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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.

Chapter Text

SANSA

                Sansa loved to sew but sewing those little black dresses for Jon’s girls for Val’s wake nearly ended her, but they made it through, and the Wake was over, and life had to move forward for the sake of everyone’s survival. Winter was coming, and they would all need to be ready when it did. Jon had taken Maggey and Kit home with him, but left the new baby, Lyanna, as Sansa had determined to call her since Jon had given her no name. Jon could not care for the two little girls and a newborn baby and the farm on his own. Sansa and Robb were the nearest he had to family, until Val’s family received word of her death. They lived far enough away that they could not have received word before the Wake, and so such things had to carry on without them. Sansa knew one day they would descend, and a decision would have to be made about the three little girls, and how they would remain living with their father.

                Sansa trudged through the increasingly cold morning air toward Jon’s cabin, with baby Lyanna strapped to her chest with cloth, similar to how she had seen some of the native women carry their babies while they worked. Lyanna was too small to be slung across Sansa’s back like some carried their babies, but she figured having the baby in a sling against her front would suit just fine.

She patted the little baby’s bottom, hoping to keep her calm as they walked, “We’re to go see your Da and your sisters, I think you’d like to meet them more properly.”

The baby was asleep, but Sansa talked to her anyway, willing her to be strong, to thrive… to survive.

The fallen leaves crunched underfoot as she trudged a well-worn path toward the little cabin where her friend, Val, had always welcomed her, and made her part of the family. Sansa had had little time to mourn her friend, and still there was little time, as she tried to keep Val’s newborn baby alive, and fretted over Val’s husband and other two children. She had not been to the cabin since Val’s death, and so she steeled herself for the grief to come.

                When she entered the clearing, however, there was still no time to mourn, for there was obviously work that needed doing. Jon was vigorously chopping wood in the front, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, adding to a pile of wood that was well beyond sufficient for their immediate needs. The two dark-haired little girls, who looked just like him, sat on the ground a little ways away, eating what looked like porridge from a bowl. Maggey, ever the little waif that she was, had it all over her rosy cheeks. Kit sat primly with ankles crossed using a spoon, like a proper grown up. Val had always said that there was a little old woman lurking about in Kit’s soul.

Before she was spotted, Sansa observed Kit try to wipe Maggey’s mouth with a cloth. Maggey screeched in horror as if she had been struck. Both the little girls looked a little raggedy, though, she could see an attempt had been made to do something to contain Kit’s wild curls into a braid. Had Jon tried to braid her hair? Sansa’s heart ached at the certainty of that. Kit could not have braided her hair on her own. Maggey’s hair was wild, had she fought Jon just as she used to fight Val over it? Neither girl, however, was wearing a coat or shawl.

Maggey’s shriek did not stir Jon. He did not even spar a glance at the girls, who appeared to be on the cusp of a brawl.

“Jon,” Sansa made her presence known, and all three dark curly heads snapped up and turned to look at her.

He attempted a friendly smile at her but failed.

Sansa wondered why life was so incredibly cruel.

“Are the girls having a picnic?” Sansa asked, trying to sound lighthearted.

Jon sighed, and put his ax down, “They would not let me out of their sight.”

Sansa nodded in sad understanding.  

“I can’t leave them on their own anyway, they’re too small,” Jon explained, raking a hand through his hair.

“I can take care of Maggey, Papa,” Kit exclaimed, having overheard Jon’s last statement.

Jon’s tired smile at his eldest made Sansa’s heart ache, “I know, mo chridhe.”

The sound of Gaelic was music to Sansa, she and Robb had lost much of their Gaelic through the years, it was not permitted in English society.

Jon came to stand in front of Sansa, and looked down at the sleeping infant, he brushed his finger across Lyanna’s downy cheek, “How’s the babe?”

“She’s as well, as can be, I think,” Sansa said softly, “Under the circumstances.”

Jon nodded, and turned quickly away from them, “Come along, my little lassies…”

The little girls always giggled when he said that to them, and it served to make Sansa sadder.

“Let’s make Auntie Sansa a cup of tea,” Jon took up the ax, and carried it away to put it where the little ones could not reach, and they all followed him into the house.

                The cabin was disordered, a breakfast that had been at least made, was not yet cleaned up. There were some clean clothes hung over a chair in an obvious scramble to find the girls’ clothes to wear, but there was a growing pile of soiled clothing in a corner, where Val had often kept the washing, but Sansa had never seen it so filled before. Jon’s bed in the space behind the hearth had a blanket flung over it in haphazard fashion, and so Sansa could only imagine that the girls’ room in the loft was worse.

“My apologies for the mess, we’re a bit behind on the chores,” Jon explained, “I’m not quite sure what’s more pressing, the washing, the milking or the hunting…”

So naturally, he did the chopping, Sansa did manage to refrain from saying. It was obvious that he was lost, and he did not need her to make things worse by stating the obvious.

“Why don’t you go and get started on your chores, and me and the girls will clean up in here?” Sansa offered.

“I can’t have you do that…”

Sansa glared at him, “And whyever not?”

Jon’s face was grim, but he could not seem to come up with an answer, and she knew it was because there was none. He obviously needed help, and she was offering. How were any of them to survive if they did not help each other?

He nodded curtly, “Girls, you will mind your Auntie.”

“Yes, Papa,” the two little girls said in unison.

Jon nodded again and strode through the door.

“Well, my lassies,” Sansa smiled at the two girls who both smiled back, “Shall we clean this house, so that your Papa might smile again?”

Both the little girls giggled at her, smiling as if they were participating in some conspiracy.

“Is that my baby?” Maggey asked Sansa, pointing at the baby who was asleep in the little sling against Sansa’s chest.

“Yes, this is your baby sister,” Sansa knelt in front of Maggey so that she could get a better look at the baby.

Maggey reached her grubby little hands out to touch her.

“Be very gentle.”

Maggey nodded, “I’m a big sister now?”

“Yes, you are.”

Sansa had to grin, as Maggey touched baby Lyanna’s nose with the most featherlight touch she had ever seen Maggey employ.

“Would you like to see your baby sister, Kit?” Sansa asked.

Kit had started picking up dirty dishes from the table, “No,” came the simple puzzling reply.

Sansa frowned, not sure what to make of that, but did not quite know what to say. Perhaps she would discuss it with Jon later?

“What’s her name?” Maggey asked.

Sansa paused. She had been calling the baby, Lyanna, after Jon’s mother, but only because she could not abide the child going without a name for a day longer, but this baby was not her baby… she had no right to name her anything without Jon’s say.

“She’s still waiting for a name,” Sansa said carefully, “Name’s are very special, and they take time to arrive sometimes.”

“How do they arrive?” Maggey asked.

Sansa smiled and stroked Maggey’s hair, “Fairy’s bring them,” she said hoping to draw smiles from their little faces.

“Fairies?” Maggey giggled.

Kit was still picking up dishes, but she paused at the mention of fairies.

“Yes, fairies,” Sansa very carefully unwrapped the little baby, eyeing the cradle at the foot of Jon’s bed, “And they bring them and hide them in flowers in the springtime and the snowflakes in the winter.”

“Is that why she doesn’t have a name yet?”

“Why?”

“Because it has not snowed yet.”

Sansa smiled and supposed that was as good a reason as any, “Aye, sweetling, we’re just waiting for the snow.”

Sansa gently laid Lyanna in the cradle, and then rolled up her sleeves, and fastened her apron more tightly around her.

Looking at the pile of clothes in the corner, Sansa knew that the washing needed to be tackled.

“Kit can you and Maggey finish putting all the dirty dishes in the bucket and we will take them all to clean soon,” Sansa instructed, “And I’m going to gather all the washing, and we will walk down to the stream.”

“Yes, Auntie,” Kit smiled, always grateful to be helpful.

                Once all the dishes and clothing were gathered, and set outside to be taken to the stream, Sansa set to sweeping the cabin out and making the beds. Sansa was a good housekeeper, and she had learned most of what she knew from Val herself, and so she was hopeful that it would be a blessing to Jon and the girls to have the house set to rights in the same way that Val might have set it.

JON

                When Jon came up from the pasture, he could hear his girls laughing down by the stream, and he smiled softly to himself. He was glad they could laugh. Sansa had always had a special way with them, and he was grateful for her presence today. He knew she would not be able to come and be with them every day, he would have to figure this out on his own eventually, but at least he had been able to tend his sheep and work his garden for awhile today. He had to finish harvesting their crops before the cold truly set in.

He whistled, “Bess!”  

Bess his loyal collie came bolting up to him obediently and walked in step with him. He wandered where Ghost had gotten off too. Bess was his working dog who helped him with the sheep, and Ghost was his friend, but also served to guard the homestead. Jon, though, was grateful for both. He glanced at Bess’ swollen belly and sighed. Ghost and Bess had gotten too friendly of late, and Jon had been negligent in keeping them apart, being distracted as he was with Val’s last months of pregnancy, and so nature had taken its course. He would be out a sheepdog for a bit once the pups came.  

The late afternoon sun made the water of the stream sparkle and trees turning colors for the autumn stretched over the hills. Jon had loved Scotland, and thought its beauty unparalleled, but Nova Scotia was breathtaking in its own right. He and Bess approached the stream to find Sansa in the water up to just her ankles bent over washing clothes. Her dress was pinned up around her knees so that it would not get wet. The little girls were on the bank rolling the clothes to get the excess water out of them. Jon then caught sight of Ghost, he appeared to be guarding a large basket, in which the new baby was bundled. He approached quietly, unnoticed by the girls and Sansa. Sansa was telling them a story about fairies and the Bonnie Prince. There were many legends around the Bonnie Prince Charlie, and he supposed Sansa was adding her own to the history. He had to smile.

When she had apparently finished, Jon made his presence known, “That’s quite a tale.”

Maggey and Kit bolted up and rushed to his side. Maggey immediately, throwing herself against his leg wanted to be held.

Sansa chuckled, “You’ve never heard the tale of how Bonnie Prince Charlie was carried to Isle of Skye by fairies?”

“Can’t say that I have, but I’m not the most learned man,” Jon said laughingly.

Jon picked Maggey up and threw her over his shoulder, making her squeal with laughter. Kit, very demurely, took his hand, and they came down to the bank of the stream.

Sansa brushed some hair away from her face that had fallen out of her kerchief and smiled at them.

“Let’s help Aunt Sansa finish the washing, and then we’ll go fix some supper,” Jon told the girls and deposited Maggey on the ground.

“Can I swim Papa?” Maggey’s eager little face reminded him of Val. Both Kit and Maggey favored Jon in looks, with their dark eyes and dark curly hair and the set of their nose and mouth, but every so often he saw Val in their demeanor, in their quickness to laugh, and their iron wills.

Quieting his grief, Jon laughed, “No, the water is too cold to swim, and we have chores to tend.”

                When the washing was done and hung on the line, Jon gathered the wash bucket under one arm and Maggey under the other and led their procession toward the house. Sansa scooped up the new baby, giving Ghost an affectionate pat, thanking him for guarding the little one. Jon smiled, knowing Sansa to be the kindest of women, he could throttle Harry Hardyng again for breaking so gentle a heart. When they came to the cabin, Jon already found a stew simmering over the fire and a loaf of bread baking in one of their large iron pots.

“Sansa, you’ve done too much…” Jon felt guilt hit him in the stomach. He wondered what poor Robb would be eating tonight after a hard day’s work, since Sansa was here tending to Jon and his little ones.

“Don’t give me any of that Jon Snow,” Sansa tutted at him, “You and the girls are practically kin, and I know it’s going to take some time for you to get back on your feet, and I’m happy to help.”

They hurried the girls off to wash their hands and faces before supper.

“Besides, with Robb marrying Jeyne in so short a time, I’ll not be needed near as much at home,” Sansa’s voice held something akin to fear.

“You’ll always be needed, Sansa,” Jon tried to assure.

Sansa looked skeptical, “We barely fit in that cabin, Jeyne is quite a presence.”

Jon felt rather neutral about Jeyne Westerling, neither liking nor disliking her, but did think she was an odd match for Robb Stark, but he had already said his piece to Robb at the beginning of their courtship and so now he held his tongue. Would Jeyne not want Sansa in the house once they were wed? Robb would not put Sansa out, of that Jon was sure, but how miserable would Jeyne make Sansa once she became lady of the house?

Sansa turned from his scrutiny to tend the stew and then, the babe began to cry in her little cradle.  

“Jon, would you tend her?” Sansa asked carefully.

“Here let me help you,” Jon took the bowls that she had in her hand and the spoon that was in her other and shuffled her away from the stew.

Sansa glared at him, and he felt ashamed of himself, but she said nothing as she went to pick up the baby from the cradle in his room. As he stirred the pot and began to dish the stew into bowls to be set out onto the table, he peeked around the hearth to watch Sansa feeding the baby with the little glass bottle that Sam had provided her with.

He still had not named her. What kind of father left a baby unnamed for so long? He had not held her either, some strange fear and frustration gripped him every time he thought too. What kind of father was he without Val?

The baby began to cry louder.

Jon put all the bowls out on the table and filled the girls’ cups with water. The girls clamored back into the cabin and took their seats, and the baby was still crying.

“Is the baby crying because she misses Mama too?” Maggey asked suddenly, with such a heartbreaking mix of grief and innocence, that Jon felt gutted.

“Aye, lass, she misses Mama too,” he said roughly.

Kit’s eyes filled with tears, but she hid them quickly, and Jon felt even more helpless. What was he doing that his children felt they needed to hide their tears from him?

“I don’t want the baby to cry!” Maggey whimpered sadly.

“Jon,” Sansa called out sounding frustrated.

“Eat your food,” Jon instructed gently.

“Yes, Papa,” they replied in unison.

“Jon.”

Jon strode into the area behind the hearth that was his bedroom, where the cradle was, and where Sansa now stood.

“Is she alright?” Jon asked, coming to Sansa’s side.

“I think she’s hungry, but I can’t get her to eat,” Sansa said, looking a little lost, but her eyes were stern when she turned them on him.

“It isn’t right for a babe to drink from that glass thing,” Jon said simply.

Sansa’s eyes suddenly shot darts at him, “Well, that’s all we have, Jon.”

“I know,” Jon replied, feeling helpless but sifting through his experiences with his other babies, “Sometimes babies need to get calm before they can really focus on eating, especially if they are crying like this.”

“Do you want to try?” Sansa asked gently.

Maggey called for them.

Jon hesitated, feeling that same fear and frustration.

Maggey called again.

Sansa glared at him, “Jon Snow, sit down and hold your baby!”

Her firmness took him off guard, but it served to make him sit down. Without ceremony, Sansa gave him the infant and walked away to see about the girls.

Jon looked down at the baby crying in his arms, completely lost.

“There now, lass,” He started softly, cradling her close and giving her bottom some soothing pats, “Its alright… its alright.”

He continued to rock and pat and whisper things to the child, and he felt tears pricking the back of his eyes. He tried to hold himself together but feared he was failing.

“I’m here, I’m here,” He crooned at her, and he felt a few tears escape his own eyes.

The baby started to quiet.

Sansa peeked her head around the corner.

Jon quickly wiped his eyes, so that she would not see. But she did, he knew she did because she cast her eyes to the ground.

“She recognizes your voice, I think,” Sansa said softly.

“Aye,” Jon said gruffly trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

Sansa only nodded her head and went back to overseeing the girls’ supper.

That was how it all began, Jon would later recall. She came to them regularly, caring for and loving the little girls, and keeping his cabin in order. Somehow, she became a natural member of the family, but perhaps she had always been in a way.

Chapter Text

SANSA

                Sansa felt like she had not slept in days. Lyanna had a bout of colic but seemed to be on the mend. The baby was swaddled and sleeping in her basket while Sansa cooked supper for herself and Robb, and presumably Jeyne, whom she figured would be around at some point in the waning afternoon sun. Robb and Jeyne would be married at week’s end, and Sansa was not she was ready for such a change.

“I wish Jon and the girls lived nearer,” Sansa said absentmindedly, finding herself worried about them, as Robb repaired one of their wooden chairs, which Jon had built for them years ago, “He’s so isolated out on the ridge alone.”

“He was not alone until recently,” said Robb simply.

Sansa nodded. She had spent all day at Jon’s cabin yesterday and the day before, and multiple days since Val’s passing two weeks prior, but today she had had to stay at her own cabin and tend her own chores, or else Jeyne would be moving into a dirty house, and Sansa was not the kind to allow that to happen.

“I suppose he and Val valued their privacy and did not want to be too near town.”

“Aye,” Robb replied, seeming to only be half listening to Sansa, which did not surprise her.

They lived closer to Jon than most others of the community, except for the Seaworth’s who were the Snow’s nearest neighbors, but still Val and Jon had truly valued their privacy and had little use for strangers dropping in to visit. It’s not that they were not welcoming, they were just particular about who they admitted as friends. Sansa had made her little treks to visit Val and was always welcomed in as part of the family.

Lyanna started to squirm and fuss a bit, and so Sansa scurried over to the basket to soothe her.

“It’s alright, Lyanna,” Sansa crooned at her.

“Does Jon know you’ve named his baby?”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush, but evaded the question, “It’s his mother’s name.”

“So it is,” Robb sighed, “But does he know?”

“No.”

Robb quirked a brow at her.

“He has not named her yet, and I cannot go another day, calling her the baby,” Sansa retorted, “as if she were the dog or the cat.”

“Still, that baby, is not your baby Sansa Stark,” Robb chided.

Sansa glared at her brother, “I know she’s not my baby, Robb Stark.”

“Then how long do you expect to play house with her?”

Fury shot through Sansa, “I’m just trying to help, Jon, and Val, God rest her, they are our dearest friends, and the closest we have to family here, how could you not think that I would do anything for their girls?”

“God knows I love the Snows, and I love Jon as if he were my own brother, and I love those girls,” Robb turned the chair back on its newly corrected legs, “But I think you know, as well as I, that we cannot raise Jon’s children.”

She wanted to retort that it was just one baby, not all three of them, but she knew that was not his point.

“You cannot raise little Lyanna there on your own,” Robb continued, “And Jeyne and I are not in a place to take on another mouth to feed when we will want to have our own children.”

Sansa then remembered their multiple conversations about space and the size of the cabin, and how there was little enough room for Sansa let alone a baby who belonged to someone else.

“It’s a good thing you’ve done, Sans,” Robb said a little more gently, “You are likely the reason that baby is still alive, but I think you know that Jon is going to need to consider sending the girls away to live with their Aunt Dalla and her husband.”

“I don’t know it,” Sansa snapped, but in truth, she did. How could Jon manage all three girls? Maybe he could keep Kit with him… maybe… but Maggey and Lyanna were both small and needed a mother’s management.

“Sansa,” Robb stared at her.

“Their little hearts will be broken.”

“They need a mother.”

“I suppose it’s not our decision to make, after all they’re not my children, as you have so kindly reminded,” Sansa growled, and felt a little guilty for being surly with him, when he was just trying to be frank.

                They were quiet for a few minutes as Sansa began to set the table once Lyanna had settled back down.

“Is Jeyne coming for supper?” Sansa asked, wondering if she needed to set an extra place.

“Likely too.”

Sansa nodded. The Westerlings were their nearest neighbors, which had put Jeyne and Robb in close proximity to one another from the Westerling’s earliest days. Robb had even helped build their cabin. She remembered the first time she had met Jeyne, how feckless and frail she had seemed. Sansa had wondered if she herself had been that way when she first arrived but could not seem to quite remember.

“I’ve arranged to stay the night with Marya Seaworth the night of the wedding,” Sansa said simply, “She said I am welcome to stay for as many nights as I have need.”

Robb nodded, “Just the one night should be sufficient.”

Sansa was not sure that one night would be sufficient for her, let alone them, but what was she to do? She and Jeyne would have to learn to live and work together eventually.

“Are you taking Lyanna with you to the Seaworth’s?” Robb asked.

“Of course I am, I would not leave her here.”

“I was not suggesting you leave her here,” Robb replied pointedly.

                The knock on the door ended the conversation. Robb opened it, and there stood Jeyne with a pleasant smile on her face, and to Sansa’s surprise, Robb took Jeyne in his arms and kissed her, and Jeyne allowed it without so much as a blush. They would be married in a matter of days, and so Sansa supposed that certain liberties were permissible to them at this point. Further, Sansa knew that they saw her as a sort of chaperone. Their reputations had never been called into question, because Sansa was here. Sansa was always here, keeping house for Robb and making sure he did not spoil any unsuspecting maidens. She sighed to herself, and supposed she sounded like a spiteful old maid, but her life with her brother here in the colonies had not exactly proceeded by way of dreams and the spirit of adventure that she had imagined when they first came here.

“Smells lovely, Sansa,” Jeyne said pleasantly.

“Thank you.”

“I see the baby is still here,” Jeyne continued, giving Lyanna a smile and caressing her tiny little foot.

“Yes,” Sansa replied, trying not to sound sour.  

“People in town have been talking like you’ve had a baby yourself,” Jeyne chuckled and sat down at the dinner table, as Sansa dished food into their plates. She said it lightly, but Sansa’s reputation was just darkened enough that Sansa would not be surprised if people thought such a thing of her.

“They all know she’s Jon’s baby.”

“Of course, they do, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to imply any impropriety,” Jeyne huffed, “And I certainly know she’s Jon and Val’s baby.”

“Sansa and I were just talking about Jon and the girls, and their uncertain future,” said Robb, giving Sansa a warning look.

“Oh, I thought the girls would go to live with their Aunt and Uncle?” said Jeyne, after she gave Sansa a quick thanks for the meal, “Jon certainly cannot handle a newborn baby on his own, and the other two cannot be left alone in that cabin all day, what would become of them?”

What would become of them indeed? Sansa wandered as she sat down to feed Lyanna. Perhaps it would be for the best for the girls to leave? The idea broke Sansa’s hurt. Those little girls loved their father, and he loved them, and to lose each other so soon after losing Val seemed intolerably cruel.

She looked down at the little blue-eyed baby in her arms. Lyanna was the only one of Jon’s three girls who looked like Val, though she was small and so there was still much time for her looks to change, but even in the weeks since her birth, she had only grown to look more like Val rather than less. Sadly, she was not gaining much weight, and Sansa was not sure what to do for her. She had taken her to Gilly several times who had fed her, but in such a sparse population, a wet nurse was unlikely to appear, and Gilly had her own baby to feed. Sam had looked Lyanna over and said that she was still healthy despite being small, and so all that they could do was to keep doing what they had been doing.

“She’s just like a little porcelain doll,” Jeyne crooned, looking over at Lyanna in Sansa’s arms.

Robb took her hand, “We’ll have ten just like her.”

Jeyne flushed bright red and giggled with embarrassment as blushing brides were prone to do.

Sansa wanted to growl that a baby was hardly a doll, and childbirth was not a joking matter, but she bit her tongue. She knew she was being overly sensitive due to her fears for Jon and his girls.

JON

                Robb’s wedding should be a simple affair, they did not have large weddings in Nova Scotia, but still having a wedding at this time of the year just seemed irresponsible to Jon. There was harvesting to do before the first real cold came. He was half convinced that Jeyne had addled Robb’s brain, but who was he to judge the rashness of lovers? He and Val had eloped as they could not wait a moment longer to start their life together, or he had to confess, to lay together, but they had been in Scotland, and life, while difficult, had been different there.

His sweet and proper Kit had been the result of their eagerness to love each other.

“Papa, you’re pulling my hair!” Maggey whined in protest, as Jon tried to run a comb through Maggey’s wild curls.

On the other hand, Maggey, little dear that she was, had impressed upon them that there was prudence in patience.

Kit had sat prim and proper and had allowed Jon to brush and braid her hair without any protest. The braid was substandard, he had to confess, but at least it fit under her little bonnet so that she could ride to the church for the wedding, without her little ears getting cold.

Maggey, however, seemed determined to rebel against his efforts.

“You’re supposed to hold still Maggey!” Kit chided.  

“I can’t hold still!” Maggey cried, “My toes want to move.”

Jon rolled his eyes half in amusement and half frustration.

Kit stood on the bed behind Jon looking over his shoulder, “You’re doing it wrong, Papa.”

“What am I doing wrong?” Jon sighed deeply.

Maggey burst into tears.

“You have to make two,” Kit tried to instruct.

Jon tried to understand, but he had only given Kit one braid, what did it matter if Maggey had one or two?

“Why don’t we just put it back with a ribbon?” Jon asked, “She has a nice ribbon.”

“It will fall out, her hair is too small,” Kit tutted at him, as if she were the grown up in the room.

“Maybe we will just keep it loose?”

Maggey cried more, begging to be released from her torment.

                A knock came on the door, and Jon sighed deeply. Who would be coming to call at this hour when everyone who lived nearby knew that Robb and Jeyne were to be married today? With an even deeper sigh, Jon left Maggey and Kit to sort out their hair and answered the door. To his surprise, he found Sansa there, with the baby nestled against her chest.

“What are you doing here?” He asked rather abruptly.

Quirking a puzzled brow at him, she smiled good naturedly, “Hello to you too, Jon Snow.”

He raked a hand through his own hair, “I’m sorry, hello.”

“May I come in?”

“Aye,” Jon widened the door, and both Maggey and Kit peeked around the hearth to watch Sansa come in, “I figured you’d be at the church with Jeyne and Robb?”

“Jeyne has sisters,” Sansa replied as if that explained everything.

Jon nodded and pretended he understood.

Maggey darted toward Sansa and grabbed onto her skirt, “Papa pulled my hair!” she wailed and cast an accusing look at Jon.

Sansa looked like she was trying not to laugh, but she shot a questioning look at Jon.

“I was trying to brush her hair, so I could braid it like Kit’s,” Jon explained helplessly.

Sansa looked over at Kit’s hair, her brow knit together.

Jon felt certain that she was judging the poor quality of said braid.

“Would you like me to help?” She asked gently.

“I’d be much obliged.”

She smiled softly. Sansa did most things softly and delicately.

“Take the baby.”

Jon nodded and moved close to Sansa as she unwrapped the baby and handed her to him. Jon cradled her to his chest.

Sansa went to the area behind the hearth where Jon’s bed was, and Kit still sat, and took Maggey with her. Jon watched as she sat down on his bed and drew Maggey into her lap and went to work on her hair. He only watched for a moment before turning away, feeling an odd sense of unease at the scene but not really sure why. 

Jon patted the little baby’s bottom and marveled, as he always did, at how small newborn babies were. He recalled when Kit had been placed into his arms, and how big and clumsy he felt being entrusted with something so small and precious. Val had been laying in the bed, her brow shining from the exertion of the birth, but smiling at him. Jon had been present for the births of all three of his children, which was not the done thing, but he had done it anyway. Val had always been a hardy woman, strong and fierce. He looked down at the baby, she looked like Val. Kit and Maggey looked like him, but this one looked like Val.

“I suppose we ought to give you a name, little love,” Jon whispered to her, though his heart ached at the thought. Val had been convinced this one would be a boy and so had not entertained any girl names that he suggested, now it was too late to discuss the matter with her. Jon would have been happy boy or girl, as he always supposed they would have three or four more. They had time after all… or so they thought.

The baby stared up at him. Sam had warned him that babies that lose their mothers in such a way rarely thrive, and that he needed to prepare for the worst, but she was still here.

“Perhaps you have your mother’s spirit in ye,” Jon whispered.

                The war of Maggey’s hair seemed to have ceased and Sansa reappeared.

“I hope you know Jon, that if you do not feel well in coming, no one would hold it against you,” She said gently, “Mourning a wife is no small thing.”

Jon nodded. In Scotland, perhaps it would have been considered quite out of the question for a man mourning his wife to attend a wedding so soon, but out here in the wild, did all the societal norms matter? Robb had been there for Jon at every major milestone of his adult life, the best and the worst. Jon wanted to be there for him too… As much as it grieved him, life here did not stop for death. Death was as much a part of life as birth. God, he missed Val terribly, but how would he feed his family if his whole world came to grinding halt in the unfairness of it all?

“I’ll come,” Jon replied.

Sansa nodded, her mouth in a grim line.

Maggey joined them, and Jon saw that Sansa had braided Maggey’s hair into a little halo around her head.

“Thank you,” he looked at her. She had been Val’s dearest friend, and one of his. He could not thank her well enough for all she had done for them since Val’s passing.

Sansa gave a gentle smile, “Of course.”

SANSA

                When she had arrived at the church with Jon and his family, they received a myriad of strange looks from members of their congregations. Sansa could not understand it. Yes, Jon was still in mourning, but the stringent rules of mourning in a place like high society London hardly held sway here. Life here always had to move forward despite the grief. It did not occur to her until many weeks later that it was not Jon’s appearance in the midst of mourning that drew so many eyes.

                Jeyne and Robb were married now and she and little baby Lyanna had gone home with Marya and Davos Seaworth, so that Robb and Jeyne might spend their first night together alone in the cabin. Sansa and Marya now sat in front of the fire, talking, while Marya rocked the baby.

“I’ve delivered so many of the babies here abouts,” said Marya fondly, as she looked down at the baby, “This one’s birth was a grievous one, its not common for me to call for the help of a doctor.”

Sansa felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she restrained them, there was no time for tears, she kept telling herself, winter was coming.

“But you’ve cared for her brilliantly despite the circumstances,” Marya said kindly.

“Thank you, it’s the least I could do for Val and Jon,” Sansa said, “They are… were… my dearest friends in the world.”

Marya nodded and rocked the baby.

“He won’t name her,” Sansa confessed in a huff.

“He will,” Marya assured, “Just be patient with him, Jon’s a man of deep feeling, though he doesn’t let it show much, I know he loves this babe as much as his other two little girls.”

Sansa nodded, she supposed she knew that was true, but she wandered sometimes if grief would be stronger than love?

“Val had been convinced it was going to be a boy,” Sansa chuckled softly and sadly.

“Well, only the good Lord gets to decide what to send us, and we women can’t tell for sure till they’re here.”

“Do you think Jon’s disappointed that she’s not a boy?”

“Maybe, but I don’t reckon so,” Marya said, “I think grief is a heavy thing, and he’s not likely seeing very clear right now.”

Robb wanted a boy to carry on the family name, and all the other men she had known with fresh babes, wanted boys. But Sansa, too, knew grief, and Marya was right, it was a heavy thing that clouded sight. Jon needed time, and not very much time at all had passed.

“I don’t imagine, you will be able to keep this baby for him much longer,” Marya gave her a look that said she understood the struggles that Sansa was about to embark upon in living with her brother and new sister-in-law.

“No, there’s not much room in that cabin, even for me,” who had helped build it, she wanted to add but feared sounding spiteful.

“Do you reckon you will still like to marry one day?” Marya asked bluntly.

Sansa chuckled, “I suppose some rough-hewn trapper or woodsman might take me, if he’s not particular about reputations.”

“What happened between you and Harry did not seal your fate, I hope you know.”

“I know,” Sansa said softly, in the society from which she came it would have sealed her fate, but here in the colonies it did not matter as much, there were much fewer women for the men to choose from and so they could not be quite as particular. Besides the allegations against her were false… Jon and Val were the only ones to believe her at first, but others did come to see the truth.

“Do you wish to marry?” asked Marya curiously.

“I don’t know,” Sansa replied honestly, “It’s rather expected, isn’t it? I can’t live with Robb forever, and where else would I go?”

Marya was sympathetic. There were not many options for a woman alone in the world, let alone in a place like colonies.

“Sometimes I wonder if I would have been better off staying in England with my aunt,” Sansa said, “But would a Scottish girl have faired much differently in England? Perhaps I, would have at least had more options?”

“Perhaps.”

“I don’t regret coming here,” Sansa assured, “It just has not been what I thought dreamed it would be.”

“Adventures rarely are,” Marya chuckled.

“I suppose, I imagined coming here and being swept off my feet by some romantic Jacobite hero in a kilt, who spoke Gaelic like my father did,” Sansa said, “But stories like that aren’t true, and I’m not even sure love is a true thing.”

Marya laughed gently, “That’s rather dramatic, dear, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” Sansa conceded, but experience was telling her that love was, at least, not what she always thought it was.

“Love isn’t pomp and circumstance and grand courtly gestures,” Marya reached out and touched Sansa’s cheek like a mother might, “There are many different kinds of love, and most of them come gently to your side like an old friend.”

Sansa smiled at the pleasant image.

“Besides here in the colonies, many marriages come together for purely practical reasons, and love comes along much later,” Marya explained, as Lyanna started to stir, “And many of those marriages are none the worse for it, in fact many are stronger for those earlier ties of growing together through hardship and practical need.”

Sansa took Lyanna from Marya’s arms and started to pace in front of the fire with her to soothe her.

“You’re good with her,” Marya complimented seeming to change the subject.

“Thank you, she’s a little dear,” Sansa replied smiling at the baby, a small stirring of fear that this baby could be taken from her at any moment settled inside her.

“You’d make a good mother.”

Sansa smiled sadly, she had always wanted to be a mother, but letting a man close enough to break her heart again felt like an insurmountable mountain.

Chapter Text

SANSA

                It all started with the sweeping. Jeyne had not thoroughly swept the cabin out before dousing the wood floor with water for the mopping. Robb was prone to tracking in dirt and dust from the fields, not intentionally of course, but many times it could not be helped. If he took his shoes off at the door, then the dirt and dust from his clothes fell to their floor. If it was not thoroughly swept out daily and again before the mopping, then mud could form.

Sansa tried not to grumble as she and Jeyne ended up on their hands and knees scrubbing their floor. If Jeyne had followed Sansa’s instruction in the first place, then they could have already been on to other chores that needed doing. Sansa had to remind herself that she was no longer the lady of the house, this was Jeyne’s house now, and she could keep it as she chose, even so they could not have mud caked on the wood floor.

                The next issue came with the milking. Jeyne had somehow never milked a cow before. Sansa was sympathetic at first, after all, she herself had never milked a cow before coming to Nova Scotia. In her view, she had taught Jeyne with utmost patience, how to handle the cows, explaining with care that they needed milking as early as possible every day, so that the milk would not build up and cause infection in the cows. Jeyne was still reluctant, even suggesting that Robb should be doing the milking, that it was men’s work, and for the Westerling’s apparently it was men’s work. Jeyne had a brother who handled the milking of their cows. Robb had happened upon the two of them during one of these discussions and had laughingly taken the milking stool from Jeyne’s delicate little hands and milked the cows for them. Consequently, Robb was late coming in for supper that night, meaning the food was cold when he ate. Sansa supposed that if they wanted to change the way things were done, then that was their prerogative, it was their home after all, but because dinner was delayed, so was the washing of the dishes, and so Sansa found herself down at the creek washing dishes by candlelight. Could she have brought water to the cabin to wash the dishes? Yes, but she needed a few moments to herself. Additionally, she hoped they might consider engaging in their newlywedded amorous activities while she was down by the river, rather than in the middle of the night, where she was sure to hear regardless of how covert they attempted to be.

                The next battle came over the cooking. Jeyne had been quite eager to assume responsibility for the cooking of the meals, and so Sansa had given her the task. It was Jeyne’s house now, anyway, if Jeyne wanted the work, who was she to refuse her? The Westerlings had engaged an indentured servant to do their cooking and so Jeyne had never cooked a full meal before and could neither manage the iron stove nor an open fire. Sansa tried to be patient, as she herself had burned plenty of meals in her early days of managing the house. Jeyne would have an easier learning curve since they now had the iron stove. The two women had even had a couple of laughs over Jeyne’s mishaps, despite a few fraught nerves. After a week of burned food or other various cooking mishaps, however, Robb had the audacity to suggest that Sansa re-assume the role of cooking the meals, which sent Jeyne into angry fit, that had the two of them fighting for half the night.

                “And then the rooster chased her from the coop,” Sansa finished after relaying a particularly amusing anecdote about Jeyne to Jon with a laughter over lunch at his cabin.

Jon laughed heartily.

It was good to see him laugh.

“Bless her,” Jon said setting his tea down, “She will learn as everyone does here.”

Sansa refilled his mug and put another biscuit with salted pork on his plate.

“Thank you, Sans,” Jon smiled at her.

All three of the girls, even the baby, were blessedly and uncommonly asleep when Jon came in for lunch, and so she and Jon had eaten lunch together in an almost unnatural calm. With Jeyne at the cabin, it did allow Sansa more time to come and help Jon at his cabin, or to take the girls home with her, so that he might work uninterrupted on his harvest. Sansa had determined that she would no longer wash Robb’s clothes, that was Jeyne’s responsibility now and so no longer being responsible for the washing, gave Sansa extra time to go to Jon’s. She could do her own washing with Jon’s and the girl’s clothes, and so it was no hardship for her.

“Despite her shortcomings, she is trying,” Sansa said generously, though her own frustrations remained unspoken, “Their row over the cooking had Robb in the barn for a few days.”

“He did not marry blind, and so it is his own doing,” Jon chuckled, “And besides, every husband has to learn at some point to not complain about the cooking. It’s a dangerous thing to compare your wife’s cooking, to that of your mother or sister. He should know better, but I suppose, he too will learn.”

Sansa smiled.

“If I had complained about the cooking, Val would have had me in the kitchen cooking for myself, and would have taken on the farm work on her own,” Jon chuckled, looking down into his teacup.

Sansa felt her heart grow sad at the reminder that Val was not about to come in and join them in their laughter.

“Val was a good cook though,” Sansa replied cautiously.

“Aye, but not at first,” Jon grinned sadly, “We married so young, neither one of us really knew what we were about.”

“But did you dare complain?” Sansa teased him.

“No, I did not,” Jon took a sip of his tea, “I was too enamored with the idea that there was anyone cooking for me at all. Robb was spoiled.”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush at the indirect compliment.  

“They’ll find their way if they choose the way of love,” said Jon quietly, “But are you alright there with them?”

Sansa’s head snapped up, taken off guard by the question, “Yes, of course,” she said quickly, even if she was not, where would she go?

“I know it can’t be easy,” Jon offered.

“Perhaps not easy, but I’ll find my way alongside them too.”

Jon nodded.

“Perhaps I’ll build my own cabin in the back yard,” Sansa joked, hoping to lighten the mood again.

Jon chuckled.

Before anyone else could say anything, they heard Lyanna begin to stir. Ghost got up from his place in front of the fire in concern, and so Sansa went into the area hidden by the hearth, that was Jon’s bedroom to get the baby before she woke the other sleeping girls. The baby was kicking and wiggling in her cradle and had two fat tears coming down her cheeks. Ghost nudged Sansa’s hand as if to hurry her up. Sansa chuckled at the big wolf and gave him a friendly scratch behind the ears before reaching for the baby.

“Aw, my sweet girl,” Sansa picked her up, “I’m here, shhh, its alright.”  

She patted her back to soothe and looked around for the little glass bottle to feed her. As she did, she heard a knock on the door.

JON

                Sansa had walked around the corner into Jon’s bedroom area, when a knock came to the door. He stood and answered it. Davos stood there.

“Davos,” Jon greeted pleasantly and invited the older man inside, “Good to see you.”

“Thank you, Jon,” Davos came in, and Jon offered him a seat.

“What brings you up? Is Marya well?” Jon asked in concern.

“Oh, she is well, her rheumatism is bothering her some,” said Davos, “I just came up to check in on you and the little ones, to see if there was anything you might need? Marya and I both are thinking that bad weather is on its way.”

Before he could respond, Sansa came back around the corner from Jon’s room, holding the baby in her arms and feeding her from the little glass bottle.

Davos looked up at her, with a strange look on his face that Jon could not quite decipher.

“Oh, hello, Davos,” Sansa smiled pleasantly, “Would you like some tea?”

Davos’ eyes looked perplexed, “Oh, no, I’m alright, Sansa, thank you.”

Sansa nodded, and continued to pat and soothe the baby, as she sucked the bottle.

Davos looked between Jon and Sansa once more.

Jon thought the old man was acting strangely.

“I’ll be going to town, and thought to see if you had any needs?” Davos asked.

“I was planning to take the little girls with me and do some shopping for Jon this afternoon,” Sansa answered for him, “Perhaps we might ride along with you? We’d certainly be much obliged to not have to hitch up Jon’s team.”

“Aye, aye, that’d be just fine,” said Davos, scratching his chin, looking between them again.

“Let me wake the girls, and get their coats,” Sansa handed Jon the baby without ceremony.

Sansa scurried up the ladder to the loft.

                Davos made toward the door, and Jon followed him, still holding the baby in his arms. The two men walked out together, and Jon made sure the baby’s blanket was tucked around her.

“Have you heard any word from Dalla and Mance?” asked Davos simply.

“Aye, they sent word, and are planning to come soon, they are hoping before the first snowfall.”

Davos nodded, scratching his chin again, “And what are you planning when they do?”

Jon looked down at the baby in his arms, “I can’t part with my girls…”

Davos nodded sympathetically.

“But I also know we can’t go on as we’ve been going.”

Davos nodded at him again.

“I don’t even know if Dalla and Mance would be able to take us on,” Jon said, “But if I could sell my farm…” Jon’s heart was further breaking at the prospect, “I could build my own cabin near them… and…”

Davos did not usually offer much by way of advice, but he had a way of listening that often helped others come to their own conclusions.

“They need a mother,” Jon said painfully, grief making his throat tight.

“Aye,” Davos looked back into the cabin where they heard the girls stirring, “And I hope you know that Sansa cannot forever be what she is to you right now?”

Jon quirked a brow at him, confused.

“She needs a husband, Jon,” Davos said so bluntly that it stung, “It’s the best thing for her right now, especially now that Robb is married.”

“I agree with you,” Jon said, not sure why Davos was telling him this. He could not think of a man good enough for Sansa but would hope she could find someone to love. However, the practical need for her to marry, for simple protection if nothing else, was glaringly obvious to Jon. If something were to happen to Robb, the Westerlings would feel no compulsion to care for Sansa or to allow her to continue to live on Robb’s homestead.

“She isn’t going to find one if all she is doing is keeping house and children for you,” Davos’ voice held a warning in it, “I hope you’re not taking advantage of her.”

The reprimand nettled him, “I would never!” Jon protested, anger growing.

“I don’t mean in that way,” Davos replied, “But I can see she wants to be kind to you, motivated by her love for your children and her friendship with Val and with you, but don’t take advantage of that kindness, especially if you are not able to offer her what she needs in return.”  

Jon looked back inside the door to where Sansa was buttoning coats for his little girls. She obviously sensed him looking, and she looked up and smiled at him, friendly and totally unaware of Davos’ admonition.

Jon knew of at least one young man, named Waymer Royce, who had come to Nova Scotia from the lower thirteen colonies, a hot-headed revolutionary, who had taken a notice of Sansa. Should he urge her away from himself and his family so that she might make a family of her own? Would she even listen? Sansa had been rather repulsed by the prospect of courting ever since the ordeal with that arse, Harry Hardyng, and it grieved Jon deeply that not only had she been harmed, but her tender heart had been broken as well. It was a miracle that Jon had not been ousted from the community for the thrashing he gave Harry Hardyng, but he would do it again to protect her. Her own brother had done too little too late.

“You have to do what’s best for all of them,” Davos said, “And I know Sansa is Robb’s responsibility, and not yours, but I think you care for her enough as your friend, and the friend of your wife, that you’d act in her best interests.”

Jon had known Sansa for many years, and he would do anything for her, just as he would for Robb. He had watched her grow from the prim and proper, doted upon little lady she had been in Scotland, to the strong and gentle woman she had become here in the colonies. She had borne the hardship and joys right alongside them all. She was one of them. He would not allow harm to come to her, simply because of Robb’s poor choices in marriage.

Chapter Text

SANSA

                Jon got the little girls loaded into the back of Davos’ wagon and then came round and lifted Sansa by the waist, with surprising ease, into the box beside Davos. Farm life certainly made for strong men. She thanked him with a soft smile, not sure what to say. Between Davos’ arrival at the cabin and now, Jon’s demeanor had changed. He looked troubled and had grown very quiet. She wandered what he and Davos had been discussing on the porch while she had gotten the little girls up and ready to leave? She supposed it was none of her business and so tried not to fret over it. She knew, though, that she was prone to fretting, and it was hard to keep her mind from wandering in a million directions all at once. She looked down at Lyanna, contentedly wrapped up and sleeping again since she had been fed, and snuggled the infant close to shield her from wind, as the wagon started moving.

“You’re good with the little ones,” Davos commented casually.

“Thank you,” Sansa said softly, “I enjoy time with them.”

Davos smiled thoughtfully at her, “I reckon you’ll be a good mother when that time comes.”

Sansa smiled her thanks, not certain that time would ever come for her, even if she might wish it.

“Are you inclined to marry?” Davos asked.

Sansa was somewhat taken aback by the bluntness of the question but Davos was a dear friend and so she took it in stride.

“I suppose I’m not disinclined,” Sansa confessed, “Though I find myself rather shy of the prospect since Harry, and somewhat doubtful that I’ll have an easy time finding a husband.”

“There are plenty of men in the colonies looking for wives and I suspect they are not as particular about rumors and reputations as you might think.”

“I suppose it is a matter of finding one that is not like Harry then,” said Sansa, strongly suspecting that Marya and Davos were in collusion together regarding her circumstances.

“Aye,” said Davos, “Not to sound too much my age, but I’d imagine it’d be in your interests to marry, especially now that Robb is wed.”

Sansa felt a slight blush to her cheeks, despite all her years here, the frank and practical way people here spoke of marriage could still embarrass the rather proper and delicate sensibilities into which she was raised.

“Yes,” the thought had certainly crossed her mind, even if she might wish to remain a spinster rather than risk her heart again. Now that Robb had Jeyne, and they would presumably have children sooner than later, should anything happen to Robb, Sansa knew that the Westerlings would feel no compulsion to care for her, if she could even stand for such a thing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be prying,” Davos said, “Marya and I have just been fretting over you a bit, I’m afraid.”

Sansa smiled. The Seaworth’s were some of the kindest people she knew and so she did not mind their prying too much.

“Jon says that Dalla and her husband will be here soon,” Davos said, changing the subject.

“Oh?” alarm shot through her, Jon had not told her.

“I reckon he and the girls may be going to live closer to them.”

“I’m sure that would be very practical,” Sansa said diplomatically, though she felt something akin to anger bubbling up inside her. How could Jon not tell her such a thing? She had seen him nearly every day for the last few weeks, and caring for his children, and loving… loving his little baby, whom he still refused to name! How dare he make plans to take the girls so far away and not tell her?

Davos eyed her curiously, “I don’t reckon he can get along with three girls on his own.”

“No, I suppose not,” She knew she could not care for Lyanna in the same capacity that she had been indefinitely.

“The girls need a mother.”

“Yes, they do.”

                They were mostly quiet the rest of the way, interrupted only every so often by Maggey who persistently asked if they were nearly to the mercantile. When they arrived, Davos handed Sansa down from the wagon and then proceeded to unload Maggey and Kit. The girls were enamored with the hustle and bustle of the little town, and mercantile with its colorful bolts of fabric and huge bins of flour and sugar. The town had grown significantly in the last few years, with loyalists from the lower thirteen colonies coming north, and other Scottish immigrants coming yearly it seemed. They could see the port city across the bay from their town, and Kit particularly was rather taken by the big ship anchored there.

“Is that how we all came here from Scotland?” Kit asked, as she did most times that she came to town.

“Yes, but the two of you were not yet born,” replied Sansa.

“How did we get born?” Maggey asked curiously, her innocent grey eyes looking up at her inquisitively.  

Sansa stuttered for a moment, taken off guard by the question, but quickly recovered, “You’ll have to ask your Papa that question, he was there.”

Maggey seemed to take that under advisement, and Sansa was thankful the child did not pursue that line of questioning further, or else Sansa would have had to report back to Jon so that he was prepared… and the subject of how his children came to be was not something she cared to have to mention to him.

Davos called for the two girls, and they scurried over to him to help him pick out candy. Sansa smiled, knowing very well that the older man was spoiling the two girls. She shook her head and sighed but continued to peruse the list she and Jon had made for what he needed from the mercantile.

“Well, Sansa Stark, I have not seen you in some time!” came a familiar voice.

Sansa turned around to see a friend of hers, Margaery, who had made the crossing with them but had wed soon after and moved to the port city across the bay, they had not seen much of her since, though her parents still lived nearby.

“Oh goodness, what a precious baby!” Margaery exclaimed, a little too loudly.

“Isn’t she?” Sansa smiled looking down at baby Lyanna and not thinking about the implications of her response.

“She’s so small,” Margaery cooed at the infant.

“Just barely a month,” Sansa replied.

“Oh, and you’re already up and out of confinement?” Margaery looked puzzled.

“Oh!” Sansa was taken aback, “Oh, this is Jon’s baby.”

Margaery looked further puzzled, “You and Jon?”

“No, no,” Sansa felt her cheeks blush, “Um, I suppose you have not heard…”

“Heard what?”

Sansa took a breath, “Um, Val, this is Val and Jon’s newest baby…”

Margaery nodded in understanding, obviously remembering Jon and Val but not understanding why Sansa had their baby.

“Val, she, um, she passed… at the birth,” Sansa explained, “And I’m just helping Jon out.”

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry to hear that about Val, she and Jon were so well suited.”

“Yes,” Sansa replied feeling that persistent grief still stabbing her heart, “This is their third.”

“I’m so sorry for them,” Margaery touched Lyanna’s downy little cheek, “I cannot imagine the grief, to lose a mother of three children.”

Sansa nodded, “What of you? Have you and your husband moved back here?”

“Oh no,” Margaery laughed as if that was an absurd notion, “My husband and I are just visiting my parents in route to live in New York.”

“Aren’t the lower colonies dangerous right now?” Sansa asked, having heard gossip that violence against the crown had broken out down there.

“Oh, nonsense, a gross exaggeration I say.”

“Didn’t a bunch of revolutionaries throw a bunch of tea into the Boston harbor a couple years back?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, but that’s Boston, not New York.”

Sansa nodded, not really understanding, as she knew next to nothing about the lower thirteen colonies except that they were there, and that Robb’s friend Waymer Royce had gone to King’s College in New York, and Waymer was something of a revolutionary himself.

“Well, it was good to see you Margaery, I hope all goes well in the move,” Sansa said.

“It was good to see you too, Sansa,” Margaery patted her arm, and leaned a little closer, “You ought to go out and see my folks sometime.”

“Oh?” Sansa replied puzzled, she had never been particularly well acquainted with the Tyrells.

“One of my brothers still lives at home and has not yet taken a wife.”

“Oh,” Sansa replied, “Thank you, I’ll think on that.”

“Do, my dear, I would hate to see you end up a spinster! Cheerio!” And off Margaery went, and Sansa stared after her in bemusement.

Sansa was rather afraid that she was already encroaching upon spinsterhood and did not think that Margaery’s shy brother, whom Sansa had not seen in quite some time, was going to do anything to resolve her issue.

                Once they were all done shopping, Davos had them all loaded up back into the wagon. Lyanna started to fuss, and so Sansa patted her and bounced her, and tried to calm her.  

“There, there, little one,” She crooned at her, and wrapped the blankets closer as the wind from the bay had grown incredibly cold, “It’s alright, we will be home soon.”

Sansa wished she had the means to care for her like a real mother, but the harsh reality was that Sansa was not her mother. Val was gone, and soon these little girls would also be gone from Sansa’s life, without any say from her. They were not her children. A renewed anger at Jon arose within her, how could he not tell her that Dalla was coming to take the children?

JON

                Bess usually slept with the sheep, but Jon could tell the weather was turning bad and so he was not going to leave his loyal farm hand in the barn. He was sure Ghost would appreciate her presence in the cabin, as the big wolf was fond of her. The wind howled as Jon and Bess corralled the sheep into the barn and shuttered the windows.

“Come on, Bess,” Jon called to the dog, and she bolted after him. Snow was falling. Jon looked up at the sky and knew it would not be safe for Sansa to walk home. He would never forgive himself if she got caught outside in this and was lost in the snow.

He and Bess made their way to the cabin and Jon was welcomed inside by a warm fire, the smell of food cooking, and the laughter of his little girls as they helped Sansa with the cooking. Jon saw that Sansa had already boarded up the windows for him. She looked up when he came in and immediately went for her coat.

“The girls and I got supper ready and the windows boarded,” she said in the same clipped tone she had used with him since Davos’ visit a few days prior, and Jon was not sure what to make of it.

“I best be getting home.”

“You’ll have to stay in with us until this blows over,” Jon said. It came out sounding more like a command than he meant, and he realized it as soon as Sansa bristled and her eyes flashed fire.

“If I leave now, I should make it just fine.” 

“It’ll be up to your knees and you won’t be able to see a foot in front of you by the time you make it halfway.”

“I need to go home,” Sansa insisted.  

“You need to stay,” Jon further insisted.

“You can’t make me stay,” Sansa growled at him.

Why was she being so stubborn? He had not intended to hold her up by being in the fields so long, but the sheep were their livelihood, and he had to make sure they did not die in the cold.

She seized the moment in his pause, “I’m going.”

“Well, then, you’ll leave my baby here.”

It was the wrong thing to say, because she whipped around to face him, glaring up at him with a surprising rage.

“Your baby?” She hissed, “Your baby? The one you haven’t named, you mean? The one I’ve been loving and caring for and rocking to sleep at night?”

Her vehemence took him by surprise, but her jab about the baby’s name angered him. He tried to remain calm.

“Yes, she is my baby and she’s not going out into the snow just because you want to be reckless!”

“Fine,” said Sansa, who proceeded to tuck a blanket around the baby in the basket, and then finished putting on her coat.

“What are you doing?” Jon asked in confusion and lowered his voice when he noticed Kit peeking around the corner at them.

“I’m going,” said Sansa simply as she wrapped a scarf around her ears, “And your baby is staying.”

She flung open the door and stepped onto the porch.

“Sansa!” Jon said in exasperation and followed her out, closing the door behind him.

She stood on the covered porch staring out into the snow. The wind howled loudly at them.

“When were you going to tell me, Jon Snow?” She demanded suddenly.

Jon was bewildered, “Tell you what?”

“That Dalla was coming? That you were going to send the girls away? That you might sell the farm?”

Jon scrubbed his hand down in frustration, but he softened toward her. Was this what her anger was about? He supposed Davos told her, since Jon had not told anyone else. He was angry about it too, but what choice did he have?

SANSA

                “Sansa,” his voice had gentled, “Would ye come inside before your nose freezes off, and talk to me?”

She turned around and looked at him. He held his hand out to her with a kind but sad look in his eyes.

“Please?” He asked.

In truth, she knew as soon as she stepped onto the porch that she could not walk home in this blizzard, but she was stubborn and she was hurt, and she wanted to fight him for reasons she could not even name.

She hesitated for a moment and then nodded and followed him inside the cabin. The two little girls were sitting at the table already eating the bread and stew that Sansa had served up for them before Jon had entered. They had little privacy to continue this conversation, and so they sat down at the table.

Seeming to realize right before she did that neither he nor Sansa had food dished up for themselves, Jon stood and went to the hearth. Sansa watched him.

He dished a bowl and brought it to her.

Their eyes met for a moment, as she took the bowl from him.

He then turned away and dished his own.

                The little girls chattered and the wind howled, and Jon and Sansa were mostly quiet for the rest of the evening. When bedtime came, together, they tucked the girls into their lofted room, making sure they were layered in their sleeping garments and blankets, and kissed them each goodnight. Jon came down first from the loft when Lyanna started to cry. Sansa followed not long after once Maggey had finally drifted off to sleep. When she came down, Jon was holding Lyanna and whispering something to the little baby and looking terribly sad. Sansa somewhat regretted her harshness with him. He was still very much grieving, no matter how strong he seemed.

“You know, when we were all barely more than children in Scotland, I could never have imagined that we would all come to the New World together,” Sansa said softly coming to sit down in front of the hearth.

Jon looked at her and smiled, “I never imagined you’d want too, considering how much of a lady you had intended to be back than.”

Sansa grinned at the recollection. She was a bit of a prig back then she supposed, not that Jon would ever think such a thing of her, “Well, even the best laid intentions can be thwarted.”

Jon chuckled, “Val and I both admired how you rose to the challenge on the crossing.”

Sansa looked down at her hands, heartache and fond memory made for the most painful grief, “I don’t think I’d have made it, if it had not been for Val.”

“You’d have found the courage on your own eventually, I think,” Jon said, “Val just helped give you the practical learning you needed to survive easier.”

“She was a good friend.”

Jon nodded, “Aye, that she was.”

“I don’t regret coming,” Sansa said, “I could never have stayed with Aunt Lysa, but even so, I don’t regret coming, even after everything.”

“Good.”

“Do you?”

“No, not truly,” Jon said, “I have wandered…” his voice stuttered, “Sometimes, I wonder if things would have been different…” he looked down at Lyanna, “if we had stayed in Scotland… but it’s a foolish thought and I will drive myself mad if I try to chase every what if.”

Sansa looked into the fire, feeling a little shiver go through her. Even with the fire in the hearth, it was cooler in the cabin than they would have liked.

“I’m sorry I was angry with you earlier,” Sansa said.

“Aye, all’s well,” Jon replied, “I can understand it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Dalla was coming?”

“I suppose, I thought you knew without telling,” Jon said, “But I know that is a silly thought, and well, I suppose it was hard for me to acknowledge because than it would make it real, that I would have to face a very hard choice.”

“To send the girls with Dalla?”

“Aye, or to move us all there with them,” Jon explained, “I can’t care for them by myself no matter how much I wish I could.”

Sansa wanted to say that he had her help, but that was not the full truth, she could not live here with them and his girls needed more than someone to occasionally cook a warm supper and do the washing.

“And I know I’ve taken advantage of your help, and I’m sorry for it,” Jon said with a huff, “I’m sorry for not letting you get on with your life.”

This took Sansa by surprise, “Whatever do you mean, Jon Snow? You’ve not taken advantage of anything.”

“You’re practically bringing my girls up…”

“But it was nothing that I did not offer freely, Jon,” Sansa explained, “I did it for love of Val, and you and the girls.”

Jon nodded, and looked down at the baby, “I don’t know that she would have made it without you,” He brushed a hand across his glistening eyes.

“What’s brought this on?”

“Something Davos said.”

“And what did he say?”

“That you needed a husband.”

Chapter Text

SANSA

“That you need a husband,” the words hung between them and neither of them seemed to know what to say.

Sansa was getting rather frustrated with everyone’s preoccupation with her marital status. While she could not deny that a marriage would certainly resolve some of her immediate needs, she could not help but see herself as a little girl clutching her tender heart against her chest to shield it from being further broken.

“And who am I to marry, Jon Snow?” Sansa asked trying to sound amused but shifting uncomfortably where she was sitting.  

Jon raked a hand through his air, and looked agitated, and for what Sansa could not perceive, “I don’t know, just seems practical, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Sansa looked back into the fire, “I can’t live with Robb and Jeyne forever, I think they are already rather tired of my presence there.”

Jon frowned, “I’m sorry, Sans.”

“It’s alright,” Sansa sighed and hugged her knees over her skirt, “No one could have guessed that I would not yet be married.”

“What Harry did to you…” Jon started sounding angry.

Harry misled her and many others about who he was, was unfaithful to her, and put his hands on her in ways that were unpardonable, and lied about her, Sansa acknowledged within herself, she was not sure how she did not see his true colors sooner.

“There’s no use talking of Harry now,” Sansa said, “Still there are those who still believe that I am what he said I was, I don’t imagine very many, at least in our community, would have me to wed.”

“What about Waymer Royce?” Jon asked cautiously.

Sansa chuckled, “What about him?”

“He seems taken with you.”

“I doubt that,” Sansa said in amusement, “Besides he’d be untaken with me as soon as he knew that I know nothing about taxes or the crown.”

Jon grunted, which made Sansa smile.

Sansa felt a shiver go through her.

“Are you cold?” Jon asked.

“A bit,” as if in answer that it would only get colder, the wind howled mournfully outside.

The baby started to cry.

Simultaneously, they heard little footsteps in the loft, and Maggey’s little face appeared over the edge of the ladder.

“Papa, I’m cold.”

Jon stood and handed the baby to Sansa and went to the ladder to get Maggey.

“Bring your blankets, and wake your sister to come down with us, we will all sleep by the hearth tonight.”

Sansa rocked and patted the baby, while the little girls gathered their things from the loft. Jon pulled his large straw mattress off his bed and brought it in front of the hearth and began to layer some blankets on it. The little girls clamored into the center, and Jon motioned for Sansa to lay with them, as he took the baby from her and sat down in the chair.

Sansa followed instruction, and snuggled up with the little girls near her, “Where are you going to sleep?”

“Since the baby is awake, I’ll sit up with her,” Jon said.

Maggey’s little head poked up from the pile of blankets, “Papa, did the fairies bring the baby a name?”

Jon quirked a brow in confusion, and chuckled, but did not question the logic, “Aye, I suppose I should ask them about that.”

Sansa’s heart softened toward him. He was such a good and kind father, the only one she knew as good as he, was her own.

Maggey turned to Sansa, and whispered as if she did not just hear, “Papa is going to ask the snow fairies.”

“So I hear,” Sansa grinned at the little girl and tucked her down between herself and Kit, and began to sing a soft song, to hopefully lull the two little girls back to sleep. Her mother sang this song often to them in their childhood.

                As she sang, she felt the pins in her hair pulling, and she began to unwind her hair. She hoped Jon was not offended, he likely had not seen her hair loose since the crossing. She had only been seventeen years old then, just barely a woman. She looked up at him for a moment and noted that he was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face, that she was not sure what to make of and so she chose to ignore and continue. She could not sleep all night with her hair pinned so tightly against her head, and their present circumstances could not be helped and so propriety would have to be loosened just a bit. Once all the pins were out, and her long hair tumbled down her back she settled in under the blankets with her arms around both Maggie and Kit. In the chair, as if he were watching over them all, Jon sat, with Lyanna in his arms, sipping a cup of tea from his little tin teacup.

JON

                Ghost and Bess huddled onto the foot of the mattress with Sansa and the girls, while Jon and the baby listened to the wind howl outside. Sansa’s song, a Gaelic one, was a lament of woman who lost her lover to war but the poet who wrote it, meant it as an ode to the Bonnie Prince Charlie. It was called Mo Ghile Mear. Jon knew that Sansa was not as fluent in Gaelic as he and Val had been, but her heart seemed to never forget this song, he had heard her sing it many times, even as she worked about her day. It sounded like home to him, like Scotland and all the things he both loved and lost.

“We ought to give you a name, wee one,” Jon told the baby, who blinked up at him trustingly.

The girls and Sansa seemed to be asleep, and so he thought he had some moments of silent privacy to truly name this child.

“It was hard to be near you those first moments,” Jon whispered, “And I’m sorry for that, love, I hope you can forgive me.”

Jon brushed his hand across his eyes, “I do love you as much as Kit and Maggey.”

Catrina was Kit’s full name, and it was name that Val said sounded both musical and strong, and so their first child was christened. Maggey’s full name was Margaret, after Val’s mother.

“Do you want me to hold her for a bit so you can rest?” Sansa’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

He looked up at her, to see her sitting up on the mattress.

“Sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

Jon shook his head, unconcerned, “Val thought this one was a boy, and would never entertain any names but for boys.”

Sansa remembered.

“Feels wrong to name her without Val’s say,” Jon confessed softly.

“Were you wanting a boy?”

It was a natural question, he supposed, many men wanted boys to raise to help on their farms, and carry on the family name, but Jon had never been concerned.

“I wouldn’t trade any of my girls, for a score of boys,” Jon said.

Sansa nodded, with a soft, sad smile.

“Still don’t know what to name her though,” Jon confessed.

“I reckon you better think of one before morning, or you’re going to have to tell Maggey that snow fairies are not real,” Sansa giggled sweetly.

“Are they not?”

She shook her head at him, with a smile. 

Sansa’s hair was illuminated by the firelight and her big blues eyes sparkled. She was beautiful and clever and kind, and Jon knew any man would be lucky to have her. Harry Hardyng had broken her heart, made her hesitant to love and to trust, and that wore on Jon’s soul. Jon wanted to see her happy again.

“You are staring at me rather fiercely, Jon Snow.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled and turned his attention back to the baby, “I had thought to name her Valerie, after Val,” he said, “But I could not quite bring myself to that, felt much too painful yet.”

Sansa nodded in understanding, “I have a confession to make to you.”

Jon raised a brow, “Oh?”

Sansa hugged her knees over her blanket and skirt, “I’ve been calling her Lyanna, after your mother.”

Jon stared at her for a moment, not quite sure what to say. But the name Lyanna did seem to suit the little one, they could call her Lya for short, just as Kit and Maggey had shortened names.

“I’m sorry, I know it was presumptuous, but I could not keep calling her the baby.”

Jon smiled sadly, “Lyanna Valerie Snow… sounds fitting, don’t you think? Both strong women gone too soon, but perhaps their spirits live on in this one?”

Sansa looked embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I did not mean to overstep…”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for Sansa, you’ve kept this girl alive,” Jon said, “And it’s an honoring thing to name her for my mother.”

Sansa nodded, and looked down at the sleeping girls, “Must you truly send them away, Jon?”

Jon sighed deeply, feeling more grief than he felt able to bear, but bear it he must, “I don’t have many choices available to me, Sansa, I could never forgive myself if something happened to one of them because I was not strong enough to do what’s best for them.”

Sansa’s eyes were so sad.  

“I’ve thought to sell the farm and go with them,” Jon said, “But even that could be some time away, I have to do what’s best for them all, to keep us all alive and well.”  

“Surely there must be some way…”

Jon gazed into the fire, “Maybe if I were to marry again…” even the words sounded like a betrayal… but many men who lost their wives married quickly again for the very same reasons with which he himself was wrestling. They needed mothers for their children and keepers of their homes. It felt wrong, but he supposed there were worse reasons to marry.

Sansa chuckled sadly, “We seem to be in the same predicament then.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed, and they looked at each other.

They were silent for a moment and some strange sense of understanding passed between them, and they looked away from each other.

“You ought to get some sleep,” Jon told her.

“You haven’t slept at all,” she admonished, “You ought to sleep.”

“I feel I have too much on my mind for sleeping,” Jon confessed, feeling one thought more central than others. She needed a husband. He needed a wife. His mind had begun to wander down a path that felt… felt forbidden. Sleep would not be his ally tonight, he thought.

“Give me Lya,” Sansa commanded, and he obeyed.

He watched as she fashioned some blankets in a circle between her and Maggey, to protect Lya from being squashed between them, and then started to settle back down.

“Jon, you should come and lay on Kit’s other side, and Ghost will shield your back from the cold.”

Jon was hesitant, her reputation would already be in further tatters if people were aware that she spent the night in his cabin, despite the snowstorm. It would be best to keep distance between them.

“Sans…”

“Jon Snow, propriety be damned,” She hissed at him, as if she could read his mind, “My reputation is already in shambles, and there will be questions that I slept at your home, regardless of the snowstorm and whether or not you sat in a chair all night.”

Jon nodded.

“But no one but God can see us right now, and He knows that we are acting with honor,” Sansa said bluntly.

Jon knew that she was right and so he got down on the mattress with all of them in front of the hearth, with his three girls between him and Sansa, and the two dogs. Bess curled up behind his legs and Ghost at his back, as if to guard them all from whatever perils may come through the door.

SANSA

                Everything was silent and little bolts of light were streaming through the boarded window, when Sansa blinked her eyes open, sensing the baby stirring beside her. The winds had subsided, meaning the storm was over. Sansa wandered how deep the snow would be outside. She looked across the three little bodies between them, and saw Jon, sleeping soundly, with Kit tucked into his side and her dark curly hard resting on the crook of his arm. Sansa smiled at the sight.

As if he could sense her eyes on them, Jon’s eyes fluttered open and immediately found hers.

“Sounds like the storm is over,” Sansa whispered softly so as not to wake the little ones.

“Aye,” Jon replied, and looked at the little girls between, his brow furrowing once again into the state of worry that he often had these days, “No one seems the worse for wear.”

Sansa chuckled softly and had to giggle that it seemed Maggey had turned upside down in the night and her little stocking-ed feet were now poking out of the blanket instead of her head.

“It’s a miracle that one gets any sleep at all,” said Jon, noticing what she was looking at.

Sansa grinned.

“Val and used to laugh that she was perhaps a changeling child,” Jon chuckled.

“She doesn’t have red hair.”

“Were you ever accused of being a changeling?” Jon teased.

Sansa felt a strange blush to her cheeks, “Sometimes.”

“I don’t believe it.”

She laughed softly, “I could be as troublesome as my siblings.”

“Never.”

They were quiet for a moment, before she watched as Jon looked at his girls, and looked incredibly sad, “I can’t part from them, Sansa.”

Sansa’s heart ached, “I know.”

They looked at each other for far longer than they should have, before Jon finally looked away. The blush continued to deepen, and Sansa felt a need to remove herself from this strange intimacy that they found themselves in.

“I should get up and start breakfast.”

“There’s no rush,” Jon assured, “I can help you, since it will likely not be possible for me to take the sheep out of the barn today.”

Sansa nodded and started to sit up. Lyanna… Lya… as she would now be called, started to fuss and so Sansa quickly picked her up so that she would not wake the other two.

“I’ll get her fed,” Sansa offered.

“Aye, and I’ll start breakfast.”

They both rose, careful to keep the little girls nestled in their blankets.

                Maggey was the first to bounce up from the little nest in front of the hearth and immediately went to Jon who was frying eggs for them over the fire.

“Papa,” she said and grabbed onto his legs.

Jon stroked her hair with one hand, as he tended to breakfast with the other.

“Did the fairies tell you her name?”

“Aye, they did,” Jon chuckled, “Her name is Lyanna, we’ll call her Lya for short.”

“Like you call me Maggey?”

“Aye, love.”

Maggey than scurried over to Sansa and the baby, “Her name is Lya!”

“I heard,” Sansa smiled.

Maggey very softly touched Lya’s head and whispered in her ear, “Your name is Lya.”

Both Sansa and Jon exchanged smiles at the tender moment.

Kit finally woke and gave a big stretch before looking around the room.

“I can help you, Papa,” said Kit, getting up quickly.

Sansa saw so much of her own anxieties as the oldest daughter in Kit, and it broke her heart a little that it already weighed so heavy on Kit. She was still so little herself.

“Bring the batter in the bowl,” Jon instructed her and Kit obeyed happily.

Jon poured the eggs onto a plate, and then started to make flapjacks, with Kit’s assistance. While it was a hard life here, and the children would never escape that hardness, Sansa knew that if Jon took another wife Kit would be allowed to have moments of childhood again.

                 The morning was peaceful and sweet as the little girls were fed and sent to play in the loft as Jon and Sansa ate and then cleaned up.

“Jon…” Sansa started, after she had tucked a sleeping Lya into her little basket and began to help Jon clean up.

“Hmmm…?” He still seemed preoccupied, as he had been last night.

She took a breath and plunged forward into what was preoccupying her, “You need a wife.”

Jon nearly dropped the pan he was holding, obviously taken aback by her bluntness. The look on his face when he turned to look at her, made her almost regret the statement.

“It would solve all your problems,” she was quick to add, hastily trying to recover from her bluntness, “You wouldn’t have to sell your farm, or send the girls away, and the girls would have a mother, and you would have someone to keep the house for you.”

He was still staring at her as if she were speaking another language.

She could not bring herself to say what she had intended to say next… it felt wrong to propose such a thing herself, he needed to say it… but she needed a husband… could they possibly do this thing for each other? Was it so far fetched an idea? Sansa suddenly felt incredibly awkward at the length of silence from him, especially as he went back to washing his pan.

She almost told him to forget she said anything, when he turned back to her.

“Sans…”

But before either one could say anything else, a hard and fast knock came on the cabin door.

Chapter Text

JON

                The knock startled them both. Jon considered the best course of action, wanting to protect Sansa from the tongue of whomever was at the door and was about to find out that Sansa had been at his home all night.

“Sansa, put your hair up,” he said, and it came out sounded much more commanding than he meant.

She almost flinched at his tone, but backed away from the door, she began to gather her hair into a loose braid, out of sight for the moment, as he strode to the door, and the knocker continued to bang against it. Jon knew that the knocker was likely Robb, worried about Sansa no doubt when she did not come home, but Jon was not sure what Robb would decide to make of finding her here.

Jon opened the door and sure enough it was Robb, having hiked all the way to the ridge in his snowshoes. The skies were now clear but had left a thick blanket of snow on the ground.

“Sansa did not come home last night,” Robb said, flustered and cold as he took a step inside.

Before Jon or Robb could say anything further, Sansa came around the corner of the door and into sight.

Robb stopped, his eyes relieved, but as he took in the look of Sansa and surveyed the room, the mattress on the floor, her hair falling from a very loose braid, his look turned to one of confusion and then to thinly veiled anger.

“What’s going on here?” Robb asked sternly.

“Sansa got caught here due to the storm,” said Jon evenly, “She would not have made it home and so I insisted that she stay.”

“You insisted?” Robb repeated slowly looking between the two of them.

Jon looked at Sansa trying to choose any words carefully. He and Sansa had done nothing wrong, and the truth was that if she had not stayed she would have been lost in the storm. There was a delicate tension between necessity and propriety, and Jon hoped that Robb would see that he and Sansa had only done what was necessary.

“I’d like a word with you, Jon Snow,” Robb glared at him.

“Aye,” Jon took a breath, and leveled Robb with a glare of his own.

“Robb…” Sansa started to interject.

“Alone,” Robb shot her a look, and so she backed down, though her eyes were sparking with a similar anger.

Jon grabbed his coat and led the way outside.

The two men stepped out onto the snow-covered porch and closed the door. The angry brother turned to face him.

“Robb, Sansa would have been lost in the storm if she had tried to come home, you know that.”

“What I know is that my sister should not have even been put in the position to have to stay here,” Robb growled, “What were the two of you thinking?”

“Nothing happened,” Jon insisted, “I would never dishonor her.”

“That’s not the point,” Robb retorted, “People have already questioned the propriety of her coming here and keeping house for you and caring for your baby, and after everything with Harry, the rumors only compound!”

Jon bristled, “If you had been there for her as a brother should have been then there would be no rumors about Harry.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Jon knew that they were not the right thing to say at this moment. He and Robb had had this fight before, one did not get to be as good a friends as they without having a fight or two, and this had been one of their biggest.

“She’s my sister and how I take care of her is my business!”

“That man was a liar and a cheat and he dared put his hands on her,” Jon took a breath trying not to raise his voice, “He deserved far worse than I gave him.”

“How Harry was dealt with has no bearing on this conversation!” Robb said, his face showing more shame now than anger.

“If you had believed her sooner then others would have too, but you didn’t,” Jon tried to calm himself, “I hope you can believe us now, that nothing happened here last night besides sheltering from a storm.”

“I don’t doubt it, Jon,” Robb was still stern but his anger seemed to have evened, “The point is people are already talking about the two of you, and this does nothing to deter that talk, she’s never going to find a husband if her name keeps getting dragged through the mud,” Robb leveled him with a look, “She needs to be married, surely you see that, Jon.”

“Then let me marry her,” Jon said quickly before he could recant the statement in himself. It was what he had been thinking about for the last few days, was it not? And had not Sansa all but asked him herself mere minutes before Robb arrived?

“What?” Robb was nearly speechless.

“Let me marry her,” Jon tried to sound confident and rational, though his heart and mind rebelled.

“You want to marry Sansa?” Robb blinked in confusion.

“I do.”

Robb furrowed his brow, then lashed out in exasperation, “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

They stared at each other.

Robb shook his head in frustration, “You can’t just marry Sansa!”

Jon squared his shoulders, “Whyever not?”

“Because…” Robb floundered, “Because you can’t! She’s like a sister to you!”

Jon snorted, though the sentiment did not feel entirely untrue. He cared a great deal for Sansa, and it was akin to a brotherly sort of affection, but the reality was, he was not her brother.

“I’m not her brother, Robb,” Jon said, “And Sansa and I are well suited. She needs a husband and a home of her own,” he refrained from mentioning that it was to get away from him and his new wife, “And I need a companion to run this place with, and someone who could love and mother my girls.”

“And what about love?” demanded Robb.

“What about it?” Jon narrowed his eyes at Robb, and the stared at each other a few moments before Jon continued, “Many marriages are made without love and are no worse for it. Love is not always a prerequisite for marriage. For some it is a result.”

Robb was looking hostile once again, and for a moment, Jon thought he might take a swing at him. Hot headed, stubborn Scots, both of them were, but there was a bond of brotherhood between them, Jon would not fight Robb.

“You know I would take care of her, Robb,” he continued more patiently, “She would be more than just a housekeeper to me, if that is what worries you.”

Robb stared at him.

“Aye,” grunted Robb.

SANSA

“What about love?” Robb demanded of Jon.

“What about it?” Jon replied.

Sansa stepped away from the window, where she had been somewhat shamefully listening to the two men she cared for most in the world argue about her future. How cruel fate was to make her a woman? And yet her heart longed for the things considered most womanly, for a home, a family, children… for love, her traitor heart whispered to her. Did she dare step out there and interject her wishes? Or did she wait? Jon was fighting for what she more or less proposed herself, but it felt odd considering the proposal had not actually come out of her mouth, nor had he asked her himself.

“Sansa,” Maggey called for her, poking head over the rail of the loft.

“Yes, dear,” Sansa smiled softly up at the little girl, “Why is Papa and Uncle Robb outside?”

“They are having words, love,” Sansa said.

Maggey’s face lit up, “With the fairies?”

Sansa chuckled, “No, with each other.”

“Can we come down now?” Kit asked.

“Yes.”

Kit came down the ladder first and helped guide Maggey down.

“Don’t touch my feet, Kit,” Maggey hissed.

“I don’t want you to fall!” Kit snapped.

“I don’t need help.”

“You’re just a little child,” Kit said.

Sansa stifled an amused smile, “Please don’t fight, girls, lets finish cleaning up the dishes, and then maybe we can play with your dolls?”

They each had a darling little rag doll that Val had made for them from wool. Maggey scurried to Lya’s basket, and peeked in.

“What’s her name again?” She asked.

Sansa chuckled, “her name is Lya.”

“Hello Lya,” Maggey’s adorable little voice crooned at the infant, “She’s like a doll too.”

“She’s a baby, much different from a doll,” Sansa said and picked up the infant who was starting to fuss as Maggey crowded her curiously.

Kit just stared at them, as she picked up the few remaining cups that were on the table.

“Is she sad?” Maggey asked curiously as the baby started to cry.

“No, she probably just wants some food,” Sansa explained, “Because they can’t talk like you and Kit, sometimes babies cry to tell us what they need.”

“When will she be able to talk?”

“It will be a few years yet.”

“That’s so long.”

“Yes.”

Kit continued to eye them in a way that Sansa could not quite decipher.

Before any further words were spoken, however, the front door was flung open, and Jon and Robb strode through both with cold red noses and fiery eyes.

“Sansa, can we speak?” Jon asked quite sternly.

Sansa nodded and put Lyanna back in her basket.

Jon grabbed her coat, and handed it to her, obviously on a mission to accomplish whatever had been determined by him and Robb on the porch. Sansa looked over at Robb, and his mouth was in a grim line.

Sansa followed Jon outside, and on the snow-covered porch they stood for a few moments in silence.

Finally, Jon spoke, “You know I’m not the easiest person…”

Sansa quirked a brow at him.

“And you’d be coming into a family ready-made,” Jon continued.

Sansa still did not say anything, intending to let him talk his way to the conclusion he obviously had come too.

“Life here isn’t easy,” he said, “You know that,” He raked a hand through his hair, “I don’t have much to offer.”

Sansa continued to stare at him.

“but I know it’s easier when there is someone to come home to at days end, and to work beside when things are hard.”

“Yes, Jon.”

“And I don’t want to lose my girls.”

“Yes, Jon.”

“But I can’t raise them on my own.”

“Yes, Jon.”

“I need help.”

“Yes, Jon.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jon raked a hand through his hair again in obvious agitation, “I don’t know if…I’m… If I’m ready…”

Sansa’s heart softened further toward him, “Yes, Jon.”

Finally, he looked her in the eye, “What I’m trying to say is, we ought to marry.”

Sansa chuckled, “Yes, Jon.”

He looked at her, studying her eyes, “Likely rather soon.”

Sansa swallowed hard, and simply said, “Yes, Jon.”

His eyes softened, and he took a step toward her. She took a strangely hesitant step back.

He gave her a half smile, “I’m sorry, that was no graceful proposal.”

Sansa chuckled, “It’s no matter.”

He nodded and raked his hand through his hair again, in obvious anxiety, “As soon as the snow clears enough to go to the preacher then?”

“Aye,” said Sansa softly.

He nodded, and took her hand and gave it a squeeze, “Alright then.”

She squeezed his hand back and offered him a smile, trying to look more confident than she felt.

JON

Over the next few days as this first snow began to melt some, Jon could not shake the feeling that he was doing a disservice to Sansa. Was he robbing her of a chance to find love and happiness? Would she regret marrying him? He watched her as she still came to his home, in the cold, and cared for him and his girls, and he could not be more grateful to her. He had resolved in his heart that he would try to make her happy at least. Their situation was not ideal, but it did not have to be bad. He had a difficult time imagining loving anyone as he loved Val, but men took second wives all the time and some still loved them the same. Could Jon come to love Sansa? His love for Val was still a wound too fresh to dwell on that question too long. It felt like a physical ache in his chest. But perhaps… one day…

Bess gave birth to her pups in one of the barn stalls, and so Jon was left without a sheep dog, and so he was able to brood alone while pasturing the sheep one afternoon once the snow was not so deep. It had been a week since the storm, and the earth was thawing. He knew, though, they would need to go to town and wed and move Sansa to his home as quickly as possible before another snowfall. Winters here in Nova Scotia could be quite unforgiving, and winter would be fully upon them soon.  She was at his house now, and he could not quite bring himself to go inside the cabin just yet, and so once he had gotten the sheep into the barn, earlier than usual due to the cold, he took a walk and found himself at the Seaworth’s.

He knocked on the door and was greeted by Marya.

“I’m sorry, Davos isn’t home just now,” she said as she ushered him inside and offered him a seat.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jon said feeling rather awkward suddenly, not entirely sure why he had come in the first place, and certainly not sure if Davos was not there, “I can go.”

Marya chuckled, and offered him a plate full of baked goods, “Have a cookie.”

Feeling rather like a small boy, Jon took a cookie off the plate.

“Did all of yours fair well in that snowfall? Didn’t lose any sheep, I hope?”

“No, no sheep were lost, we all made it through alright.”

“Good, good,” Marya said, “Tea?”

“No thank you.”

She nodded, “How’s those sweet girls of yours?”

“Growing too fast,” Jon said simply.

“They always do,” Marya tutted, “Davos and I had seven boys, we did, and they were all gone from home much too soon.”

“I didn’t know you had so many.”

Marya laughed, “We had a right good time making them, I’d say.”

Jon felt his face turn red to the very roots of his hair like a green boy.

Marya only laughed again, “It’s life isn’t it?”

Jon supposed that only a woman like Marya could say such things and get away with it.

“You seem troubled, Jon.”

Jon nodded, “No trouble, just doing some thinking.”

She put a teacup down in front of him and so Jon supposed he was staying for tea regardless.

“Davos may not be back for some time yet, you’re welcome to stay and wait on him,” Marya said, “But if you’re just looking for an ear to listen, I don’t mind it, so long as you don’t mind that I knead my bread at the same time.”

Jon chuckled.

Marya set the plate of cookies back in front of him.

“Is Sansa up with the girls,” Marya asked, as she took a huge ball of dough and dumped it on the floured surface of her table. She rolled up her sleeves and went to work on it.

“Aye,” said Jon, and then he blurted out, “Sansa and I are going to be wed,”

Marya grinned, “Can’t say that Davos and I have not talked about such a thing.”

“Aye,” replied Jon.

“But…?”

“I suppose, I’m anxious,” Jon continued on, picking at crumbs that had fallen on the table.

Marya continued to roll her dough under her sturdy knuckles. Marya had the look of a woman who was strong and hardy in hardy in her youth but had grown weathered but beautiful with age due to love.  

“It’s not been long since… since….” Jon stammered.

“Since Val.”

“Aye,” Jon huffed, “Feels wrong to have proposed to another woman…” he looked at his boots, “But it feels wrong to send my girls away.”

Marya nodded.

“I don’t know that I’ve done right,” Jon confessed, as if he were speaking to a priest, “What if I’m robbing Sansa of a life of her own?”

Marya snorted in disbelief, “No one knows what the good Lord has in store for them, but He says in His book that those plans are good, and so who’s to say that the good life He has planned for her does not begin with you?”

Jon was not an overtly religious man, but he remembered words from his mother when he had been a lad, words about a God of mercy, one who was close to the brokenhearted… Jon wanted to trust that that God had good plans… this was not the God of the Baratheon pulpit, but this was the God of the pastures of Scotland and Nova Scotia, the God who would go to find even one lost sheep.  

“The love you feel for Val is not betrayed by you taking another wife,” Marya said simply, “She would want you to be happy, to care for your girls as best you could, and for what its worth, I think she’d approve of your choice.”

Jon smiled sadly. Val had loved Sansa quite like a sister, having taught her not only how to survive here but to thrive, and Sansa rose to the occasion as few others from similar background ever did. Jon remembered when he had first come to the Winterfell estate as a lad, working as a shepherd for Lord Stark before his death. Sansa had been little more than an apparition he would occasionally see from a far, she had been like a princess in his eyes. Then when he and Robb had grown to be friends despite the differences in their ranks, he realized that she was indeed flesh and blood just like the rest of them, with her own unique flaws and strengths. He had had his doubts before they all came here that she would thrive in the New World, but she had thrived, but there was a loneliness, a sadness about her that had always grieved Jon. Would marrying and having a home of her own help her? Or only compound that sadness?

“I want to be able to love her,” Jon confessed in nearly a whisper, his heart breaking even more as he uttered the words.

“Then I think, given time to heal, you will,” Marya’s words were incredibly gentle and careful, “Love is as much a choice, as it is a feeling, if you continue to choose her, and she you, love will come.”

SANSA

Sansa did not have many friends in Nova Scotia, despite her years of being here. She came from landed gentry in Scotland and moved in upper circles in England for a time. There were few here who had the education and experiences that she did, not that that education served her much here, and most of the folk who had come from humbler backgrounds were wary of those who didn't. Val had been her very best friend, but she was gone now, and Sansa was no longer sure where to carry her burdens and fears, and so she found herself in the church yard the day before she and Jon had set to marry, carrying little Lyanna against her chest, and looking down at Val’s grave. There were so many graves in the church yard, life in the New World was hard and could be merciless.

“I’m not sure what you think about all of this,” Sansa said to the headstone, “I hope you know that I would never have set my cap at your husband, if it had not been for love of your children and our years of friendship.”

The headstone was silent.

“I’ll take care of them, I hope you know.”

The air was incredibly still and cold around them.

“And I don’t need for him to love me,” Sansa assured, though she wandered if it was more of an assurance for herself than anyone else, “I only need him to be brave and gentle and strong. And I think we both know that he will be, because that is who he is, and always has been.”

Sansa felt tears sting her eyes, “I miss you my friend, but I’ll see you everyday in the faces of your little girls, and I will love them well for you.”

And what of Jon? She seemed to hear in the air between the trees.

“And for Jon, I’ll be his strongest ally, and I hope his dearest friend.”

Chapter Text

JON

Jon scrubbed oatmeal off Maggey’s face wandering if any of it had gotten into her stomach at all, as the little girl tried to push his hands away. He was attempting to get them ready for bed and intended to tell them tonight that in the morning, they would all be going to the church so that he and Sansa could marry. He was not sure if they would comprehend what this meant but tell them he must. To Maggey, he imagined it would mean very little and she would likely be happy for Sansa to live with them, but he was not sure what Kit would make of this change. Kit was just old enough to possibly have some kind of understanding of marriage, even if she did not fully comprehend all the implications. Kit had never been an outgoing child, but she had grown even more quiet and introspective since Val’s death. He knew, of course, that she was still grieving her mother, just as they all were, but he did not always know how best to help her.

He looked over at her where she was sitting, brushing her own hair, as if she were grown and his heart ached. Val had always let Kit brush her own hair, as she was usually wrestling Maggey into some semblance of order. Kit was still so little and yet, even before Val’s passing, tried to act so grown up. She was his firstborn, and Jon remembered how his heart nearly burst with pride when she was placed in his arms for the first time. Even as a little baby, she had been quiet. Val had always said that Kit was his child through and through, while Maggey was much more like her, though in looks they both were the spitting image of Jon. Even so, he could not guess at how Kit might react to Sansa moving into their home and assuming the role of mother in their lives.

Jon finally got the rest of supper off of Maggey’s face, and he bid her to put on her nightgown so that they could all talk.

“Talk?” Maggey tilted her head.

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“Because I have something to tell you both.”

Kit obediently came and snuggled into Jon’s side, and so Jon put his arm around her. Maggey changed into her nightgown, and then unceremoniously plopped herself into Jon’s lap and stroked his beard in the funny way that she often did.

“Tomorrow we’re all going to go to church.”

Maggey wrinkled her nose, “It’s church day?” She was not fully acquainted with the days of the week and only knew Sunday by “church day.”

“No.”

“Your Aunt Sansa…” Jon supposed he should not call Sansa their aunt any longer, “Sansa and I are going to get married.”

“Married?” Maggey tilted her head again.

“Like Jeyne and Uncle Robb?” Kit asked, referencing their most recently attended wedding.

“Yes.”

Kit did not say anything else in the moment.

“Sansa will come and live with us after tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Maggey giggled with excitement.

“Forever?” Kit asked, and Jon could not tell what the emotion was behind that question, was she happy? Sad? Angry? Her little face gave nothing away.

“Aye,” Jon held her a little closer, hoping that she would feel reassured, “She’s going to help take care of us, and we are going to take care of her, like a family.”

“Will Lya come too?” Maggey asked excitedly.

Jon chuckled, “Yes.”

“Where is Lya going to sleep?” Kit asked, puzzled.

“She will sleep in the cradle by my bed,” Jon explained, “Like Maggey did when she was a baby.”

“Where will Aunt Sansa sleep?” Maggey asked innocently, turning her head to the side and looking at the beds in the loft as if counting them, if she could count.

Jon paused. He and Sansa had not spoken on all the smaller practical details just yet. He supposed that he assumed she would sleep with him in the bed downstairs, but would she be comfortable sharing his bed? Was he? There was not much space for another bed in the cabin, but he did not want her to be forced to sleep where she may not yet be comfortable, but he could not make her sleep up here in the loft with the children, that would hardly be appropriate for the lady of the house.

“She’ll sleep down below,” Jon explained rather cryptically, and thankfully Maggey was small enough to take the answer at face value.

Kit, however, looked up at him, her little face still rather stoney, “like Mama?”

Jon felt a knife to his heart.

Maggey teared up immediately, and pressed her little face into his neck, “I want Mama.”

“I know, love, I know,” Jon patted her back, “Your Mama loved Sansa very much, and now that she’s not here with us, I think she’d want Sansa to be a part of our family, because Sansa loves you girls, and your Mama would want you to be loved.”

Maggey sniffled against his neck.

“You love us?” Kit said simply.

“Yes, always,” he kissed the top of her head and then Maggey’s.  

Maggey lifted her tear streak little face, and some excitement returned, “I love Sansa.”

Kit’s little brow furrowed, and she looked much more concerned than Maggey, but still she said, “I love Sansa too.”

Jon smiled but still wondered if they were doing right.

SANSA

Sansa fidgeted anxiously, smoothing the front of her dress multiple times though it was smooth already, as she stood in the church. Jon and Reverend Stannis were making sure the legalities were managed before the ceremony since they would not be calling the banns. They had not seen each other yet.

“You look lovely,” Jeyne said happily as she cuddled Lyanna. Jeyne had lent Sansa a rather pretty dress for the day. While still a simple dress (Jeyne having bemoaned leaving her fancier dresses in Scotland) it was the prettiest dress Sansa had worn in many years, it was a soft blue that made Sansa’s eyes look rather radiant, “It looks even better on you than it does on me.”

“Thank you,” Sansa chuckled, knowing that was a generous thing for Jeyne to say. Jeyne was rather pretty after all.  

“It seems wrong for there to be no flowers for you,” Jeyne tutted sadly, “I looked in the fields since Robb told me about the wedding, but the snow killed any remaining autumn foliage.”

“It’s alright, Jeyne,” Sansa said, flowers were the least of her worries right now, but she appreciated the sentiment. Jeyne was not the most practical of women, but she knew that her looking for flowers for Sansa was a way in which she was attempting to demonstrate her care, imperfect as it was… as both of theirs was.

Marya came down to the back of the little wooden church.

“Is all well?” She asked happily, “I think they are ready for you.”

Sansa glanced up to the front of the church where Jon, Robb, and Stannis had been conferring. She nodded too Marya, and they went up the aisle to where they were waiting. Robb sat down on the front pew with Jeyne and the baby, and Marya and Davos with the other two girls sat on the other pew.

Sansa now stood in front of Jon and the Reverend.

He looked at her. His eyes were so fast, she almost missed the admiring look at her dress but had just caught it. She smiled at him feeling more shy than she expected to feel, with someone whom she had known for so long.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward in something akin to a reassuring smile. He took her hand.

They looked into each other’s eyes, and a deep reality settled between them.

He recited some words about loving, and honoring, and providing… till death…

She recited some words about loving, and honoring, and obeying… till death…

Jon put a little gold band on her finger.

Then he brushed the softest and lightest kiss against her lips.  

Then it was done.

Not even a quarter of an hour had passed, and everything had changed. She was his wife now, and the reality that she had just placed her whole life in this man’s hands hit her heart quite fiercely. Had they done right?

JON

A look of fear passed over Sansa’s face, and Jon was not sure what to make of that, but she quickly schooled her features, and she offered him a kind smile. Reverend Stannis pronounced them husband and wife, and then they turned to sign the register together for the final legal formalities to be taken care of. After that Sansa seemed a little lost, and so he put his hand on the small of her back to guide her toward their friends. She flinched a bit but walked forward. Maggey bound up to them and threw her little arms around Sansa, which seemed to shake Sansa from whatever line of thought that had captured her.

“Sansa, you are coming to live with us!” Maggey exclaimed.

Sansa chuckled, and hugged her back, “Yes I am.”

Kit approached a little more hesitantly, tucking herself next to Jon’s leg. Jon put a hand on her head and stroked her hair.

Congratulations were given from the Seaworth’s and Robb and Jeyne, and Reverend Stannis.

Then the Seaworth’s invited them all to take supper together at their house, and so they made their way there. The girls rode in the bed of the wagon, and Sansa rode next to Jon on the seat.

“Marya and Davos offered for the girls to stay the night with them,” Jon said trying to make conversation, as it was obvious that they both were feeling the weight of what they had just done.

“Alright,” Sansa nodded.

“Figured it would be nice to have a quiet, restful evening.”

“Yes.”

Jon glanced over at her, “Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

He was not convinced but he did not press, he imagined she was feeling some of the very same apprehension that he was feeling. They would find their way through together, though it would take time.

“Should we have waited for Dalla and Mance to arrive?” Sansa asked suddenly.

“No, I reckon the first snow is what delayed them in the first place, if it snows again they may be delayed even longer,” Jon explained, “And since this is the decision we made, it was better to not delay.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Are you having regrets?” Jon asked, concerned.

“No,” Sansa’s voice was mostly confident, “Just feeling a little apprehensive, this is a very weighty thing we’ve done.”

They had made the decision quickly and acted on it quickly.

“Aye,” Jon tried to sound confident for her sake, it was his responsibility now to be a support for her, “It’s weighty, and I think I’d be worried if we did not think so.”

“You’re right.”

Jon tried to smile at her, “Everything is going to be alright.”

“Everything is going to be alright,” she repeated and took a fortifying breath.

Maggey interrupted the moment by hollering that she needed to use the privy, and so Jon had to pull the wagon to the side, and their conversation halted.

SANSA

After supper with the Seaworth’s, Jon was getting Maggey and Kit settled, while Sansa rocked Lyanna. Jeyne and Robb had already left. Once the little girls were down for the night, she and Jon would return to their cabin… theirs. She was not sure she could think of it quite that way just yet. Marya came to her side and gently took the babe from her so that she could stand and get her things.

“You have such a way with the little ones,” said Marya softly, “You will make a splendid mother.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replied, already a little worried that she may be out of her depth.

Marya gave her an encouraging smile, “The two of you are going to be just fine, I have no doubt of it.”

Sansa nodded.

“I know you’ve been without a mother yourself for some time,” Marya continued with the utmost gentleness.

“Yes, I wish she were here.”

“She is with you in spirit.”

Sansa smiled sadly, “I feel like there are many things I need to ask her about life.”

Marya nodded thoughtfully.

“I don’t know that I know how to be a wife and mother to three little girls.”

“Well, dear, no one is born knowing,” Marya chuckled, “I know I’m a poor substitute for your own mother, but I am happy to be an imperfect stand in, in her absence, and am happy to help or answer any questions you might have.”

Sansa nodded thoughtfully.

Marya eyed her cautiously, “Are you having fears about tonight?”

Alarm slammed through Sansa; she had not even given much thought to tonight… had Jon? Is that why the girls were staying with the Seaworth’s? This all happened so fast, she had not given much consideration to the actual marriage part of being married to Jon. She had thought of her own need for protection, of Jon’s need for his girls, but had not dwelt much on what being married to him as just a man would be like.

Before either woman could say anything else, Jon came from the room where the little girls were going to sleep.

He offered Sansa a kind smile, in that way he always had, and offered her his hand, “Are you ready to go home?”

Home… his home… her home now… was she ready to go home?