Chapter Text
…
When news of the birth breaks, all the bells in all the North ring all morning in celebration.
“Good morning, Grandpa!” Marian Shae exclaims with a beaming smile from one of Jon’s arms as they stop in front of Brandon Stark’s statue in the crypt.
Jon smiles and looks to his son in his other arm. “It’s your turn to light it this morning, Brandon.”
Brandon nods and Jon steps in close so the boy can lean over and light the candle. Marian Shae lifts a hand and rubs it over the cheek of the statue. Once it’s lit, Jon takes a step back again and the three look to Brandon Stark’s face flickering in the light.
The three are quiet as they look at him. It’s probably the only time the three-year-old twins are quiet.
At first, Sansa had been the only one to feel the movements inside of her and had just thought she and Jon were going to have a very active baby. But then, she kept getting bigger and bigger and she began feeling far too many kicks and movements at the same time. And then Jon and Sam felt them, too, and with a grin, Sam declared to them that they would be having twins.
Jon feels no shame in admitting that he just about damn near fainted when he heard the news. Sansa, though, was so happy and so excited – as was everyone else when they found out the news –and Missandei told Jon that twins were considered a sign of good luck.
“Blessings for your reign, Your Grace,” she said to him.
During the long and difficult labor, Jon never left Sansa’s side, letting her scream at him and crush his hand; not even thinking of or concerned of how that was his sword hand. His wife could break anything of his as she pushed their children into this world.
Brandon arrived first, Sam shouting out that it was a boy, and Jon and Sansa staring at their boy as he screamed his head off, demanding to be put back in and how dare they for forcing him out. Sam quickly passed the boy off to Cora, who was standing next to him, before ordering Sansa to push again. And then their daughter followed after her brother, her screams somehow even louder.
When Jon and Sansa were discussing names for the babies, Jon knew he wanted to name one of their sons after his father and if they had two, they would name the other after Uncle Ned. With girls, he admitted to being a little lost and Sansa had decided on Catelyn and Marian, after both of their mothers.
When the twins were born, Brandon was quickly settled on – Ned for the next one, Jon promised though Sansa didn’t need a promise like that to be made – and Marian was chosen for their daughter. It was Jon who mentioned Shae, remembering the woman’s name from the one and only time his wife had talked about her; the woman who had helped her in King’s Landing when there had been no one else.
“She’s just as important to me even if I never met her,” Jon told her as Sansa’s eyes flooded with tears upon hearing his suggestion. “She helped keep you safe when I couldn’t.”
Jon now holds his son and daughter – and honestly, sometimes, he looks at them both and can’t believe that he is actually a father with children and he has a wife who he loves and who loves him and in addition to all of that, he’s King to an independent North – and the three of them look to Brandon Stark’s statue.
The twins come with him down here every morning when Jon comes to see his father and Jon asks Brandon silently to look after his family though he doesn’t doubt that his father already does exactly that.
“The bells still ring,” Brandon notes as Jon carries them back through the crypts to the stairs.
“They do,” Jon confirms. “When you two were born, the bells rang all day and night to celebrate and again when Kit was born.”
“I remember!” Marian exclaims, pleased with herself that she does.
Jon smiles and at the bottom step, he bends down, setting both on their feet and watching them as they scurry up, he following behind, prepared to catch one if they stumble. He has learned that that is a large part of being a parent – letting them run ahead, but always nearby to help them up again when they stumble. That’s how Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn was and Jon imagines that that’s how his own father and mother would have been if they had both lived.
“Let us stop at the training yards, first, and then we’ll go see mama,” Jon suggests and then smiles as both Brandon and Marian take off, obviously in agreement to that plan.
The activity outside is steady with a constant buzz, but everyone he passes stops to bow or curtsy when they see their King. All this time later and Jon wishes they didn’t do that, but he has also learned that there’s just no stopping it.
Edd suddenly appears at his side, instantly falling into step with him. “She’s back,” he informs him.
Jon releases a breath at that. “Is she unharmed?”
“She is. Sansa ordered a bath for her immediately and when she’s done, we will all meet in your chancery.”
Jon nods at that. He hides it, but his stomach is always tight when Meg is away from Winterfell. Jon knows that the girl – almost eleven now – is good at what she does for him and Sansa. Varys had trained her well and she seems to only be getting better; her talent undeniable as Master of Whisperers despite her age. Sometimes, Jon knows that Sansa feels guilty because he feels that, too, that Meg is still such a young girl with such responsibility, but they have asked her time and time again if this is what she truly wants to do and Meg always tells them that this is the only thing she wants to do.
As they near the training yard, Jon looks ahead and then hurries to his children, crouching down between them and putting his arms around their fronts, making them both laugh when he stops them from taking another step.
“Remember. You must not distract anyone when they are sparring,” he tells them both.
Brandon and Marian nod their heads and Jon gives them a kiss each before releasing them again and Jon and Edd follow them the rest of the way into the yard. There are dozens of men and boys and some girls training with their wooden swords, sparring together or practicing against the wooden dummies. On the other side of the yard, Theon is conducting archery lessons.
Arya is one of those sparring and her partner is Meera, the young women turning around one another, attacking and thrusting with the skill of seasoned warriors. Jon knows his children would have shouted for their Aunt Arya and possibly gotten her to get whacked with the wooden sword swinging at her if he hadn’t been able to stop them in time.
Marian turns to Jon, holding up her arms, and Jon swings her up so that she may get a better look and Edd does the same with Brandon. They watch all of the training, focusing most on Arya and Meera, their session ending with Arya’s blade to Meera’s throat, but Meera’s blade to Arya’s belly.
“Yay!” The twins both begin to cheer, clapping.
Arya grins, hurrying over to see her niece and nephew. She takes Brandon from Edd’s arms and blows a kiss on his cheek that makes him laugh with delight.
“I heard Meg’s back,” Arya says to Jon. She sets Brandon down and he sets Marian down and Arya hands Brandon her wooden sword. It’s far too heavy for the three-year-old and the twins hold it together.
Jon nods. “I just heard.”
Caw!
Everyone looks up to see a familiar black raven flap in the air over them and then comes swooping down, coming to a gentle land on Meera’s shoulder. She smiles as he affectionately nips at his wife’s ear with his beak and she smiles and lifts her fingers, stroking down his beak.
“Uncle Bran!” The children exclaim and Bran leaves Meera’s shoulder to fly around the children, cawing at them and then leading them off on a chase, the children screeching and squealing as they chase their uncle back towards the Keep.
But then, suddenly, Bran stops and seems to hover in mid-air before turning back towards the others. He flies right to Arya and lands on her head.
“What is it?” She asks, instantly alert.
They all are. Jon’s hand goes to curl around Longclaw’s handle and he wonders if he should order Brandon and Marian into the Keep for safety.
Caw!
Bran begins guiding Arya forward, towards the front gates of Winterfell and the others follow after them.
“Brandon. Marian.” Jon’s voice is hard and even at three, the children know that when their father speaks in such a tone, he is King and is not to be disobeyed. They all can see the rider drawing nearer, but still too far away to see who it is. “Get behind me and stay there,” he tells them.
Brandon and Marian hold hands and hurry to go behind Jon and Edd as ordered.
“Who is it, Bran?” Arya asks her brother, still on her head, in a quiet voice.
Bran, obviously, doesn’t answer, but holds onto her hair a little tighter.
“Is it Davos?” Edd asks, his own hand around the hilt of his sword.
The man had left Winterfell the month before to go visit his wife and Jon had told the man that when he came back to bring her with him. This rider can’t be Davos though. It is a single horse and single rider with no cart behind it and not only that, Davos wouldn’t be back so soon. It is someone else.
They all watch the rider draw nearer, all tense as they wait, Jon glancing back every few moments to see that Brandon and Marian have stayed where he told them to, both being quiet as well.
Arya is the one to gasp first and Bran releases her hair, lifting himself from her hair to sit himself back on Meera’s shoulder as Arya steps forward.
“Gendry,” she whispers and Jon watches as the horse draws to a stop and a man – older than Arya, Jon notes – drops down, Arya already halfway to him. He looks at Arya and nothing else as he takes a step towards her. “Where the hell have you been?” She then demands of this man, loud enough for all of them to hear, before she launches herself at him, the man catching her and with her arms around his shoulders, he holds her around her waist, her feet swinging off the ground.
Jon watches for a moment, frowning, having no idea who the hell this person is and he then looks to his other cousin. “Who the hell is Gendry?” He asks.
Caw! is Bran’s only answer.
…
She and Jon share the chancery and Sansa sits at the table now with Varys to her left and Lord Royce to her right. Of course, underneath the table is Ghost, sleeping on her feet, keeping them warm for her despite the roaring fire in the hearth.
Baby Kit had been getting fussy and Lord Royce had taken it upon himself to sweep the little girl into his arms so that Sansa may continue her work as they go over the harvest reports from the fields and various correspondence and she works on penning a letter to her cousin.
Brienne stands at the door as Pod had been on duty all night and is asleep now. Since the birth of the three royal children, Pod or Brienne have become more intense in their guard duty, alternating twelve-hour shifts. The children have so many eyes looking out for them, but Brienne and Pod remain devoted to Sansa’s safety. Though the North is Independent from the South and all of Westeros has not known peace such as this for so long now, all who survived the wars for the Iron Throne remember – and know – that a person can never be too safe.
It is known by all how much King Jon loves his Queen and the surest way to hurt him is through her. Jon fully supports Brienne and Pod’s constant watch over his wife.
She lifts her eyes from reading to see Lord Royce, her dearest friend and closest advisor, making faces at the baby in his arms and she smiles at the display. All of her children look to the man as a grandfather and it makes Sansa so happy that they do. They couldn’t ask for a better one, in Sansa’s opinion, since their true ones can’t be here with them.
Brandon and Marian Shae have the Stark look of their father and aunt and both Grandpas. Kit though already has the look of her mother; the Tully in her blood. When their daughter was born, they named her Catelyn, but instead of ‘Cat’, Brandon and Marian both began calling their sister ‘Kitty’ and now, four months after her birth, she is Kit, for short.
“Could you open this one from my Uncle Edmure?” Sansa asks Varys, handing him a sealed piece of parchment and Varys takes it as Sansa continues her letter to Robin and Talla.
The bells are ringing for them this morning. Talla has given birth to the couple’s first child; a son they have named Jon, both after Robin’s father and after their King. Sansa is three pages into her letter of congratulations to them and also telling them that the Stark family will come and see them all soon.
“Your Uncle writes of the Riverlands’ trout surplus, but the haddock seem to be below of what it was last year,” Varys informs her.
“Did he mention wheat? If not, ask him how their wheat harvest is and if he needs any. It seems like we are going to have quite the surplus of bushels this year,” Sansa says, lifting her eyes when she hears Kit coo and she sees that the baby has freed her foot from the blanket she is wrapped in. Lord Royce is quick to bundle her once again, the man’s smile never leaving his face as he looks down to her.
“Mama!”
She hears the familiar running of light feet and Brienne opens the door in preparation. A moment later, Brandon and Marian Shae burst into the room, running right for her, giving her just enough time to set down her quill and turn in her chair, laughing as the twins run right into her arms.
Ghost lifts himself up from under the table to go to the twins, sniffing at them and nuzzling at them. Upon all births of the Snow children, Ghost imprinted himself to them as well. Sansa knows Jon hasn’t told the twins – wanting to keep it a surprise – but he has asked Tormund to be on the lookout for any direwolf pups that could be brought back to Winterfell on one of Tormund’s journeys back beyond the Wall.
“Oh, my loves, you bring the cold with you,” she gives them a dramatic shiver and then taking both sets of hands, she rubs them between hers. “Go sit by the fire and we’ll get you some warm cider to drink. Aggie, would you mind fetching some drinks for all of us?”
The girl smiles and curtsies. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Cora had gotten married the year before to a soldier of Winterfell and no longer serves as Sansa’s maid. Though she is only eleven, Aggie remains as Sansa’s only one. Like Sansa had asked her to help Cora, Sansa knows she must ask another woman to be another of her maids to help with Aggie’s workload. Aggie is still far too young to be her only maid.
For a time, Sansa had thought to ask Missandei, but the woman had been a Queen’s Maid enough and Sansa wanted something more for the woman who had chosen to stay in the North. And actually, she has proven to be quite helpful to Sam in his work as Maester and he can’t seem to say enough good things about the woman who has helped him when it comes to medicines and caring for others. Missandei has picked up knowledge from her former masters on different ways to cure illness and Sam has told both Jon and Sansa that she has quite a knack for it.
(Missandei has gone with Sam, Gilly and Little Sam to the Eyrie for even though, obviously, Robin has his own Maester, Talla had wanted her brother with her and Missandei had gone to help with the birth.)
At the moment, Aggie doesn’t seem to mind at all of having such a huge responsibility, but still, Sansa can’t expect her to continue without aid of some kind.
“Meg!” Aggie gasps at the sight of her best friend as Meg steps into the chancery with Jon and Edd behind her. Meg grins and both girls rush to each other, practically colliding and embracing in a tight hug. “I’m going to get warm drinks for everyone. Do you need something to eat, too?” She asks and then looks behind her to the King to see if she does.
“I can always eat,” Meg smiles and Aggie smiles as well and with one more hug to her, she leaves the room, Brienne closing the door behind her.
Jon glances down to Meg before looking to the twins, still standing in front of Sansa. He doesn’t know all that Meg has to report, but perhaps, it’s not for little ears.
But as if they know Jon is going to have them leave, Marian Shae climbs onto Sansa’s lap then and sits down and Brandon sits down at her feet, Ghost joining him. He sighs, but doesn’t tell them to leave. He supposes them staying can be necessary. Though only three, they are different from most three-year-olds. Their papa is the King and their mama is the Queen and things like this will be things they will do one day. It is never too early to begin their lessons.
“Shall we?” He says to those who remain in the room.
Meg comes to the table and smiles when Varys puts an arm around her in a hug. Jon spreads the map of the known world in front of them on the table and Sansa turns forward, Marian still on her lap. Brandon gets to his feet and stands on his toes so he might see as well and Edd swings the boy up so that he can stand on the table.
“He’s in Tyrosh,” Meg gets right to it, pointing to the harbor city on the island off the coast of Essos.
Sansa gasps. “You went to Tyrosh?” She asks, nearly whispering it. Tyrosh is deeply involved in the slave trade and it is said they even sail to the North of the Wall to find free folk to take back as slaves.
“I was fine, Your Grace,” Meg smiles at her. “He has dyed his hair and beard blue.” Tyroshi people are known to dye their hair and beards all sorts of bright colors.
“And you’re sure it was him?” Varys asks.
Meg nods to him while also giving him a look for asking her that. He was the one to train her. “He can dye his hair whatever he wants. He can’t hide that he’s missing a hand.”
Sansa glances towards Brienne, who remains standing guard at the door and is pretending to not listen. It has been years and though her guard isn’t the sort to talk of such things, Sansa knows that the woman still has feelings for the man they are discussing.
“What is he doing there?” Lord Royce is the one to ask, still holding Kit in his arms.
“He makes and sells pear brandy in the city’s market.”
“And when he’s not doing that?” Jon is the one to ask.
“He goes to the pleasure houses in the evenings. He doesn’t do anything, Your Grace. I followed him for three weeks and that’s all he does. He doesn’t even talk to anyone except those he sells to and if he’s at one of the gambling tables. He certainly isn’t talking to anyone about storming the shores of Westeros.”
Jon looks to Meg before to the map and then back to Meg again. He then moves his eyes to Sansa and neither of them say a word, but that doesn’t mean their eyes aren’t speaking volumes.
Jon then gives a nod. “I’ll write to King Martell and let him know.”
…
“You went surprisingly easy on him at the meal this evening,” Sansa notes with a smile as she and Jon lay in bed at the end of their day.
The children are in their own chambers, asleep, and Kit is asleep in her cradle at the foot of their bed – Ghost lying next to it on the floor and keeping watch – and more than likely, Brandon or Marian or both will come into their room sometime during the night to sleep in their bed; both still not quite used to being in their own rooms.
“You know Arya terrifies me,” Jon says with a smile and Sansa laughs softly. “And if Gendry looked out for her, I can’t really hate him at all, can I?”
Sansa doesn’t give an answer to that and instead, she moves in as close as she can to him, snuggling into his side and Jon wrapping both of his arms around her, resting his cheek to her head as she rests it on his shoulder. They lay there, quiet, listening to the crackling of the fire and the other’s breathing.
Sansa lifts a hand and rests it over his heart, feeling the bump of the scar beneath her fingertips. And beneath the scar, she feels her husband’s heart beating.
She tries to snuggle even closer to him though she’s already as close to him as she can be.
“I’m so glad that this is where I am,” Sansa whispers because even after everything they’ve been through – both apart and together – she feels like she can never say that enough; even if the words are such a gross understatement to just how glad she is. How happy.
For so long, she thought she would never be happy again.
Jon rests his lips to his wife’s head and holds her in his arms as tightly as he can. “This is the only place I was ever meant to be.”
…