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Chapter Text

Nova Scotia, 1775

SANSA

                Sansa Stark had never seen a baby born but everyone knew the danger. She held Val’s three-year-old daughter close and tried to get her to sleep. Sansa had taken Jon and Val Snow’s two children home with her at the onset of Val’s pains. That had been four days ago now, and no one had sent word about Val or the new baby. Sansa was worried. Four days seemed like a long time for a baby to come into the world. Val’s second child, Margaret, called Maggey, had only taken a day. Fear crept into the corners of her heart as she held little Maggey close and stroked the dark curls of little Catrina, affectionately called Kit, who was already asleep on Sansa’s bed. Val had to be alright for their sake’s… she had to be.

Beneath the floorboards of the loft room, Sansa could hear her brother, Robb, and his fiancé, Jeyne, talking and planning for the future. A different twist of fear caused her stomach to turn.

“There’s certainly not much room here,” she heard Jeyne say, “With Sansa in the loft room, where would we put any children?”

“Sansa is of an age to marry, Jeyne, I don’t imagine she would be with us forever,” Robb said in a weak defense.

“She is of course welcome to be here for as long as she needs, but…” Jeyne paused for a moment, “Do you think anyone will take her to wed… after everything that happened with Harry?”

Sansa cringed.

“You know that wasn’t her fault,” Robb said.

Sansa tried not to listen but could not seem to help herself. She knew her brother would not kick her out when he married, but to forever be his burden frightened her.

Upon the death of her parents, Sansa had followed Robb, and Jon and Val Snow, to the Nova Scotia colonies hoping for a new life, only to be met with loneliness and futility.

Currently she lived with and kept house for Robb but would soon not be needed in that capacity once Jeyne came to live with them in the cabin. The cabin was rather small for two women like Jeyne and Sansa; both having come from landed gentry in Scotland. How long would Sansa be welcome here, once Jeyne became mistress of the house? Not even six months ago, Sansa might have been mistress of her own home, but fate was mostly cruel and left her once again with her brother. And was Jeyne right? After all that happened between her and Harry, despite not being the party at fault, would any respectable man have her now?

The voices below had lowered and became easier to ignore, and as Maggey finally drifted to sleep, Sansa laid the child next to her sister and tucked blankets around them, even though winter was not yet upon them the nights were growing cold. She climbed down the ladder from the loft, to where Robb and Jeyne still sat at the small table.

“We can always build off the back to increase the dining space,” Jeyne said to Robb, as if they could simply hire hands to accomplish such a thing.

Robb looked skeptical. Sansa remembered the ordeal of building this cabin. Robb was strong and not afraid of hard work, but he had grown up on an estate and had been unaccustomed to the harshness of life here, just as Sansa had been. If it had not been for Jon and Val, who were true highlanders, they would not have survived their first winter here. They had grown so much since that first year and had grown hardy and resilient. Jeyne was still quite new here, and though the colony itself was not nearly so backward as it once had been, life here did not provide the comforts and condolences of city life in England or Scotland.

“Don’t you think more space would make the house more comfortable?” Jeyne turned the question on Sansa.

Jeyne and Robb’s marriage was merely weeks away. Sansa looked at her, not sure it was her place to respond anymore, but still she said, for Robb’s sake at least, “More dining space hardly seems necessary considering only the three of us will eat here.”

Jeyne sighed, knowing herself to be the most misunderstood of all women.

                A harsh knock on the door interrupted further inquiries regarding dining space. Sansa leapt up, sure it would be Jon with news of Val and the new baby. Throwing open the door, she was met by the grave face of Sam Tarly, their friend and the local doctor, and in his arms was a tiny, bundled baby.

“Sam…” Sansa said softly, her mind racing to puzzle together what was sure to be the meaning of this.

“Jon’s in a bad way, Robb,” Sam said as he stepped into the cabin not waiting on invitation.

Robb stood, alarmed.

Sam handed the tiny baby to Sansa, who suddenly felt weak at the knees and utterly helpless. She knew what this meant, though she did not want to believe it.

“Val did not survive the birth,” Sam said simply.

Jeyne gasped in horror and burst into tears, “the children!” she wailed.

“I’ll go to Jon,” said Robb, as he grabbed his hat.

Sam nodded.

Sansa looked down at the tiny baby in her arms and squared her shoulders. The baby looked just like Val. Was it a little boy or girl, she wandered? Had Jon and Val named the child? Did she dare ask? She glanced up at the loft where the other two children lay sleeping, ignorant of the fact that their whole world had caved in upon them all.

“Gilly was able to feed the little one,” Sam said simply, attending to the very practical need of filling hungry bellies, “She produces enough for little Sam, and then some, and can send more.” 

Sansa nodded, not sure what exactly she was supposed to do with this information, except that she knew she would care for Val’s children for as long as there was need. She loved them as if they were own kin.

Sansa looked down at the sleeping baby, “Did Jon tell you the name?”

“No,” Sam said sadly, “The birth was grievous, but it’s a little girl, and she is healthy and hearty for now.”

“For now?” Sansa frowned.

“It’s not common for infants who lose their mothers to thrive,” Sam said simply, “Don’t get too attached.”

The harshness in his words stung Sansa and she wanted to be sick, but she was stronger than that.

Jeyne was still in her chair crying, and so she knew her future sister-in-law would be little help. Sansa had no idea what to do with a newborn baby.

“I can send Gilly or Marya up to help you,” Sam said, “I’m sorry to bring her to you, but I did not know what else to do, and since you have Maggey and Kit, I thought it the best place for this one as well.”

Sansa nodded, “You did right, Sam, thank you, I think Val would want them to be together.”

Sam sighed deeply, obviously exhausted.

“What should I tell the children?” Sansa asked, a new fear striking her.

“I had hoped that Jon might come and tell them himself,” Sam said, “But he’s in a bad way right now, maybe Robb can rally him?”

Sansa nodded.

                Jon Snow was a hardy, stoic, stubborn Scot, but Sansa had only ever seen him as brave and gentle and strong. Only once had she seen him less than controlled, and it had been frightful, only then it was anger, which had been directed at her former fiancé, but now it would be grief. Sansa’s heart broke. Sansa did not really believe romantic love was a very true thing anymore, even in Robb and Jeyne she doubted its presence, but she knew Jon and Val loved each other deeply… a real kind of love, that Sansa had only ever observed in her own parents. How cruel was it that they should be separated so early in life? Sansa looked down at the baby in her arms, a product of Jon and Val’s love, how could God be so unkind? Selfishly, she thought of her own stumbles in love, and felt bitterness renewed. How could the kind God she had known in youth turn so cold toward them?

                Jeyne left not long after Sam, making a small complaint about walking home alone in the dark. Sansa did not sleep all night, and Robb never returned. The baby cried and slept and cried some more. Sansa figured the infant was hungry and hoped Gilly, or some other young mother, might appear at their door. Sam had said he would send someone. Sansa rocked the baby in the little chair by the fire, grateful that the two sleeping children in the loft had not woken, for she knew not what she would say to them yet and hoped Robb might bring Jon back with him… and to her great relief, he did.  

Robb came through the door, not quietly, and Jon strode in right behind him. They both looked stern, and both had dark circles under their eyes as if they had not slept either.

“I’ve come for my girls,” said Jon simply and quietly.

Sansa nodded and tried to give him the baby so that she could fetch the older children, but he seemed to not know what to do and so the baby remained in her arms. 

“Sit down, Jon,” Robb said gently, “Sansa, would you put some tea on and get breakfast going?”

Sansa wanted to growl at Robb that she could not very well do that with a newborn baby in her arms, as well as fetch the children from the loft. One look into Jon’s eyes, though, silenced her protestations. His face was hard, but his eyes… oh, his eyes were broken.

“Do you want to hold your baby, Jon?” Sansa asked very carefully. Jon had always been a good father, perhaps love for his tiny baby might stir him?

The cabin fell silent.

Jon just stared at her for the span of a few seconds that felt eternal.

“I’ll take her, Sans,” Robb said, seeming to finally understand Sansa’s predicament. She gave the baby to Robb and went to set the tea and breakfast. There was no need to wake the little ones until breakfast was ready.

                Jon did not say much as the two men sat at the table, and Sansa bustled around the stove. They had saved enough to purchase this iron stove only a year ago, and it had made Sansa’s domestic tasks so much simpler. She put the kettle on and cracked some eggs from yesterday into a fry pan. She knew how to do this, if she knew nothing else in life, she could at least feed a hungry belly. Those sweet little children would soon be up, needing food, and Jon was in no state to manage them. What was he going to do? Val’s sister lived a few settlements away; would they come and take the children away? Sansa’s heart broke. Val was her best friend, and Jon was Robb’s, their little group had become something of a clan together. What would they do without each other after all this time, after all these years caring for each other and growing together in the New World?

“Papa?” a little voice called from the loft.

Sansa’s heart ached. Little Maggey was awake.

Jon stood and went to the little girl who had started to climb down the ladder. He lifted her from the ladder and hugged her.

Maggey stroked his beard in the funny little way Sansa had seen a few times before when she had been around the family in unguarded moments. Jon was a loving father and had always been.

“Is my baby here?” Maggey asked sweetly, peeking over at Robb and eyeing the infant.

“Aye, little love,” Jon said with such a heavy sadness that Sansa’s heart broke.

“Where’s my Mama?” Maggey asked curiously, turning her head, and causing her little black ringlets to bounce around her face.

“Let’s call for Kit, yes? I’m sure you both want breakfast?” Jon said gently, “Your Auntie made eggs. Go wake your sister.”

Maggey climbed back up into the loft and made a ruckus in waking up Kit. Sansa smiled sadly, knowing that such innocence was soon to be stripped from them. Their lives would never be the same again. She saw the same anguish on Jon’s face as he waited for his two daughters to descend.

“Thank you for watching them, Sansa,” Jon said, the Scottish lilt to his voice even thicker in his exhaustion. Her own accent and Robb’s had softened over time, having spent their childhood and youth amongst English and Scottish nobility alike, but Jon had come from the Highlands, and was much less touched by English influences. His voice was such a persistent reminder of their home on the other side of the ocean. Sansa missed Scotland often, and Jon was often on hand to remind her why.

“They’re no trouble, Jon,” Sansa assured.

Jon glanced briefly at the new baby, “Thank you just the same.”

JON

                A few days later, after Val’s wake, Jon took two very weary and very sad little girls home to his cabin, a cabin built with his own two hands, made for love of his family. Sansa kept the new baby with her. Jon could not manage a newborn on his own, with Kit and Maggey and the farm to care for. Crippling guilt filled him at the thought that he had not even held the babe yet and had not even named her. The grief was too much to bear right now. He had little time to dwell on it, though, winter was coming, and he had little mouths to feed and clothe and he had no idea how he was going to manage on his own.

                After tucking the girls into their bed in their lofted room, Jon came down and sat in front of the fire. Their giant white wolf, Ghost, lay in front of the fire but stood to come to Jon’s side.

“Hello ole’boy,” Jon buried his face in Ghost’s white fur, and tried to hold back tears. Ghost nudged him kindly.

Jon straightened, and petted Ghost’s head, “It’s me and you now to take care of them all.”

Ghost offered him his paw in solidarity.

Jon smiled sadly and looked over at Val’s chair.

“I don’t know what I am going to do without you, love,” He told the air, “But I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the girls safe. I’ll shall not leave them.”

Having already left the baby elsewhere, Jon feared he was already breaking that promise before it was even made. He did know that she was at least safe with Sansa, even if he had to leave her. He ran his hand down his face and yawned. Weariness had sunk into his bones. He did not remember ever being so tired before. There is a sort of soul weariness that runs deeper in grief, and Jon knew that today though he did not have words for it.

Slowly, he made himself a cup of tea, and stared into the fire as he drank it, as if the fire might give him some sort of answer to the questions that had haunted him since Val’s passing. How would he keep his family together now? If he lost his little girls with the passing of Val, he thought he might die as well, but how could he keep them safe and provided for, and also keep them with him, when they were still so small that a mother’s presence was a necessity? Both Kit and Maggey had chores and responsibilities suitable for their age, but both were too small to take on housekeeping. And what would he do when they grew older? What advice would he be able to offer when their monthly courses started? What would he do when they grew out of dresses and needed new ones? And when they were old enough for suitors to come calling for them? Jon’s head swam with all the unknowns. Finally, he had to stop himself. The future had enough worries, tomorrow was all he could think about today. What would they eat tomorrow? Would he take them with him to tend the sheep so that he did not leave them alone at the cabin? He could not leave the new baby with Sansa forever, how would he make a way to bring the baby home?

A knock on the door startled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Ghost stood to his feet and glared at the door.

It was his neighbor, Davos and his wife, Marya, and the preacher, Reverend Stannis and his wife, Melissandre, who was quite heavy with child herself. In their arms were two baskets, and Jon could smell fresh cooked food. He was grateful to them, but mostly he wanted to be alone. He ushered them inside anyway with quiet greetings and offered them seats once the food was put away.

Melissandre gave his arm a squeeze, “Tis not right that one so young should have to grieve such a loss.”

Jon nodded. It was life, wasn’t it? Tragedy was commonplace here in Nova Scotia, he would be arrogant to assume that he himself was untouchable. Even in Scotland, Jon’s own mother had died in birthing him. He thought of the Starks’ family who all died of the fever. People died, wives died, children starved… None of it felt fair or right, but it still was…

“We have concern for the children,” said Stannis sternly, without much preamble.

Jon bristled.

“Stannis,” Davos said with a warning glare.

“I’m only speaking what we are all thinking,” Stannis replied gravely, “Winter is coming, and Jon now has three little girls without any help to care for them.”

“We will get by,” Jon stated.

“It’s not good that man be alone,” said Melissandre, rather dramatically.

Everyone ignored her, and continued on, “I know it’s too soon to speak of such things, but the harshness of life here will not wait for a suitable time,” said Stannis.

“What is your point, Reverend?” Jon growled.

“We worry about your ability to care for the children and the farm all on your own,” Stannis explained, “We would hate to see something happen to one of your dear girls due to our negligence in offering sound counsel.”

Jon nearly rolled his eyes, “They’re my children, Reverend, I will do what’s best for them.”

“Even if it means being separated from them?” asked Melissandre.

Jon shot a glare at her, “As I said, they’re my children, and I’ll do what’s best for them.”

“We’ve come to offer help, Jon,” said Davos, much more kindly.

“If you need anything,” said Marya, “if you need me to come care for the girls for a day, or if you need some assistance with the washing, I’m not so far away.”

Jon nodded his thanks to her.

“I know Val’s sister, and brother-in-law, will come soon,” said Stannis.

Jon had no intention of discussing family affairs with Stannis and Melissandre present. Val’s sister, Dalla, was married to a stern, but not unkind trapper, named Mance, and they had a small farm and no children of their own, several days travel away. Jon knew what everyone in the room was insinuating though they would not say it outright. They thought he should send his daughters to live with their Aunt Dalla, to be raised by them. What did Jon have to offer three daughters? His anger was kindled at them all, but there was also a quiet voice inside him, chastising him for having the very same thoughts.

“The affairs of my family, are my own, and not yours,” Jon stated plainly, “If or when Dalla comes, conversations may be had, but for now, I can care well enough for Catrina and Margaret, and Sansa Stark has offered to care for the new baby until I am able to again.”

“Sansa Stark?” Melissandre and Stannis shared looks.

“Is she really the best choice? After the incident with Harry Hardyng, her character has been cast into serious question.”

White hot fury shot through Jon, but before he could respond to such vitriol, Davos cut in, in obvious attempt to prevent an altercation.

“Sansa Stark is a reasonable and perfectly amiable young woman, who was treated quite ill by that scoundrel,” Davos said.

Stannis started to object, but Davos continued.

“We ought to be going, and leave Jon to rest, it’s been a long day,” he said, and turned to Jon, “We care for you and your girls, Jon, if you have need of anything, you only have to ask.”

Jon stood and shook Davos’ hand.

Stannis and his wife both stood to follow the Seaworth’s out, “I hope you think on what we’ve said.”

Jon refrained from rolling his eyes as he shook the man’s hand, “No doubt, I will, Reverend.”

He closed the door behind them and breathed a sigh of relief to be once again alone. After dousing the fire, Jon called for Ghost and started for bed. He had not even laid down before he heard little footsteps above.

Remaining quiet, he waited, sometimes they would get back in bed if they thought he was asleep, but if it was Maggey, she may have need of the outhouse, and Jon certainly did not want to run the risk of her wetting the straw mattress that she and Kit shared.

“Maggey?” He called softly, deciding not to chance it.

“It’s me, Papa,” said Maggey, and he saw her little feet starting to climb down the ladder from the loft.

“Do you need the privy?”

Maggey came to his bedside, “No.”

Jon sat up and reached for the child pulling her into his lap, “Then what are you doing out of bed?”

“I wanted you.”

Jon gave her a soft smile, and held a hand out to her.

She bounded over and laid her head on his shoulder, “Can I sleep with you and Ghost?”

Jon sighed. They did not let their children sleep in bed with them, but Maggey had asked every night since they had come home from Sansa’s and Jon had not the heart to deny her. She wanted her mother, but was stuck with her father, and in Jon’s view he was a very inadequate substitute.

                Inevitably, as soon as he got Maggey settled on the bed, then came Kit to investigate.

“Papa, Maggey is not in bed,” Kit said, ever the older sister though she was only six herself.

“She’s in here with me, love,” Jon said.

Kit came to the entry way of Jon’s room and looked a little sad as she saw Maggey snuggled up next to him and Ghost.

Knowing his children well, he knew that she wanted to join them, but also that she was not like Maggey, Kit would need to be invited.

“Do you want to come and lay beside Ghost?” Jon asked.

Kit looked bashful for a moment, obviously contemplating if that was something only baby sisters did, but finally she made her mind up and clamored up onto the bed with them all.

Sighing and smiling sadly, Jon helped Kit get settled next to her sister, and Ghost curled up with them, as if they were a little wolf pack. Jon squeezed himself onto the edge of the bed and closed his eyes.

This was how Jon found himself the next morning with one dirty little foot in his face, and half his own body hanging off the bed, and his feet freezing cold due to stolen blankets. He sighed, knowing the sun would rise soon, and he had slept poorly and they would have to figure out how to survive together, but for now, he knew this was all they needed.