Chapter Text
Jon returned to Winterfell eventually.
Sansa was not counting the days, but her heart leaped with joy when his party rode through the gates. She hurried down the stairs with Mira following a few steps behind her. She had been a stalwart ally since the first day Sansa met her three weeks prior. Already she had proven her worth and Sansa was able to get a pipeline to the gossip and concerns the lords and ladies were careful to keep away from her or Jon.
Her brother trotted through the gates, climbed off his horse and pulled Sansa into a tight embrace despite the impropriety of such a display. She didn’t bother chastising him and returned the hug.
“You’ve been gone too long,” she chided once they pulled away.
“I know. Things became more complicated than I initially anticipated.”
Sansa saw that was true enough as Lady Jonelle came into view with a younger looking dark-haired man behind her and a young boy at her side. The plump woman approached Sansa and the family of three bowed in greeting.
“Princess Sansa, it’s an honor to have the pleasure of staying at Winterfell.”
Sansa was thrown for a loop but took it in stride.
“I’m glad to have you. Hilly will have rooms prepared for you. Just follow her.”
Lady Jonelle curtsied and took her little family away, following the appointed handmaiden. She looked to Jon for an explanation.
“The problem could not be resolved as long as she and Lord Cley remained living together. It would’ve led to a war. I thought it best they be separated. I’ve granted Lady Jonelle a keep in the Rills so she can establish a cadet branch for House Cerwyn. The keep needs to be renovated before it’s ready for her and her family. I said she could stay with us to avoid any further problems until then.”
Sansa nodded her head. Without knowing the full extent of the issues between the siblings, it did seem like a viable solution. She was partly surprised at Jon’s shrewdness but also admitted to herself that bringing people together and resolving issues between warring factions was a skill he had that she did not think she altogether excelled at the way he did. She noticed Jon’s eyes switch over to Mira’s curiously.
“Ah, yes. This is Mira Forrester of Ironrath. Mira, my brother, King Jon.”
Mira curtsied to him.
“It’s an honor, Your Grace.”
Jon’s lips curled a bit in distaste at the title, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been in the beginning so Sansa’s glare at it was only slight. Jon fixed his face before responding.
“It’s a pleasure on my part, my lady. Sansa wrote to me giving a summary of your plight. Winterfell stands with Ironrath, you have my word.”
“I appreciate that, Your Grace. I’m sure you are tired from your travels. I won’t presume to impede on your time to settle back into your home. A council can be called in due time I’m sure. I can be patient,” Mira responded, her voice giving nothing away, but Sansa could hear a telling lilt in it.
“It is not a problem as such, I will have a meeting called later today. I’d hate to waste time.”
Sansa glanced at the woman, giving her a warning look. Mira met her gaze blankly. She enjoyed her time with the brunette, but she would have to warn her off manipulating Jon, however slightly. That sort of thing could be dangerous if left unchecked. Shuffling noises caught Sansa’s attention and she turned to the carriage to see the wetnurse Jon took with him exiting with the twins in hand. Sansa had all but forgotten about them. She pushed down her guilt and turned to Jon.
“You kept your promise, I see.”
“Both of them in one piece as I said they would be,” he responded, his lips tilting into a soft smile as the wetnurse approached them with the two babes in hand.
Sansa spared them a glance. They were both asleep.
“Would you like them, milady?” The older woman asked.
Sansa thought about it for a moment, but she did not want to pretend right now, especially in front of Mira. She would sniff her out.
“It would be best to just bring them to the nursery, let them sleep.”
The wetnurse nodded and walked off. Sansa watched her go, cooing over the babes in her arms. Jon pressed a kiss to her cheek before following inside to settle himself home. Sansa watched men unloading the belongings of her family and she felt a curious sadness as she watched them do so. She was not sure why. Mira’s hand brushed against hers and Sansa glanced at her before nodding for her to follow her out of the courtyard.
~*~*~
Sansa remembered Margaery claiming she wouldn’t know what she liked until she tried it.
‘Pretty boys, pretty girls even,’ she had said.
Margaery said a lot of things to Sansa that she now realized had been mostly borne of her family’s scheming, but she had been right in this.
Sansa enjoyed her time with Mira. It was easy in a way few things were in her life now. There was little to compare it with. She had only ever kissed women before and any time she laid with a man had not been of her own volition. Mira was her choice. She offered a softer touch. She did not balk at Sansa’s scars. Mira had scars of her own. When they laid together, Sansa didn’t think about Ramsay’s violence or Petyr’s poison-laced kisses or that first touch of lips with Joffrey that seemed so sweet to her then, but she now knew was a trap. She thought of stolen moments under the sheets with Jeyne, and brief peck with Margaery in the gardens. She thought of Mira’s hands and her lips and all the pleasure she got from them both. None of the pain.
It was different tonight though. The twins were here tonight.
Sansa was laid in her bed in the bliss of her afterglow, Mira beside her. She should be thinking about her duties, the wars to come, her future, when she must remarry and produce legitimate children to carry on her bloodline and the name Stark (she was not changing her name again, she was a Stark, she had always been and would always be and her husband, should he come, would just have to accept that). Sansa was broken from her thoughts by Mira shaking her shoulder.
“Hmm?”
“Aren’t you going to see about them,” she asked.
“Who?”
“Your children. They’ve been crying for a little while now.”
Sansa scrunched her brows but the sounds of the twins’ hiccups and tiny sobs from the adjoining room finally penetrated her ears. She hadn’t heard them until Mira pointed it out to her. Sometimes in King’s Landing she would selectively hear things surrounding her to the point where she could block out whole people and conversations so she could survive with her mind intact. She had done the same with Ramsay but hadn’t done so in a long while. It was mildly concerning.
“They’ll be alright. They’ll cry themselves to sleep,” she replied after a moment.
Mira looked at doubtfully.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, can I see them at least?”
Sansa hesitated. Mira had always known she had children, but she had managed to keep those worlds separate. Mira was something untouched by all of her issues and trauma, though she did have some of her own. Letting her see the children was almost like handing her most broken parts over to this woman who she had only just started having relations with, but before she could answer, Girl let out a shrill cry and Mira shot up, pulled on her dressing gown and approached the room. Sansa tensed as she watched her disappear inside.
Mira came back a moment later holding the twins in her arms, cooing over them.
“They’re adorable, my lady.”
“Thank you,” she answered, watching Mira sit in the chair under the window.
Sansa wasn’t sure why, but it made an unpleasant nervousness settle in her watching her lover with her children.
“What are their names?” Mira asked.
Sansa blinked.
“They don’t have names.”
Mira looked up at her and Sansa turned away from her silent judgement.
“Ramsay?” Mira asked after a while.
Sansa nodded wordlessly. There was no point in denying it.
“You don’t love them,” Mira said next.
“I—” Sansa cut herself off, her mind awhirl with answers before she finally shook her head.
“I don’t hate them either. I just…” she trailed off, leaving the words hanging as she stared up at the ceiling.
Mira cooed over the twins for a long while, content to leave Sansa to her introspection.
“Will you keep them?” Mira asked offhandedly.
Sansa looked at her wordlessly.
“You don’t have to. Any of the lords or ladies of the North will feel most favored by you if they could foster your children.”
“They are too young to leave me.”
“They were just gone from you.”
“Only for a short time. They need me still.”
“That is what wetnurses and governesses are for.”
Sansa stared at the brunette silently. Mira sighed.
“I’m not making a play or trying to manipulate you into anything, I’m genuinely trying to help, trying to provide you with options, alternatives to living a life consigned to misery. That’s what it is you feel. It’s like a void inside of you, deep and yarning. I could see it in your eyes the moment I walked into the room with them. It’s faint now, but it will grow and soon it won’t be in your control. You don’t hate them now, but you will if you continue this way. It doesn’t make you evil to admit that it may be for the best for you all to be separate from each other. People have done much worse to their children, even children that they wanted. My father, the Gods bless his soul, as much as I loved him, he banished my half-siblings beyond the Wall rather than deal with the complications of having had children out of the bonds of marriage. You could do worse than sending them to be raised by some lord or lady of your choosing as befitting children of the ruling royal family of the North. It’s better than letting the darkness in you fester.”
Sansa quirked a small, humorless smile at the woman.
“You think they are the source of all my misery, of all this darkness in me as you call it?”
“No, I’d be a fool to think so, but they are the culmination of it. Babes are sensitive things. They’ll feed off that darkness. It’ll become a part of them as it has become a part of you. Considering their paternal blood, I think it’s a good idea to give them every chance to not fall prey to the curse of their ancestry. Let them grow in light and give yourself room to let some light shine on you as well.”
Sansa didn’t know if she believed there was enough light in this world to blot out that darkness. No, she knew there wasn’t, not for her anyway. She was already tainted and defiled. It wouldn’t be so bad to let the children grow up somewhere else away from her. For all her worries of them growing up to be like Ramsay and Myranda, perhaps away from Winterfell, away from the memories of their deeds, they would flourish.
As much as Sansa loathed them growing up to be those dark twisted creatures, she also didn’t want them growing to be like she was in her youth: a stupid, sheltered girl with no concept of what the world truly was, what people were capable of, the darkness that existed in the hearts of men. Only Sansa could teach them, could rear them so they grew up free of such naivety, so they were ready for the world. No one else knew the horrors she did, and if they did, they rarely ever lived to tell the tale. The world was not a place that suffered innocence. She looked at her children again. They were not born of innocence, a newly married couple fumbling and blushing their way into their first sexual embrace. They were born of darkness, the darkness that permeated the world. It would get them eventually, mayhaps chew them up, spit them out and move on.
No, Sansa did not love them in the traditional sense, but was it not in the nature of a mother to want her child to grow up to be as ready for the world as possible? They needed to remain in Winterfell so she could teach them how to survive, that was what she could give them. Not love, but something more important than all that. And in Winterfell she could watch them, watch for the signs of any taint upon their minds, any lingering bits of Ramsay and she could act accordingly.
“My children belong with me,” she said to Mira and left it at that.
~*~*~
Sansa was different. It wasn’t a new observation for Jon, he’d noticed it after the haze of happiness at being reunited with her at Castle Black faded away. She was not the girl who longed to be a princess whisked off her feet by a gallant knight and off to marry a golden prince, the girl who thought that life was a song and rejected anything resembling reality if it jeopardized maintaining her life of fairytales. The woman his sister was now was a harsh, jaded amalgamation of all the teachings of her captors. He didn’t know if she was better or worse off for it, but it was what had made her survive and what was helping to keep the North afloat now.
Sansa had a knack for ruling, playing “the game” as she called it. She was good at it, startlingly so. Their father denounced southern ways and their unnecessary intricacies and yet, even in the North a delicate balance needed to be struck to keep order. Jon had watched his father navigate it effortlessly and Sansa was much the same, weaving in and out of conversations, securing loyalties and fielding rumors and all of it done with a well-placed smile that didn’t bear questioning even though Jon knew she secretly scorned most of the lords and ladies of the North.
Despite his misgivings about her personality shift and the oft time cold calculation she indulged in to help him rule their kingdom, his sister was as much a boon to him as Ser Davos was, not just because of the rekindling of their familial bond giving him a reason to push through all the bureaucracy as they readied for the great war against the Army of the Dead, but because he sorely needed the help.
Jon had no problem when it came to making speeches, laying battle plans and placing men where they needed to be. He sent men to retake Ironrath for the Forresters with barely a thought. He hashed out plans for members of the Company of the Rose and the Wolf Pack to link up with the Crannogmen and liberate the Riverlands without batting an eyelash. He was perfunctory about ordering the making of dragonglass weapons and overseeing the training of men, women, boys and girls. That wasn’t any worse than training the men at Castle Black. Mediating arguments between his bannermen was little different than breaking up the childhood arguments Bran and Arya would get into. The statesmanship was where he was lacking. It was Sansa who coached him on how to maintain small talk with his lords and helped him entertain them, so they didn’t get too antsy as they prepared for winter and battle. It was she who made sure he stood correctly, kept his face composed, left something to the imagination when he spoke. His success, or lack thereof, was no reflection on her ability to teach so much as his innate reticence to change in those regards. He left the everyday running to her and let her steer him through interactions with their bannermen when necessary. He even let her field marriage proposals for him because ruling, even if from the shadows, suited Sansa.
Motherhood, on the other hand, did not.
Jon was not an idiot and nor was he blind, no matter how dense Sansa believed him to be. He noticed the way she looked at the twins from the start. She didn’t want them, didn’t love them, he could tell. He sometimes felt guilty about it when he watched them together because it was clear that she was trying, but she couldn’t get pass their conception. He had told her it was her right to do what she saw fit when they were born but he couldn’t help but think she only kept them because of him, because he couldn’t hide how happy he was to have two new people of Stark blood in the world, untouched by the tragedy that had befallen their family. Girl and Boy could never replace his father, Robb and Rickon, would not lessen his longing for Bran and Arya wherever they were, but they did reinvigorate him as much as reuniting with Sansa had. They gave him a reason to push against the coming darkness, but for Sansa it was not so.
He had hoped that taking them with him to Castle Cerwyn would give her time to deal with whatever it was that she needed to, but if anything, it made her more distant from them. She still had them around. The twins were always in the room when Jon and Sansa would hash out their plans, everything from negotiating the exchange of wildfire with Queen Cersei for the North and the Riverlands’ neutrality in her war with the Dragon Queen, to moving soldiers out of the Riverlands and to the Wall, (who had had new arrivals from Asshai as well, leading Jon to think they truly would win this war without the other four kingdoms).
When they took meals, the twins were there. When they reminisced in Father’s solar, they were there too. Increasingly, when Jon went to Sansa’s bedroom, he would find her there with the twins and Lady Mira, but Sansa’s eyes did not light up with joy when Girl smiled for the first time or when Boy first crawled. Those moments of satisfaction were reserved for when her plans came to fruition. The schemes she borne were more beloved to her than her children. She spoke to him of plans for their future more and more lately. Ostensibly, that should’ve provided some sense of hope, the fact that she was considering their future at all. The education she wanted for them, what she wanted to teach them about life, was as utilitarian and bleakly realistic as Sansa herself had become. It was much like a maester setting out a lesson plan, not a mother waxing about what morals she would impart on her children. He didn’t agree with much of what she said. Children should be children as long as they could, especially given the North’s plight. Jon couldn’t find it in himself to blame her or scorn her for it even still.
He found himself frequently taking the children more and more, despite the fact that he was entrenched in planning a war that would determine the fates of the living. The lords and ladies would shoot him queer looks when they would spot the twins in their cradle next to his desk in the war room or his solar. Davos said some lords were calling him his sister’s wetnurse. They never hid their judging stares when it came to Sansa either, but both had thicker skin and stopped caring for such things. Most of these lords weren’t there for them when they fought to get Winterfell back so what did he care for their judgement? His main issue was that the more it felt like the plan to take on the Night King was coming together, the more it felt like he was failing in figuring out a way to keep his family together. His sister, his niece and his nephew were all he had now, but his sister hated her children or resented them at least and he didn’t know how to fix that.
He wondered if this was how his father felt dealing with him and Lady Catelyn, trying to keep them all together. The lady had hated Jon and he knew it. There wasn’t a day that passed by when he was aware of it, where he wasn’t trying to avoid her cold gazes and her scornful reprimands so as to give himself the illusion of a happy family. His father hadn’t succeeded any more than Jon was now, had he? Jon had run off to the Wall the first chance he got, but Gods willing, when they won this war, there would be no need for a Wall for Boy to run to and that was never an option for Girl. So, what was there for Jon to do?
“She is trying,” Davos commented as he watched Jon pace the solar.
“I know that, but it’s not working.”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“Not directly, no. What would I say? I know you hate your children, is there any way I can convince you towards the contrary?”
“Perhaps not that.”
Jon shot the older man an unamused look. Davos gave him a slightly apologetic look.
“When I was coming back from Dragonstone, I stopped by the Stormlands.”
“I know, to get blacksmiths,” Jon finished.
“Yes, but also so I could see my wife and sons at Cape Wrath.”
Jon paused, just remembering this truth. His family had a small plot of land there. Jon offered for them to come north, but they were safer there for now. If they won the war, then they would come be closer to Davos. Jon had a holdfast for them on the Stony Shore if they wanted it.
“When it was time, I was surprised to find myself reluctant to leave. I’d never been before. I’d always done my duty and Marya understood. Perhaps it’s the fact that death marches down from the Wall that was the source of my reticence, but my wife said something that hasn’t left me. She said, ‘staying together is more important than how we stay together’. Wherever I go, no matter how it looks, as long as we’re staring up at the same stars, we will be together. It’s just that this way works best for us at the moment.”
“You’re saying I should send one or the other away?”
“No. You want to keep your family together. The way they are now isn’t working. Staying together is more important than how you stay together, and perhaps it just means that Sansa being their mother is not what’s needed to keep you all together. There are other alternatives. Think about it.”
Jon nodded after a moment, seeing the wisdom in his words but also not yet wanting to admit defeat where Sansa and the children were concerned. He’d be watchful, and hopefully things would change, but if not...
Well, he’d do whatever was necessary to keep his family together.
He remained vigilant for days. He watched as Sansa become more and more distant from the children, more and more detached about their futures in relation to herself. They were still there, still present in a room with her, but there was no emotion there. Sometimes, it didn’t even seem like Sansa knew they were there at all.
Jon could hear the crying from down the hall now the minute he turned the corner. He saw the judgmental looks on servants’ faces as they passed by, but what concerned him was Lord Royce and Lord Glover strolling through the halls, trying to seem like they were not lingering by Sansa’s door. When they saw Jon, they nodded his way and walked past him. He waited until they were out of sight to enter the room. Sansa was standing by the window, looking out of it at the courtyard below, seemingly oblivious to the two crying babies on the bed. It took four calls of her name before she responded to him.
“Didn’t you hear them?” He asked needlessly as he made his way over to them.
Girl started stretching her hands out towards him when she saw him hovering above her while Boy continued flailing his arms helplessly.
“I put the pillows around them so they wouldn’t fall off the bed. They’ve been fed and changed. They’re just crying for attention,” she replied, looking back toward the window.
“Babies do, occasionally, need attention,” he replied, picking Girl up and shifting her to one arm so he could pick Boy up as well.
It took a long moment of gentle words and bouncing, but eventually the sobs hushed, and the babes only whimpered sparingly as they rested their heads comfortably on his shoulders.
“You’ll spoil them,” Sansa commented.
“I don’t think it’s possible for me to spoil them with attention if they only receive it from me anyway.”
Sansa finally looked away from the window to give him a withering look.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jon winced at the tone in her voice and stared at her undecidedly.
“If you have something to say, say it,” she hedged, catching the look in his eye.
“You know, when you told me you were pregnant, I didn’t know what to say.”
“It was pretty obvious with you gaping like a fish as you were.”
Jon shot her a wry smile. It wasn’t one of his better moments.
“Still, whatever you had decided to do, I would’ve supported your choice. No matter what anyone else said, no matter what I thought about it, it was your choice to make.”
Jon paused, taking a deep breath, wondering how to approach this in a way that did not upset his sister or make it seem like he was judging her like the others were.
“But you made your choice, and they’re here now. And you’re trying, I can see it every day, you are trying so hard to be to them the mother that your mother was to you, but...”
“But?”
Sansa’s face was hard as stone, but Jon pushed through.
“But I know that you don’t love them the way your mother loved you. You don’t care for them that way. They are six moons and you haven’t even named them yet.”
“The wildlings don’t name their children until they see two namedays,” she retorted.
“Yes, but you’re not one of the Freefolk. Look, I’m not judging you for any of it—”
“It certainly feels like you are.”
Jon sighed.
“I’m sorry if it does because I’m really not. I realize that it must be hard for you, raising the children of the man who hurt you the way he did.”
“Hurt me? What an... inoffensive word to use.”
Jon conceded that point to her.
“I can’t truly understand what he did to you, or how you feel looking at them every day. You could wax poetic about what happened to you and I could still never understand unless it happened to me. And even then, I wouldn’t know what it is to carry my abuser’s children inside of me, to give birth to them, to feed them from my own breast. I can’t understand that, so I’m sorry again for implying, even a little, that I could.”
Jon knew he was walking on eggshells with her. Usually, that frustrated his sister, but this time, she softened.
“I’m not trying to make this conversation so difficult, Jon. I can see your point, I just... I’m trying with them.”
“I know, Sansa. I see it, but it’s not the end of the world to admit that you’re not ready for them. That you may never be ready to deal with them, to face a life with them.”
“How can I? Like you said, they’re already here. I made my choice to keep them, I can’t just change my mind now.”
Jon opened and closed his mouth before steeling himself.
“Maybe you can.”
Sansa gave him a confused look.
“What are you talking about?”
Jon glanced down at the twins for a moment. They had both already fallen asleep. He pressed a kiss to the top of their heads and carefully placed them back on the bed, leaving them close together like they preferred, before approaching his sister.
“I could take them,” he announced.
Sansa’s eyes widened at that.
“What?”
“I could take them. I’ll raise them as my own, care for them, provide for them, teach them. You won’t have to lift a finger for them again if you don’t want to. They won’t know about you or Ramsay if you don’t want them to. They can call me ‘father’ and be none-the-wiser to the truth of their birth. I will talk to the other lords and make it known that it is to remain a secret. I will be their parent for all intents and purposes.”
Sansa looked momentarily tempted.
“But you’re the king...” her face hardened as she said that.
“You’re the king. I do not want his son inheriting the throne after you.”
“He won’t. I’ve already given this thought. I will legitimize them as Starks. I know what the stigma of growing up a bastard can do, and I swore I would never raise any child named Snow. It will mean I must be legitimized as well to reduce questions, but I will not put them in line to inherit the Winter Throne. I will set aside land for them both in the North. Each will have a keep of their own and a betrothal when they are old enough. They will have their futures secured, but he will not be king.”
“You should’ve legitimized yourself ages ago when I told you to, not for something like this. It figures when you finally do, it’s not even for yourself,” Sansa pointed out with exasperation before becoming worried again.
“You must marry for an alliance, it would complicate any marriage you could hope to have, taking them on as your own.”
“It could, but I won’t put any potential future marriage before the family I have right now. Besides, I would be sure to impress upon my future wife that our children would be before the twins in the line of succession anyway.”
Sansa stared at him for a long moment more before her face slowly crumbled.
“I can’t ask you to do this. I would be consigning you to a whole life with them.”
“And if I don’t do this, I would be condemning you to a whole life with them.”
“You would really do this for me,” she asked in a quiet voice.
“I would.”
Sansa paused for a moment before moving towards him and throwing her arms around his neck. He returned the embrace, hugging her shaking form tightly for a long while. She pulled away after a moment and nodded her head in acquiescence.
“Okay, take them.”
“Okay. I only ask for one thing.”
Sansa looked at him inquiringly.
“I always thought that if I ever had any sons, I would name my firstborn Robb.”
Sansa’s face screwed up a little.
“What if he’s like Ramsay? He shouldn’t have that name.”
“He won’t be like Ramsay, I’ll raise him differently.”
Sansa still looked displeased before coming to a decision.
“Her. Name her after Robb, some feminine name close enough to it. I don’t want him having our brother’s name. Any of our brothers. Or anything close to our father’s, for that matter.”
Jon decided to take what he could get and nodded in reply.
“Okay. Thank you.”
“You are not the one who is supposed to thank me. I just dumped two babies on you. You have a kingdom to run and a war to prepare for.”
“You didn’t dump anything on me. I wanted them, so I asked. And I know this was not easy for you, so thank you.”
Sansa nodded, accepting his thanks with a slight grimace before she pressed a kiss to his cheek. She walked towards the door. She paused for a moment and shot a glance back at the babes before walking out of the room. Jon deflated after she was gone.
That conversation went better than he had expected it to go. He walked back to the bed and stared down at his niece and nephew, his son and daughter now. He would have to move bedrooms. His chambers were not large enough for him and their cradles and was not close enough to the nursery anyway, he would have to hire a wet nurse and he would have to think of names for them. Girl (Robyn? Roberra? Robina?) fussed and Jon pressed a finger into her little hand to soothe her. Whatever needed to be done, he would figure it out and get it done for the children’s sakes, for Sansa’s sake, for the sake of his family and the North.