja shifted her attention to Gwayne and the infant Kyra, moving with a grace that belied her size. The massive snout of the direwolf came down to gently nudge Kyra's forehead, so large and fearsome, yet showing nothing but tenderness. It was as though the direwolf recognized Kyra's innocence and vulnerability, offering a gesture of acceptance and protection.
Sansa's heart swelled with emotions as she watched the scene unfold before her. It was a moment of profound connection, a link between their family and the mystical creatures that had always been a part of the North's ancient lore. She knew that this moment, with Fylgja and her pups, would be a cherished memory to pass down to Kyra, a reminder of the deep bond between the Starks, their land, and their guardians.
Gwayne's eyes sparkled as he looked at Kyra, who appeared both captivated and unafraid, in the presence of the direwolves. "Our daughter has been welcomed by the guardian of the North," he said, his voice filled with awe.
Sansa nodded in agreement. "It's a sign, a symbol of our connection to the North. She's a Stark of Winterfell, and these direwolves will be her protectors, as they have been for generations."
In the depths of the night, the chambers were wrapped in a serene hush, broken only by the soft rustling of silken sheets and the distant whispers of the godswood outside. Gwayne held Sansa in his arms with an affectionate intimacy that had grown stronger with each passing day. He cradled her close, his body flush against hers, their limbs entwined as if they were made for each other.
His head nestled in the crook of Sansa's neck, Gwayne inhaled deeply, savouring the sweet and delicate fragrance that was distinctly hers. A contented sigh escaped his lips as he revelled in the exquisite pleasure of simply holding her. Gwayne's lips brushed lightly against the curve of her neck, soft kisses followed by playful, gentle puffs of breath.
As he continued to shower her neck and shoulder with affection, Sansa couldn't help but giggle, the sound like tinkling bells in the night. The warmth of his breath against her skin sent shivers down her spine, and she wiggled playfully within his embrace.
Their whispered conversations carried into the night, and as they lay intertwined, Gwayne expressed his hopes for the future.
"Sansa," he began, his voice a soft murmur, "I hope you know how much I look forward to the days to come. Our family, the love that we share—it's a treasure beyond measure. I can't help but dream of having more children, more moments like these with you, with our little Kyra."
Sansa's eyes sparkled in the moonlight, her love for Gwayne shining brightly. "I share your hopes, Gwayne," she replied. "Our family is a blessing, and the thought of it growing makes my heart swell with happiness."
Gwayne shifted slightly, propping himself up on an elbow, his gaze focused on Sansa. "May I ask you something, my love?" he inquired gently. "I've noticed that you didn't name Kyra after your mother or any of the dear friends you've lost. Is there a reason for that?"
Sansa's expression turned sombre, her eyes reflecting a deep well of emotions. "It's not that I haven't thought about it," she admitted. "But the pain of losing my mother and those I cared for, the memories of their tragic ends... They still sting, Gwayne. It's not something I'm ready to relive, even in a name."
Gwayne nodded in understanding, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on her cheek. "I understand your choice, Sansa. I can absolutely see why you think so."
Their shared silence was comfortable and unburdened, the love between them acting as a soothing balm for the wounds of the past. The moon continued to cast its silvery glow over their quiet moments, with hope and happiness gently guiding their path into the future.
As the night deepened and the world outside grew quieter, Gwayne's tender kisses continued to shower Sansa's face.
Gwayne's lips traced a gentle path across Sansa's face, pausing to kiss her forehead, each eyelid, her nose, and then finding their way to her soft, inviting lips. His kisses were unhurried and laden with love, a silent symphony of affection that played between them.
Sansa savoured each delicate touch, the warmth of his breath on her skin sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. She cupped his cheek, her fingers caressing the sharp angle of his jaw, and pulled him closer. Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, a dance of longing and tenderness.
Gwayne's voice, a murmur in the stillness of the night, was laced with emotion. "I love you, Sansa," Gwayne whispered between kisses. "More than words can express, more than the stars in the sky. You are my heart, my soul, my everything."
Sansa's heart swelled with warmth and contentment, and she returned his kisses with affectionate tenderness. "And I love you, Gwayne," she replied, her voice soft and filled with devotion. "You are my rock, my protector, my joy."
Since I was a bit indecisive whether Sansa's first child should be a boy or a girl, I tossed a coin. I'm currently planning on writing three more chapters, that I hope to publish in the remainder of this year. These will be pure fan-service introducing "missing" characters in a shameless attempt to receive more attention for this story.
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