It was dark, so very dark that she could not even see her own hand in front of her face. It was so dark, the moon offering her just a little light as her guide. A shiver raced down her spine as she took off down the path, eyes trained upon the moonbeam that shined against the forest floor. And then... From somewhere nearby, a howl pierced the night, a lonely call from a wolf separated from its pack.

Slowing her pace, she came to a stop a moment before she heard the steady howl from at least five more wolves, the pack calling back to their lone member. And then, there it was, a single direwolf, its fur as white as the winter snow, its dark eyes looking to her as if to say "come along..." Heart pounding within her chest, she began to walk again, following after the direwolf. It brought her to a clearing, where the moon hung high and clear overhead, so very bright there it was more like daylight. And there in the center of the clearing stood a small child, who's dark hair fell in curls that were familiar to her. Around the boy, five direwolves sat back on their hunches, heads tilted back, mouths open as a howl echoed along the trees. It was then that the child raised his face to hers, piercing blue eyes finding her own of the very same shade... "You..." She reached out a hand towards the child, who's lips then curved into a smile as bright as the moonlight above, while the wolves all turned their dark hued eyes to her too. The white wolf howled back at its pack and the little boy let out a laugh, the sound carrying along the breeze, making her wonder if he had understood the wolves cry.

And then as the boy began to run towards her, so did the wolves. It was a moment later that she was opening her arms to him, the brush of fur against her skin was that of the white direwolf. Laughter bubbled from her lips, the child's too, and she realized that in that moment, her heart had never felt so very full...

This time when Sansa woke, Jon woke too.

Panting there on her side of the bed, with her disheveled braid hanging across her shoulder, face pale in the candlelight, Sansa looked a mess. "Sansa... A dream, sweetheart?" Jon spoke softly, coaxing her from her own thoughts with the gentle touch of his hand to her cheek. "A nightmare?" He went on, his free hand sliding into place across the swell of her belly, where beneath his palm their child was moving. This was not the first night she'd woken so suddenly in the middle of the night, though many nights she'd merely returned right back to sleep. Jon knew her pregnancy was coming close to its end and with everything happening around them, he had to wonder if it was all stress related.

"Not a nightmare," Sansa said a moment later, turning to face him with a small smile, her hand sliding into place over his. She too could feel their child's movements within her, though this night they felt a bit more sharp. In that moment, she realized she'd even yet to tell Jon of these dreams she'd been having... She had written it off before, thinking that he would not believe her, that he would call it a pregnancy trick of the mind. But for her... She just knew they meant something. Something so much more than mere dreams caused by her body's change with pregnancy. And so for a moment, she still yet hesitated but looking into Jon's eyes she knew she could tell him anything. "I've been dreaming of direwolves..." Sansa watched his expression change from that of near wakefulness to surprise, his dark brow arching at her words. "And a child."

His expression lightened then and he smiled, reaching out his free hand to gently tug on a stray strand of her hair. "Is that why you sent Arya to look for them?" Sansa gave a silent nod, turning away from him with burning cheeks. "You knew they were out there." He went on, this time his words causing her to look up with slightly widened eyes. But then she nodded again, blue eyes finding his in the darkness of their chamber. "And this child?"

"Looks just like you."

This time her words brought a smile to both of their faces and Jon felt her tighten her grip on his hand, still placed across her stomach. Truthfully, there was a part of him hoping their first child would be a girl; a little girl as beautiful as her mother. But, he supposed a son was just as good, a son who would be strong and true, raised to protect the innocent and serve his family first. Daughters would could always follow. "Indeed?" He questioned as he traced the outline of her face with his fingertips, dipping his forehead down to meet hers. "I should hope any child of ours would be graced with your good looks."

Sansa drew back from him then, giving a solid shake of her head. "No, we shall have a son and he shall look just like you." She pulled a face then, giving him a quick but soft punch to the shoulder. "Besides you are better looking than I, Jon."

It was Jon's turn to draw back in shock, genuinely surprised by the words she'd just spoke. "Sweetheart, there is no one on this earth more beautiful than you. Surely... Surely you know this? Have I not told you enough?" Sansa's laugh told him that she did not believe him and Jon took both of her cheeks into his palms, staring into her eyes which had widened ever so slightly by his sudden movements. "I do not jest." He spoke simply, thumb tracing the outline of her lips, unable to help but to kiss her. "There is not now nor will there ever be anyone more beautiful than you." A smile was curving on her lips when he drew away from her, his dark eyes gleaming in the dark. "Now, you must get back to sleep. You need your rest." He leaned over her then, pressing a soft kiss against her belly, hands on her either side. "Sleep, sweetheart," he encouraged her quietly, coaxing her back against her pillows.

For a little while after Sansa had gone back to sleep Jon lay there, unable to stop himself from thinking of what she had said. And Arya, too. Nymeria had been found in the forest, pregnant, just as Sansa had said she would be. Jon could not help but to wonder... What else would Sansa be right about?

[ x x x ]

When the morning call came the next morning, it was all she could do to force herself from beneath the blankets. Jon had long since untangled himself from their bed, though Ghost had made himself quite comfortable in his place. She lay awake in bed far longer than appropriate and it wasn't until Brienne came for her that she finally pushed herself from the bed.

"You do not seem well, this morning." Brienne spoke bluntly, looking at her lady from across the room, noting her pale face. "Perhaps you would allow for me to call for a midwife... It is drawing quite close for you, my lady." Sansa looked up at her with those piercing eyes and gave a single shake of her head. "But, my lady..."

"I am fine, Brienne. Call Alys, if you will, I should like for her to dress me." The small child was the only person she might see this day, the only person who would not look at her as if they knew best. She could not yet rest, she could not yet have this baby. Not when Lord Darnley's murder was no closer to being solved than when she'd first arrived. Not when others had begun to turn up dead. And not when Bran was still yet missing. But a sharp twist in her belly told her that she was on borrowed time. It wouldn't be long now, Sansa knew, and she put a hand against her swollen stomach and prayed... Prayed for just a little more time.

"My lady," a small voice pulled her back and there was Alys, with a wide smile and a bobbing curtsy, already dressed for the day. "Brienne said you sent for me." She could see that something was troubling her queen, but fear kept her from asking of it. Instead, she gave a nod when the queen asked if she might help her dress for the day, surprised that she was given such an honor. Though she often did Sansa's hair, she had never yet been asked to assist her in dressing. "Which gown would you like to wear?" She asked as she came closer, moving again when Sansa indicated for her to open one closer to the bed. Tipping back its lid, Alys could not help but to be in awe of the few dresses within; her queen was always well dressed and beautiful... and in truth, Alys hoped she might grow to be as lovely and fashionable as her.

Noticing the young girl's interest in her gowns, Sansa chuckled, coming to stand beside her over the trunk. "Do you like them? These are the ones I've made myself." Alys turned her wide eyes onto her then, brows arched so far they'd disappeared beneath her hair. "It is true, I don't sew as much as I did before... But I do love dressmaking." The little girl turned away then, reaching out to gingerly touch the top one, its detail as lovely as any of her court made dresses. "My mother taught me," Sansa went on then, gesturing for Alys to pull that top dress from the chest. "Perhaps you would like for me to teach you." The gown slipped from her hands then, so shocked was she by the queen's offer and it was all she could do to stammer over a thank you, causing Sansa to laugh. "I thought you might," she smiled down at her, reaching out to pat her on the head. "We shall start another day... Today I must attend the Northern Lords and hope they bring me news of my brother."

[ x x x ]

A short while later, Sansa found herself standing alone in the Great Hall; the Northern Lords had all been dismissed, for they had brought her nothing helpful this day. She felt restless and irritable, wringing her hands as she paced back and forth, footsteps echoing against the stone floor. From somewhere in the distance, she suddenly heard it, the lone cry of a direwolf. She snapped to attention, head swiveling towards the window, her first instinct to run out into the courtyard. The howl of the wolf sent chills down her spine and she took one single step towards the door, as if she truly meant to go.

"My lady?" She paused at the sound of Brienne's voice, who had come to look for her when she'd not returned to her chambers as she usually did after meetings with the Lords. "My lady, are you alright?" Brienne noted her queen's pale, worried face, knowing that the young woman was overworking herself. Mere days from birth and there she was, still yet leading meetings with her Lords and chasing the ghosts within Winterfell. In truth, it looked as if Sansa had seen a ghost, so pale had she become, trembling there where she stood. "Sansa." Brienne spoke sharply, the use of the queen's given name bringing her back from wherever her mind had been, her piercing blue eyes widening. "Please, allow me to escort you back to your chambers."

Sansa let out a breath before she gave a single nod, suddenly wishing for nothing more than to climb into her bed and remain there forever. It was as she took the first step towards Brienne that the baby within her turned and suddenly there was a rush of liquid from between her legs, catching her off guard. For a long moment she could do nothing but look from the puddle at her feet and back to Brienne, but then she felt it... A sharp, white hot pain that took her very breath away. Gasping, she leaned over, cradling her stomach as the wave of pain began to ebb away. Brienne was at her side at once, speaking softly as she put her hand to her elbow, guiding her out of the Great Hall, stopping only once to speak to a passing maid of what was transpiring. And then as promised, she led her back to her chambers, where a few of her ladies had already gathered, there to dress her for the evening meal. "The queen is in labor." Brienne spoke urgently, passing Sansa off to the nearest woman, knowing quite well that she would be in good hands there. But as she made to step away, Sansa was reaching for her, blue eyes pleading.

"Don't go." She whispered, fear written all over her face. Brienne knew her duty to this young woman and would remain at her side, no matter the danger, no matter the request. And so it was Brienne who ushered her into her bed when she'd been changed, her red hair twisted back to keep it away from her face.

In truth, Sansa was terrified; for the first time in a long time, she wished for her mother to be alive. In a moment such as this, the birth of her first child, it should have been her mother at her side. But as her eyes settled upon Brienne's face, she knew she had something nearly as good. Reaching out, Sansa took her protector's hand and gave it a squeeze, the moment of affection between them broken only when another labor pain took control. When it had passed, Sansa looked across the room, her eyes finding little Alys, looking a little shook up in the corner. Beckoning the girl forward, Sansa smiled upon her, extending a hand for the small girl to take. "Alys, will you go to the King... Will you tell him what is happening?" Fear jumped into her throat, but if this was for her... For her queen, then Alys knew she would be brave. She gave a single, but steady nod, and Sansa was smiling upon her then, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm trusting you."

And then she was off, rushing past the ladies within the room, darting down a corridor and around a corner, nearly knocking over a servant as she went. Right to the King's own chambers did she go, fear rushing through her; though she knew the King to be kind and just, she could not help but to be fearful of him. As she approached the door, the guards out front regarded her carefully, as if surprised to see a girl such as herself there at his door. "I must speak to the King. It's urgent." She spoke in a voice she did not recognize, knowing nothing beyond her mission. The queen was trusting her with such a task and she would not fail her! "It concerns the queen!" At such an exclamation, the guards finally gave in, and one stepped into the room to announce her arrival. He gestured for her to follow after him and so Alys went in, suddenly finding herself at the center of the King's privy chamber.

"Hello there," Jon could not help but to grin at the little girl standing there, looking as frightened as she had the first day they'd met many months ago, back in King's Landing. "I've been told you bring me urgent news." Sansa spoke often of this young girl and Jon knew she favored her more than even her most loyal of ladies. Aside from Brienne, she had been the only companion that Sansa had brought with her from King's Landing, a true telling of the affection she felt for the girl. "So speak." He spoke gently, his lips still smiling as he waited for the girl's words.

"T-the queen... She's in labor, sir!" Alys finally spit the words out, pushing every fear from her heart and mind, her only focus that of her task to the queen. She watched as the King's mouth opened and then closed wordlessly, his dark eyes widening as the realization hit him. And then in that moment, Alys got to witness this King step free from the crown and revert to a mere mortal man who was about to become a father. If she were a little older, she might have found amusement in the young and powerful King looking so worried.

"Labor?" He echoed, feeling his heart skip a beat within his chest. "Labor?" He said again, as if repeating it over and over might have made him feel better. It didn't. Jon knew he should have been running to her side but he found his fight were quite firmly planted on the ground, his knees shaking beneath his weight. Labor... Sansa was in labor. Any moment now and there would be a child born... Their child. He simply couldn't wrap his head around it.

To his surprise, the little girl gave a laugh, a sweet sound that brought him back to reality. "She will be fine, your grace." Suddenly, she felt no more fear of this man. "I helped my mama birth all my brothers and sisters, you know." There had never been a problem with any of the births, no reason to fear the natural process that was giving birth. Her own mother had died from a fever after birth but even so, Alys felt no fear for the queen's life. She was young and healthy, both things her own mother had not been back then when Ned had been born. "I think she'll be upset if you're late, your grace." She went on then, giggling when the King suddenly jumped back into life, giving her a nod before he rushed from the rooms, past his guards without so much as a backwards glance.

Jon did not stop running until he reached her chambers, where her usual guard had been replaced by Arya. He slowed to a stop before her, his dark eyes finding hers. "They won't like you in there, you know." Jon arched a brow and Arya chuckled, shaking her head. "No men allowed in the birthing room. Don't you know anything, my lord?" Her playful banter put him at ease and Jon let out the breath he'd been holding. "Don't let Agnes frighten you." They shared a laugh over stony-faced Agnes, the woman who had been head lady to many Stark women before Sansa, who spoke of nothing beyond propriety and the old times. "Take care of her." Arya's voice was different then and they met eyes, Jon's lips curving in the smallest of smiles. He knew how much Sansa meant to her... Probably as much as she meant to him, though in an entirely different way.

"I will," he gave his word and that was when Arya stepped aside, allowing him entry to Sansa's chambers. Inside, he found it to be chaotic, but the women all seemed to know exactly what was happening. The door to Sansa's bed chamber was pulled closed, but from behind it he could hear her voice, strained with whatever pain she must have been feeling in that moment.

"Your grace!"

The first lady had noticed him, a nameless maid that Jon turned to face. She looked highly uncomfortable, as if she knew it was up to her to tell him what Arya had told him just moments before, but it seemed that she could not find her voice. How did one tell the King of the Seven Kingdoms what to do, anyways? "My lord," this voice was not so uncertain. It was Agnes who stood there in the doorway to Sansa's chambers, looking grim and fixing him with her dark-eyed gaze. "The birthing chamber is no place for a man, King or not." Jon turned to face her, straining over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of his beloved wife. It took him no time to decide what to do next and so it was just a moment later that he was shouldering past Agnes, forcing his way to Sansa's bedside without a backwards glance.

"Jon!" Sansa gasped as he came to her side, his hands taking hers as she reached for him. "You're here," she whispered as the contraction paid subsided, leaving her somewhat breathless as she gripped her husband's hands. On her either side, Jon to one, Brienne to the other, were people that loved her, people that protected her... Now, she was safe. "It's happening," she offered him one quick smile before the pain took control once more, forcing her head back as she rocked in time with the wave.

Unsure what to do, Jon could only sit beside her, allowing her to grip his hands as tightly as she needed. Watching her suffer through child birth was harder than he had thought- how had he not mentally prepared himself for this? And though this was her first child, it was as if Sansa already knew exactly what to do. The midwife at the foot of her bed was smiling then, praising her for making it this far. "It's time, my lady. Push!" The midwife cried as Sansa bore down, her fierce blue eyes closed as a pained cry escaped her trembling lips. "Again!" The midwife shouted seconds later and again Sansa pushed, every muscle in her body straining with her.

She felt as if she were coming apart at the seams.

Pain engulfed her like she'd never before experienced, white hot and angry it rushed through every inch of her. She could hear the midwife shouting for her to continue, could hear Jon's whispered words of encouragement against her ear, but all of her focus was on her one single task. Sansa could feel it then, the feeling of the child begin slipping free from her own body and into the world. It took one last, hard push and she felt it come free, and only seconds later did the newborn begin to wail. "A boy! A prince, my lady!" The midwife cried as she held the newborn aloft, his wails turning to angry screams for being pulled so unfairly from his comfortable home. Beside her, Jon sagged, his arm coming around her shoulders to draw her close. She could feel the press of his lips to her head as he murmured his thanks, as he spoke of his love for her. Sansa sank back against the pillows then, suddenly tired beyond her imagination, though she could not stop herself from smiling.

And then... The midwife was laying the precious newborn into her arms, backing away from the little family, urging all others in the room to follow suit. Jon shifted himself onto the bed, leaning over his wife to peer into the child's perfect features, ones he could already recognize as his very own. The baby's head was covered in soft, downy dark hair, curls that reminded him of the brother's he had lost in Robb and Rickon. And it was then that the child's eyes fluttered, eyes that struck him with their brilliant blue coloring. Their son looked of him, it was true, but those beautiful blue eyes were hers. "He's perfect," Sansa whispered, her voice drawing his gaze towards her face, taking in the sight of her own blue eyes full of unshed tears. "He's absolutely perfect, isn't he?" She turned to look at him then, her smile radiant as their eyes met. Jon could not find the words to speak, choking on emotion, and so all he could do was nod before reaching for her, pulling her close. She shifted into place against him, with him against the pillows, her head resting against his shoulder. Their baby, now quiet, seemed content to snuggle deep into the blanket he'd been wrapped in, safe and warm in his mother's arms.

For how long they remained there, Jon couldn't say. He'd have stayed in that very moment for a lifetime, if he could. In all his life, he had never thought he'd come this far. He never had thought he'd find true happiness with a woman he loved, let alone get married and have a child with her. He had never thought he'd find himself crowned King of anything and yet, there he was. Jon pressed a kiss against her temple and tightened his grip on her just slightly, knowing without a doubt he was the luckiest man in the entire world.

And the happiest.