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Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. - Cregan Stark
The journey to the Last Hearth was surprisingly difficult, harder than all the previous times of her reaching the once abandoned castle. It was supposed to be summer, Sansa shivered as the light snow fell upon the blossoms around her while she rode her favourite mare. It hadn’t snowed in many moonturns, until now. She held her riding cloak tighter around her throat as she held the reins with the other.
The delegation was never large when visiting the restored; yet vacant Keep, there had been an understanding the place would be a meeting point between the young Queen and the Lord Commander of the Watch. A post for the freefolk to reach and peacefully trade with the Northerners, always in good relations thanks to the kinship between the Queen and the Lord Commander -who more and more people tended to call the King Beyond the Wall- that blossomed to a regular exchange.
It had been a compromise for everyone, the two of them especially, some people had demanded his demise, others had honoured him as the hero he was and the King that was never to be. At first it had been exchanged letters between Jon and Sansa, for entire moon turns ravens went back and forth between Winterfell and the Wall and slowly, bridges had been rebuilt. Surprisingly they expressed themselves easier through ink and soon awkward letters of general news turned to angry retribution testimonies and then heartfelt confessions of feelings both had realised existed at least since Castle Black.
The need to rebuild the North -and see each other again- led to meetings; at first in secret, he wouldn’t get all the way to Winterfell, no, he would never jeopardise her position and agreements in the Great Council, even if she stubbornly insisted that she would take care of anyone wishing to go at him. Her first year upon the throne of the North turned her confident and daring but both knew the world was complicated. The Last Hearth would have to be sufficient and even that small swift -when eventually revealed- had both Bran and Sansa dealing with threats from Naath but the Starks had taken care of the foreign hostility with some of their own. Bran was shuffling the cards below the Neck, eager to fortify the Narrow Sea with a fleet. Sansa was fortifying the North, both of them owing a duty of rebuilding Westeros from the blood spilt. The Targaryen supremacy and its destruction put aside, even if there was a Targaryen at the Wall, he was a Stark too, solely a Stark to her.
Part of Sansa’s duty was to protect him, anyone who wished his harm would have to get through her first; and as Sansa’s eyes trailed towards the darkened skies further North, she knew. He would protect her like he had done in the past, he would do it again and again from any threat that might rise from the Lands of Always Winter, he had done so before and he would do it again even if the threat had been extinguished, as far as they knew at least. It was his duty to be the shield for the realms of men, her and Bran’s realms, his realms.
‘My Queen, we’re almost there, the direwolf has been seen.’ The scout reached them and Sansa only nodded as she urged her horse, her guards always surrounding the young Queen. She preferred her horse from her carriage for the last miles. She always felt free; away from the aged lords of her council, their concerns for her safety a constant menace, she had survived things they could never imagine.
The Queen in the North had made sure the Queensguard would be under her own command, its members were both knights and shieldmaidens picked by herself, under oath of loyalty and trust, their cloaks grey, the direwolf upon their shields and armors. Widows, bastards, orphans, men who survived the wars and women who were left with nothing after them, they joined the Queensguard out of their love and respect for the Stark who brought independence, who made all their loss and grief worthy.
Sansa had seen too many people betrayed, she had betrayed some of them herself, she had done it all to survive, and survive she would.
Ghost ran towards the Stark delegation, reaching Sansa with his snout nuzzling the many layers of her clothes and barking, making her laugh, the beast was so tall and robust Sansa touched his head even though she was still upon her horse that had been accustomed to the company of the direwolf.
The Queen was a sight with the white beast by her side as she reached the castle upon the steep hill it was built.
Brothers of the Watch were already in the courtyard along with some people of the free folk Jon had brought with him, she would listen to their petitions and she would discuss all matters of the Wall as it belonged in her domain even though Jon took care of it. But first she would meet him and speak with him on more pressing matters.
Sansa dismounted with the help of two shieldmaidens, she had grown so comfortable with Brienne and she hated the idea of a flock of hens in waiting tailing her, a young Queen could never be too careful and she had decided the women in her company would be fighters, to Jon’s immerse relief and satisfaction when he had learnt of her decision to keep herself safe at all times.
The Brothers of the Watch bowed to the young monarch and the free folk acknowledged Sansa’s authority with nods and standing at attention, she held onto her riding cloak as the winds only grew colder upon the hill, Sansa moved through the opening door and passed quickly towards the meeting room, they never met at the great hall of the small castle, not some other chamber that would accommodate more than the two of them.
The Queensguard spread within the castle, taking posts to keep the Queen safe even if they knew once with her cousin, Queen Sansa would be protected at all costs. Her sworn shields and swords kept watch silent as she approached the door of the room she knew he was in. She pulled at her leather gloves, they always met like this, pretences and protocols held although all their trusted people knew the truth. They did what honour demanded, they served their duty, they kept everything at a balance.
A balance that would soon be disrupted.
The doors of the meeting room opened and Sansa found him before the lit hearth, his furs gone and so was his rough curled hair, the usual image of his when he reached the castle, he had gone there in advance, too eager to see her, she was sure. He had changed and tamed his hair, prepared himself for her. The doors closed behind her as the two looked into each other’s eyes for long lasting moments.
‘Your Grace,’ Jon’s rough voice warmed Sansa’s bones as he approached her quickly, Longclaw always strapped around his waist. He didn’t kneel and he didn’t bow, he only wrapped one arm around her waist while the other held gently at her cheek, their kiss both desperate and tender as she too wrapped her arms around him, inhaling at the scent of snow and ale. She had missed him in those few but long moon turns, his touch, his skin, his own inhale and the way he breathed her in.
Their embrace was slightly different from all previous times and the reason was the barrier that linked them, Jon’s hand caressed its way from her cheek to her collarbone, bosom and then dove into her cloak to touch the bump of her belly. He was soon slipping down entirely, finally sinking to his knees for the only Queen he recognised and the legacy they were building between them.
Sansa smiled as Jon nuzzled his nose against her clothed belly, she was sure he had been tormented by her letter revealing the news to him, those moon turns ago, his response had been a happy one but there had been stains on the parchment, of his tears she was certain. This was the first time they met since then and the letters that followed, of Jon demanding to know every detail, of agonising over the news spreading and Sansa’s responses of handling it all.
‘Let me see you, my love,’ Jon whispered as he tagged at the cords of her heavy cloak, the bow unwithered and the heavy fabric fell at her feet, meeting him. Jon raised his dark eyes upon Sansa and smiled, pregnancy made her shine, fuller and fertile, she looked so ripe and beautiful. His hands circled her belly, clad in the grey dress she wore, ‘so beautiful,’ he exhaled as he peppered the bump with kisses. Sansa’s own hands grasped at his shoulder and caressed her belly and his cheek as his moved down her legs and beneath her dress. She moaned as Jon caressed the stockings above her boots, up her knees and further still to her thighs. He smiled as he teasingly ignored her smallclothes and ventured higher still, until he touched the warm skin of her belly. ‘And how is the little one?’ Jon wondered, marvelling at the tenderness he could feel for that little human in there, their child.
‘He’s getting restless and kicks the Queen constantly,’ Sansa half complained and found the perfect moment to press Jon’s cheek upon the side of her belly, as if realising so, the babe kicked hard inside her.
Jon’s ability to speak was gone the moment he felt the movement of their babe, Sansa winced at a particular shove and in any other occasion of discomfort for her, Jon would wage war for her solace but now he could only smile proudly, a strong child, a healthy one.
He had agonised over this, the line of her succession was a state matter and her womb had taken root by him. She had declared the child was sired by wolves, that the heir or heiress to the Northern Throne was a Stark ruler by their mother and a wolf was the father. Bran had sent his sincere acceptance of the next generation with no question of legitimacy, they were paving the path for new rules on bastardy and birthright. To Jon’s surprise, people had accepted her pregnancy as a blessing, no demand for a marriage that could destroy the North, no more foolish customs that would take down the Queen who served her duty to the realm and put it back on its own feet, independent and free, not after what she had been through, not since most major houses had lost their suitable sons in the wars.
Nobody spoke of the practicality of a miracle nor the Queen’s frequent visits to the Last Hearth for state matters with her cousin that once served as King. No one cared as long as the North prospered and the coming of a child so soon after Sansa’s ascent to the throne had been seen as a good omen of fertility and happiness.
Yet Jon continued to agonise over her, all those months away from her, the knowledge of her growing round with his child felt both like a blessing and a curse. She would go to the birthing bed and he had nightmares of that child becoming her demise, maybe shortly after dying and leaving the North headless again. Now as he kept his cheek against her belly, her very flesh nursing their child Jon couldn’t help but feel awe and adoration for that little movement against him, within her.
‘You will have to come to me.’ Sansa whispered and he looked up at her. ‘For the time of the delivery,’ Sansa added and Jon finally moved back to his feet, holding her close. He hadn’t been in Winterfell since the end of the Long Night, he couldn’t now. It was impossible yet he would give anything to be there for the birth of their child.
‘I… I know you’re afraid of the delivery.’ Sansa added more firmly, she had appeased his fears through letters although he hadn’t expressed his agony, she had reminded him her mother had given birth to not one or two but five healthy children and she had survived each time. ‘The Maester says I’m strong and most likely everything will go well,’ Sansa was calm, reassuring. A lump quickly formed in Jon’s throat. ‘Your mother was most unfortunate, giving birth in the middle of nowhere with next to no aid.’ Sansa added, reading not only his mind but his very heart. ‘And I will have all the assistance in the world, yet there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.’ Sansa finally added and Jon frowned, understanding what she implied.
‘Arya is nowhere to be seen and Bran wouldn’t stay even if he came, he belongs in King’s Landing… there is a turmoil in his council…’ Sansa revealed, causing Jon’s frown to deepen. Of course there would be one eventually, a foreigner creepled king with no ties to the kingdoms, no heir and such a strange impassive stance would both be disliked by the people and too estranged with his own council. Jon had heard of the way Bran obsessed with the fleet at the Narrow Sea, he was sure Bran was seeing something the rest of them couldn’t, maybe something that had to do with Drogon and the imbalance in the world.
‘We might be heading to another Great Council, one that neither of us has a vote this time.’ Sansa added and Jon sighed and reached both his hands for her neck this time, gently touching her, bring her closer to his own face.
‘There is turmoil within the freefolk… conflicting reports from people raging in the forests beyond the Wall, of a threat looming in the darkness, something is quickening.’ Jon dreaded every word but it was the truth and Sansa had to know. She grasped his arms, pulling away slightly, looking deep into his eyes with that old fear that clouded these icy orbs, like back in Castle Black, only now they didn’t fear the present but the future.
‘I… I will have to go and see for myself.’ Jon added and Sansa sighed through her nostrils, her eyes closing in dread, filling quickly with tears. Jon remained unable to console her. They didn’t know if the prophesies and legends had been fulfilled, they didn’t know if the threat had completely been depleted. The Red Priesthood had spoken of a Prince that was Promised, maybe there were fickle tales or maybe they were the only way for humanity to prevail. There was evidence in Dragonstone of a Long Night in the past, back then the people had united and yet they hadn’t destroyed the Dead, only defeated them.
‘Then you should go,’ Sansa bravely admitted, duty was sacrifice, a sacrifice they were bound to make time and time again. ‘And I will go back to Winterfell, take care of the armies, send more ravens west, try to find Arya, and prepare myself for confinement.’ Sansa numbered her own duties, trying to keep it together. Jon took a deep breath and leaned closer until their foreheads touched.
‘I will try to be there on time,’ he finally yielded, easy little lies escaped when your expecting lady cried. She chuckled through the tears, rolling those teary eyes that looked right through the lie.
‘Bearing gifts of good news no doubt,’ she was realistic, pragmatic, the times she had not been, she had suffered dearly.
‘I would give my life for you,’ this was no lie. ‘For the both of you,’ this was an oath, renewed and reaffirmed for what stood most sacred for Jon.
‘And I will survive this,’ Sansa promised back. ‘Both of us will,’ she added, grasping at Jon’s hand desperately to put it back on the spot their babe resumed its movements.
They kissed, eagerly seeking to alleviate the pain both laid at each other’s feet. They didn’t know when they would see each other again. They didn’t know if the world would still be the same fragile thing they struggled to keep together. Maybe it was the way of this brave new world, maybe they were spiraling back to square one without realizing so. The Kingdoms wouldn’t be able to withstand another war and this time there were no dragons, no great houses and no more courage. Whatever was starting anew beyond the Wall would have to be crushed before it grew and all the fickle problems before it be settled. All they knew and felt were each other in the Last Hearth with a first spark between them.