Sansa woke with a gasping, startled shudder in the dead of night, and she wasn't sure why.

It was cold, but she was used to the chill. She preferred it.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, wondering if her baby was moving about, but he was sleeping. There was a shift as she put her warm palm on her skin, but nothing more.

Next to her, her window lay open, a storm bustling through. She was not afraid of mere storms.

Thunder cracked like a whip and lightning lit up her space. Rain dribbled down the stone wall, pooling underneath her window.

Sansa got up, forcibly closing it.

As she turned, a flash of lightning turned the night into day as Sansa turned, and the hair on the back of her neck rose as something was illuminated in the corner of her room, next to the fire. Something large, a shadowy figure that she couldn't quite see, just…sitting…waiting.

Fingers shaking, Sansa reached for her candle and clumsily hit the flint, sure she was just…imagining it. If there was perceived danger, why would this…thing wait for her to light a candle, instead of just lunging at her?

With flame in hand, Sansa swung around her body, gasping hard, wishing she kept any weapon close to her. Was someone here to kill her and the babe, assure there was never a King in the North again?

She could see a darkened outline before the light caught it; something as big as a horse, smelling of upturned earth and blood.

Her light caught matted fur of a grayish hue, and golden eyes reflected the light.

"Nymeria?" Sansa gasped, dropping the candle.

The light snuffed out.

As soon as Sansa spoke the direwolf's name, the animal came bounding up to Sansa like a playful puppy, rubbing its nose against her chin and neck, making low keening sounds.

"Oh, Nymeria!" Sansa laughed, tears gathering, "I thought you were dead! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…" She said, not feeling silly at all for apologizing to a wolf. More than anything, she was attacked with visions of Lady, a dog whom which Sansa missed with a force so terrible it felt like someone had grasped her heart and taken it. The bond between the Stark Children and their direwolves was mysterious and misunderstood, and only her siblings would ever understand the agony of losing their wolves. She and Arya had a long discussion about it, but if Arya had known Nymeria was alive and well, it was kept quiet from Sansa.

Sansa dug her arms into the wolf's fur, pressing her face into her pelt. Her body quaked as she clung to the dog-like creature, feeling closer to home than she had in a very long time.

After what felt like an eternity, Sansa leaned back at her haunches, scratching underneath Nymeria's chin. Nymeria closed her eyes and tilted her head, allowing Sansa access.

"What in the world are you doing here?"

Naturally, Sansa was impressed that Nymeria managed to get in, slipping past everyone. She wasn't exactly easy to hide. But she'd been Arya's wolf, and so maybe, she was more like Arya than Sansa could have ever guessed.

Nymeria harrumphed, snorting, and lay down on Sansa's woven rug, near the fire. Now that the wolf was closer to the light, Sansa could see her stomach, heavy with pups.

"Oh, girl," Sansa kissed her muzzle, "I guess we're in this together, huh?" She asked, a laugh escaping her lips, "Did you know it was safe here, so you came back to give birth?"

Nymeria gave no reply.

Sansa rose, dusting off her nightclothes.

"I don't know…if you can understand me, but I feel like you must," She said carefully, "I always felt like Lady could. So, just know, you'll be kept safe here. What is a Stark without their direwolf?" She asked with a small grin.

She assumed Nymeria would remain by the fire, but as Sansa crawled back into her bed, wincing as her babe shifted on her innards, Nymeria leapt up next to her, alert.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Sansa insisted, but Nymeria didn't settle until Sansa had eased herself under the covers again. She gave Nymeria a 'see' sort of look, expecting the wolf to take her place back on the floor, but Nymeria curled up into Sansa's side. Any arguments caught in Sansa's throat as Nymeria looked up with big, pleading yellow eyes.

"Alright," Sansa said, knotting her fingers in the wiry fur, "This is fine…" She trailed off, sleep already pulling her in.

The last thing she heard was the sound of Nymeria's steady breathing.

When Sansa was woken up by the sound of shattering pottery and a high-pitched scream, she knew exactly why.

Nymeria lifted her head, narrowing her eyes and letting out a low growl, just in time for Aedlayne's golden hair to disappear around the door frame.

"M…mon…monster!" Aedlayne sputtered, and at once, Gawen was running into the room, sword held high.

Nymeria snapped at him, a loud, threatening bark.

"I'd put that away if I were you," Sansa said calmly, soothing the direwolf by rubbing circles on her temple.

Gawen was so shocked his sword clattered from his hand, "Bless the gods…" He muttered, "Is that…a…a…"

"A direwolf? Yes. You may recall Arya's; Nymeria." Sansa said simply.

Meera and Jeyne arrived moments later, skidding into view. Meera threw her arm out, stopping anyone from going in. Quite an assembly of curious, worried workers followed, all staring with eyes as wide as the moon.

"Uhm, ma'am…" Gawen awkwardly addressed the wolf, "So sorry, I meant no harm to you or Queen Sansa…"

"I'd just be cautious," Sansa said, "She's just a little protective. Mothers tend to be that way."

Meera's eyes went straight to Nymeria's stomach, eyebrows crinkling in shock, but also in thought. The way she often looked when she was riddling something out.

"Well…nothing to see here," Meera finally said, "Just a direwolf. Winterfell's had 'em before. Nothing new." She shoved people away, "It's fine."

Sansa got up, and as soon as she did Nymeria was at her side.

Gawen looked between them, meeting Nymeria's piercing gaze.

"I'm to take it she'll be a constant, now? Attached to your hip?" Gawen asked, scratching his neck.

"Seems so," Sansa replied, unbothered.

"Alright," Gawen was taking this all in stride, despite the wolf almost coming up to his abs, "Sure. Huge pregnant wolf. Why not."

As he left, rolling his eyes and sighing, taking his wife with him, Sansa was left just with Meera.

"What are you thinking?" She asked, sitting at her desk and taking out her hairbrush. Meera came behind and took it from Sansa's fingers. Nymeria sat obediently next to Sansa.

Meera glanced at the wolf, smiling, and used the brush over her forehead a few times. Nymeria gave a low rumble, as though to say, 'Yes, you're fine. I won't turn you into minced meat'.

"Direwolves and dragons…those are both way out of my realm of knowledge. Very…mystical," Meera began, taking a section of Sansa's hair and starting to methodically work the brush through it, "So I suppose what I'm saying is I don't believe in coincidences."

"You mean that we're both pregnant?"

Meera hummed, "Yes, that, exactly."

Any other thoughts she had, she did not share it with Sansa, not yet.

But Sansa was sure, in time, she would.

I

"First a bastard baby, and now a wolf?" One of the older lords, a remnant of an older time, asked, throwing his hands out toward Nymeria with a huff, "What next, Queen Sansa?" Though no one would explicitly go against her word, she could tell this lord held little regard for her.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," Sansa replied cheekily, "Yes, indeed. Who knows what I may do next." She rolled her eyes internally, wishing she could just…stick her tongue out at stupid people like this!

Instead, she took a piece of chicken from her plate and fed it to Nymeria, as well-behaved as a domesticated dog, sitting at the hems of Sansa's skirts. Nymeria did open one eye, fixing it on the lord, clearly giving a warning glare.

Usually, that's all that was needed. Today, though…

"Also, I would take better choice of your words. This baby is not a bastard. He won't carry the name Snow, he'll be a Stark."

"But you're unwed. If the definition of bastard has changed, enlighten me, because I think that's what it means." He trailed off in a laugh, expecting others to join in. Only one even dared, but changed it to a bad cough when silence greeted the two.

"Their father is no mere mortal. It's the Gods of Old," Sansa insisted, waving around them, "The gods of the weirwood wished for this child to be our king or queen one day."

That's the story she was sticking with. Whenever anyone asked her who the father really was, the reply was the same.

She knew that it wouldn't be necessary to believe and didn't need everyone to. Just…just a few. Preferably a loud few.

"You'd better hope it's a king," Someone spat sourly, shaking his head.

"If it's a Queen it doesn't matter," Sansa insisted.

"But it does!" Someone else shouted, "If you had married and produced a girl, perhaps we could look past it. But the very thought of an unwed Queen producing a girl is.." He looked ill, "Well, that's preposterous."

A quarter moon after her arrival Sansa was quite sure Nymeria understood everything that was said, everything that was going on, sometimes better than the humans in the room. As to the point, Nymeria stood, growling as soon as someone spoke badly.

Luckily, Nymeria was a very good council tool to keep her lords in line.

"That means she's imagining you for her next dinner," Sansa said dryly, "So I'd give her every reason why you ought to live."

"Control her!" The first lord commanded, red in the face.

"She's a wild animal. I certainly cannot," Sansa said, trying to keep from smiling. She likely could control Nymeria if she wished, but she had no desire of the sort. On some level, she knew her excuse was true…and if you pick a fight with a direwolf, guess who wins? Hint; it won't be you, "Perhaps you shouldn't be so offensive," Sansa suggested.

"I don't think any of mean to cause you offense-" A more diplomatic lord said, standing, glaring at his other lords.

Oh, I'm not so sure about that.

"-But this is unchartered territory. We've never been sovereign. We've never been Queen. And we've never had our heir be so obviously…out of wedlock…gods or not." He swallowed, "We're all just…uneasy. It is a lot of change."

"So you'd rather I not be carrying Winterfell's heir?"

The lord looked like he'd sucked a lemon, "Well, I suppose, no…we'd prefer you married. We're just saying if it's a boy…it'll go over better."

Sansa let the silence linger. She rubbed Nymeria's head to let the direwolf know she was able to handle this, and Nymeria settled back down on the floor.

She placed a hand on her stomach, mulling over their words.

And she let them simmer in her silence, let it bother them while she pulled through all the threads of thoughts she had, some angry and vicious, some calm and diplomatic.

And then she let them wait a while more.

She was their Queen. She dictated how all of this went, and they shouldn't forget it.

"I think you all need to pick a side and pick it now," Sansa said very quietly. Not out of meekness, but because sometimes coming on like a slow rolling storm was more threatening than a thundering scream, "Before the babe comes. And never let me hear a word of it again."

Someone started to talk but Sansa just threw up a finger, using her other hand to soothe the baby, who had begun to kick, no doubt sensing is or her mother's frustration.

"What do you all care about more? Freedom or propriety?"

The lords all looked around at each other. Gawen was watching Sansa very carefully, hand on the hilt of his sword, as though the most ferocious weapon wasn't sitting at Sansa's feet, chewing on a bone. Meera's eyes had lit, able to glean where she was going with this.

Meera was startlingly intelligent, of course.

"Because the truth of the matter is this; I am your Queen and I am sovereign. And that is the price of freedom because Jon went beyond the wall, Arya has no wish to be a Queen, and Bran took his seat far away from here. So you are stuck with me. But let me remind you that I negotiated so that we'd be free from this day forth."

She paused, inhaling, "However, if you all so care about prosperity more than that, I am nothing if not a tool to be used by my people that best fits your needs. But by marrying me off, we lose a barning chip, that sense of freeness we've had all these moons."

Sansa stood, pacing around the perimeter of the room, watching as men twice her age shadowed their eyes as she passed.

"And, if you wish me to marry, you would need to find a man who is content with giving up his name to take mine. My mother instilled one thing into me at a very young age; there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And if you foist me upon someone who would not abide by my terms, who would insist I must take his family name and my child how must be a bastard, well…" Sansa smiled, "There wouldn't be a Stark anymore, and I shudder to think what may happen."

"You've walked us into a corner, Queen Sansa," Someone said bitterly.

Sansa went to sit back down, "Have I?" She sipped her water slowly, "If you find me a highborn Lord in the North, of good pedigree, who is willing to relinquish their family name, well, I'd marry on the morrow. That's very generous of me, don't you agree?"

From beside her, Gawen's eyes widened in panic. But Meera wasn't. Because Meera knew what Sansa knew…they wouldn't find any man who could give up the one thing they'd been told all their lives was the most important piece of their identity.

Not even for all the power Winterfell had.

"So," Sansa wavered a hand, making a weighing motion, "Which will it be?"

There was a quiet buzz as lords and ladies turned to each other, whispering.

"We will…erm…need some time to decide."

Sansa stood, petting Nymeria's head, signaling they were about to take their leave, "Take the time you need. But not too long; this babe will be here soon whether you want it or not."

I

Frustration rolled through Sansa's skin. For all the power she had as Queen, for as much as she was able to hold her own, sometimes those damn lords just…infuraited her!
She very much wanted to hit something right now.

She set off to find Gendry; he wasn't doing much here, other than making friends and enjoying the hospitality Winterfell provided him, so he was very much someone with the time to procure a sword and a dueling figure for.

He was not already down there, and her Queensguard said they hadn't seen him since breaking fast.

He wasn't in the forge either; which was usually where Gendry could be found, unable to separate himself from his roots, and not when the blacksmiths here enjoyed his presence and knowledge so much.

He wasn't in the kitchens, which was usually the third place Sansa could find him. He always complained about the meals he was served, muttering about how he was perfectly fine with moldy bread and a piece of cheese, much to the dismay of his court.

"Where is he?" Sansa murmured out loud, furrowing her eyes, "What do you think, Nymeria?" She asked, looking down. Nymeria didn't reply, not that Sansa thought she would know, and seemed disinterested in the prospect. Though she might be ferocious any other time, as her pups grew larger, she seemed to prefer sitting by the fires and relaxing.

Sansa imagined that as many pups as she seemed to be growing would be very exhausting upon their birth, so she couldn't blame the expectant mother for wanting some peace now.

"It's no matter," Sansa whispered, "I'll just go myself. Gawen can help me."

Gawen wouldn't like it, but he'd obey her.

Sansa went back to her room to put on something with a bit more give than what she was currently wearing. As she passed Arya's door, she saw it ajar.

Worrying that rats may find their way inside and eat Arya's fine bedding, Sansa went to close it.

"Oh!"

There was someone sitting on Arya's bed.

It only took three seconds, though two seconds too long, for Sansa to glean who it was.

Who else would it be?

Gendry turned, jumping up, "I'm sorry, Sansa. I…" Whatever explanation he had ready died on his lips as shame colored up his neck, "I'll leave. I didn't touch anything, I promise."

Sansa stepped into her room. She hadn't entered since before Arya had left... when she foolishly hoped her sister would stay. It had been too hurtful since then.

But everything was how it was left, almost morbid at this point.

Sansa drew a finger over Arya's sheets.

"I guess I just wanted to be near her…" Gendry sighed, "Somedays I barely miss her. Other days…"

Sansa looked up to see his eyes misty, though he was trying hard not to let his emotion spill over.

"You truly loved her…"

It wasn't that much of a surprise to Sansa, or, it ought not to have been. But maybe she'd been assuming that it was on Arya's side, as unreasonable as that was. She supposed she was not used to men showing such clear love and affection. Even her father was always a bit reserved, though she knew he loved her mother very much.

Whatever Arya felt for him, though, it was matched if not multiplied.

"I hadn't thought how being here without her would feel," Gendry continued, filling the space with uneasy blabber, "I thought I wouldn't care. But it turns out I do. Quite a lot."

Sansa snapped her head up.

"Are you leaving?" She asked in an exhale. Though it had to come eventually, she didn't think it would be so soon. The thought horrified her.

"No, not right now," Gendry assured, "It's hell without her here, but it's hell at home too. At least here I can…" He touched a place on her mantle that was struck with a knife, a sad smile gracing his lips, "Feel like she's closer. Nothing on Storm's End feels like hers; Arya made careful to assure that."

Sansa sat, staring at her hands. She missed Arya too. Just as he'd said, some days she was contented in her sister's choice. Other days, she wanted to scream into the sea and call her back.

"She wasn't sure she'd return," Sansa stated the obvious.

"She'll come back for that," Gendry nodded his head toward her stomach, "She tries to hide it, but she values family above all."

"If she even gets the letter," Sansa said with a long sigh.

"If I know Arya," Gendry insisted, "She'd dig her way back from death to meet her nephew. To see you again."

Sansa felt a laugh bubble up inside of her, "I was meant to be comforting you, I think," She said.

"I think…maybe we're meant to comfort each other," Gendry said quietly.

Sansa was silent on that but stared around Arya's room, which felt gray without her here.

"Stay in here as long as you'd like, and return whenever you wish," She said, "Arya always hated people in her room; maybe she'll sense someone rifling through her things and set sail for home immediately," Sansa added with a snicker.

Gendry cracked a smile, "Gods, one can hope."

V

The fire crackled in the background as one of the maids set down Sansa's dinner in front of her, curtsying as she left.

"So I have to go all the way to the Great Hall for food, but you get it delivered?" Gendry teased, "No fair at all. Aren't you meant to be impressing me, the visiting Lord?"

"She's pregnant and the Queen," Roslyn replied sharply, but she was halfway grinning, sitting on a chair in Sansa's solar, reading a book, "So when we come to visit you in your house, you can make us travel all the way to wherever you serve your food."

"You said you weren't hungry, Gendry," Jeyne added with a raised eyebrow.

"It's the principal of it."

As the time grew nearer for Sansa's babe to be born, she'd taken to quiet nights in her solar with friends, sometimes just chatting, sometimes just reading. She knew that she would have little time for that whenever this babe made its way into the world!

Davos and Gendry discussed some returning plans for a few moons out. Jeyne and Meera were going over some ledgers together, occasionally pulling in Sansa. Roslyn was reading a novel, Baby Edmure at her feet chewing on some toy. Nymeria was near the fire, utterly contented. She'd even let Edmure touch her fur today; quite the improvement!

Sansa loved these nights most of all.

It almost made up for Arya, Bran, Jon, and Podrick's absences.

Almost.

Sansa herself was reading through old Stark histories. She was still undecided on her child's name and hoped one would spring out, feeling meant to be. She knew it must be a Nothern name, as Podrick so cleverly deduced. Something traditional would sway those annoying lords far better than any other name she could give.

Plus, she wasn't opposed to it…

But, as this may very well be her only child, she wanted it to feel just right .

She took a bite of her meal and got up, wincing as she shuffled to the next book on her shelf.

"Are you alright?" Gendry noticed her change in temperament immediately, "Is it-,"

"No, no!" Sansa was at the point where whenever she made any tiny noise, everyone was sure the babe was coming, "It's merely my feet."

She didn't recall her mother ever mentioning how swollen feet got when you were expecting, which was more the pity. Sansa felt like her feet were as large as dinner plates of late.

"The feet tend to hurt when one is with a child," Roslyn added.

Great; was Sansa the only woman not to know this?

"They do?" Gendry asked.

"Aye," Davos chuckled, "My wife would sit as much as she was able at this stage. I would draw a warm bath to soak them in," He added, "And I believe it was appreciated, though there was much of blaming me for such a predicament."

"I am fine," Sansa insisted, hating that people fretted over her like this, "I should not have even made a face. I'm merely being dramatic."

She settled back into her space, and as she was opening the first page, the light from the foot of her chair - where the fire was, was cut off. She looked up to see Gendry kneeling near her legs.

"Wha-," The question eeked out and turned into a squeak as Gendry grasped her moccasined foot.

"Settle down and stop screaming, Sansa! Gods!" He rolled his eyes.

"What…what are you doing?" Sansa gaped.

"Attempting to give you a foot rub; I've been told my hands feel quite nice with how rough they are," Gendry said simply, narrowing his eyes.

"That…that is improper!" Sansa sputtered.

Gendry met her expression, amused, "Oh, no, ankles . How ever shall I control myself?" He asked with mirth, "I'm not interested in you that way, Sansa, sorry to tell you."

Sansa looked around the room, expecting cries of impropriety, but everyone seemed unbothered.

"Wish I had someone who did that for me when I was with child," Roslyn sighed.

"Don't look at me," Meera scoffed, "I will do a great many things for you, but that's crossing a line."

"I don't think anyone here is going to run and tell the Lords what happened," Jeyne agreed, "He probably is good at giving massages, Sansa. I'd just accept it."

"But-,"

"If I let the Queen in the North suffer in pain, Bran will send someone to behead me," Gendry reasoned, "So go back to your reading. Go." He made a 'shooing' motion.

"Just tonight, because I am weary," Sansa grouched. She wished Arya was here and they could laugh about this together.

"Alright, Sansa."

L X X V

Three days later, as Sansa began the council meeting, she watched the Lords all trickle in. Nymeria was by her side, as always, and she felt a tiny thrill watching most of the Lords take chairs far away from the direwolf. She understood why the Targaryans were so partial to their dragons if something a fifteenth of their size could evoke such strong reactions.

As she called it to start, she offered a near-jest of an opener, "And, since I see no strapping young unmarried men here, I should assume you have exhausted your options and I will hear no more of the previous discussion, hmm?"

Just as she had thought…it was impossible to produce what was required. She'd get away from marriage, skipping gleefully in the opposite direction, and would have made her point fully.

"Actually-," Someone began, and her stomach dropped. Just a little.

"Is he late?" Sansa asked dryly, "Or is he unaware of your promise and I will only meet him on my wedding day? I will admit, I'm not too happy about that."

She tried to keep herself level-headed. There was no way they'd rose to her challenge; had they? In such a short time?

"Actually," The lord interrupted again, "A few of us have considered…perhaps we have a perfect choice here?"

Sansa looked around the room in dread. The only person she'd consider a semi-reasonable choice was Randin Cerwyn, who was not too far off in age, but still farther than she'd prefer. All the rest of the seated Lords were women (and she doubted they were going that route) or very old men…who currently had their own seats, so that didn't make much sense to begin with. Even Meera looked confused, and she seemed to know everything.

"Here?" Sansa nearly choked.

"Not 'here'," Someone corrected, "But present in Winterfell."

That made things mildly better. There were far more options of second sons of great houses, a possibility Sansa had not considered they'd rise to. She was just starting to catalog who they may be about to pull from behind a door when they said the most surprising person of all.

"We refer, my Queen, to Lord Gendry."

Sansa squinted, unsure she'd heard correctly.

"Pardon?"

"You two seem very close, of late, we have noticed."

"We are merely friends. And he's…" Sansa struggled for the word, "He and my sister have an agreement of sorts."

"And she's far off on the seas, Gods know where," Someone pointed out.

"You forget, he's not eligible at all. He is the only remaining Baratheon, and has his own seat," Sansa said, speaking slowly as though they were all dumb. Which, they just might be for trying her with this absurdity.

"And yet he is here," Someone said pointedly, "For moons he has been. I question his loyalty to King Bran, and wonder mayhaps if he has found peace here…while originally a bastard, a Baratheon is of strong blood."

"This is not even a discussion," Sansa hissed furiously, "Lord Gendry is simply out of the question!"

"Some of us think he may renounce his seat at the Stormlands, and we could perhaps spin this babe as his. A prior meeting between the two of you-,"

"I will not hear of it," Sansa said, feeling ill at the idea of doing anything of the sort with Gendry . Firstly, Arya would murder her upon arriving home. Second, it was just Gendry. Thirdly, well, this was on a whole lot of assumptions that Sansa was entirely sure was not true. And fourth? Podrick would probably be crushed. He and Gendry were sort of friends, were they not? They did look enough alike…if she was even entertaining it, which she absolutely was not.

"I said bring me a viable candidate," Sansa hissed, "And he is not. You are not playing fair," She waggled a finger, "And have wasted time and resources since then."

"But-,"

"No," Sansa said firmly, "And there will be no more discussion on that at all. Now…" She peered over the ledgers in front of her, "Will someone please inform me how we are fairing with our food stocks…"