The rest of the Winterfell-bound journey continued without much incident. The days were short, the nights were cold, but eventually the towers of the castle broke against the horizon as they crossed over the wide field.

"Gods that's a big castle." Meera commented.

"It doesn't move like yours does." Jon remarked. She gave a small grin.

"You're right, sure couldn't." she said, and turned to Bran. "Which tower did you fall from?"

Bran closed an eye and pointed, indicating one of the highest spires.

"It's been rebuilt of course." he said. "But that's the one."

Meera shook her head, aghast.

Jon tried to maintain his brewing excitement, and did so successfully. He kept a strong calm face. How many years did he go without the touch of a woman? He could last another couple moments. Not to mention, this was a deeply important moment. He was about to see all his siblings, living, together at last, in their home. Their home, completely theirs.

The gates opened, and the party rode through. In the courtyard, waiting at the base of the steps, was Arya, Rickon, Sansa. Nymeria and Shaggydog were politely sat beside some crates, but when they caught sight of Ghost, they both stood, tails thumping.

Jon met Sansa's eye for a brief moment, but then the three were rushing Bran, welcoming him. He met their cries with a calm, patient, even kindness. Sansa swept her younger brother into her arms, tears dropping into his hair. Rickon climbed directly into the sled with him, curling up beside him, looking like a little child again, at the foot of Bran's bed, wrapped in furs. Arya stood nearby, smiling, but no tears gathered in her eyes.

The courtyard had come to pause, observing the touching scene. There were still a handful of people in Winterfell who'd lived with the Stark children, and before them their parents, for years. True loyal subjects, who loved Ned and Catelyn, loved the Stark children like their own family. Now the home felt balanced again, and watching and hearing the happy shouts and laughs of them felt like old times. It felt like the world was safe again, if only for a moment.

Jon had dismounted, handing his horse over to a stableboy. Quietly, moving away from her brother, Sansa floated to him, and he wrapped her tightly in his cloak, kissing her on the cheek.

"I am so glad to see you on your feet." he whispered into her hair. "I hardly slept a wink, worrying about you."

"Bit dramatic it was." she said, waving her hand, dismissing the issue. "Welcome home, Lord Stark."

Sansa turned to the rest of her siblings, not letting go of Jon as she did.

"I had them prepare a meal, it's waiting for everyone in the Great Hall. I'm sure our travelers could use some warm food in their bellies."

As the group made it's way to the hall, Sansa fell back, introducing herself to Meera, who, without the duty of pulling his sled, seemed a little detached from the group.

"I suppose you wouldn't want to be referred to as "Lady Reed"?" Sansa inquired, and Meera looked at her feet.

"No, m'lady, I don't deserve such a title, I haven't been a Lady in many years."

"You deserve a better one." Sansa said. "After everything you've gone through for my family." she took Meera's hand, squeezing it, hard. "Anything you need, please ask. You will always have a home here. Your children, your children's children. We owe you an enormous debt."

Meera was struck by this, and unsure how to respond.

"After the meal, I've had baths prepared, for both you and my brother. Would you like a seperate sleeping chamber from Bran, or would you rather stay together?"

"He's been all I've known these past years." she replied honestly. "I know it's a bit untoward. He's hardly left my sight, I don't know how I could sleep."

"Don't even think of it then." Sansa said. "I'll have a double room prepared."

The double doors to the dining hall opened. There was a hearty feast waiting at the head table. Roasted elk, roasted chicken, boiled potatoes, mushroom stew, buttery vegetable pies, brown bread, cinnamon baked apples. The rest of the travelers filed in behind the family, and soon the hall was lively with noise. Jon's men poured ale for themselves, laughing and trading tales. Jon and Sansa were seated at the head of the hall, eating their own shares, when Arya approached the pair.

"Bran is different." she commented.

"Aye." Jon agreed. "It's been explained to me. He's a chosen figure, the Three Eyed Raven. Privy to visions and secrets of the world nobody else can see or share in."

"He told me something." Arya said. "About myself. Something nobody knows."

"He has a tendency to do that." Jon said, taking another bite of bread. "He knows things. Probably knows all our fates of the coming war. He knew about us moments after I had seen him." he said to Sansa

"Gods." Sansa muttered. "I am glad he's ours then. Safe here, with us."

Arya inclined her head slightly. "Now that the happy reunion is over, I have work to be done."

"Stay." Sansa said. "The men will live a day without your wise guidance Lady Stark."

Arya's eyes flashed, but she didn't comment.

"Arya, we've only just returned." Jon said.

"There's no rest in the days of war." Arya said. "You should know that better than anyone." She turned sharply on her heel, and marched out of the hall.

Jon shook his head.

"You don't think she's right?" Sansa said, a little quieter.

"Not really." he said. "I think we have some joy in our lives now. I think we should enjoy it while we can."

Sansa thought then of the life growing in her belly. Her nerves made her heart begin to pound double time. She'd been debating internally over the past few days on how to break the news to him. She knew he would be happy, thrilled even, but the fear she had almost overpowered her desire to make him happy. After all she'd gone through in her life, she pictured the same fates happening to another child, only this time hers. Perhaps, years from now, another great King would demand Jon's aide, like Robert had asked for her father's, and he would pack up himself and their children and suffer the same fate her father did. Her daughters would be wed off and raped, her sons killed in battle or by their enemies. She placed the fork full of food down on her plate, overcome with a wave of nausea and anxiety.

She played out how it would go in her head. That Jon would assure her they would always be safe. But what if she lost Jon, what could she do to protect her own children, by herself? She was no fighter, she was not strong. She could survive, of course, in her own way, politically balancing her own life through manipulations and niceties. She could survive the worst of human horrors, torture, abuse. She glanced at a scar on her wrist and shuddered. This cunning wouldn't serve her children. This balance she had so delicately struck was only for her benefit, how could she withstand seeing anyone in her family face the same?

"Sansa." Jon said quietly, pulling her out of her head. He'd been studying her face, how her eyes had gotten lost suddenly, darting around nervously. She looked at him, and offered a reassuring smile. The concern did not leave him, though, and he took her hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of it.

"I'm glad you're home." she whispered earnestly. "When you're done, go bathe. I'll wait for you in our chambers. I should go speak with Bran."

She stood, and he watched her as she walked away. She settled next to Meera, across from Bran, at the end of the table. She marveled at his face for a moment, still awestruck by his return, by the familiarity in the dark brows and eyes.

"Sister." he said. "You worry."

She swallowed.

"How could I not?" she countered. "In times like these. But you are safe now, a blessing."

"We are safe now, yes." he agreed. "I don't think I could have imagined returning to a home like this, when I first left. Arya at the head of the army. Jon and you...together. How funny the fates have fared this family. I'm so sorry, though, Sansa, for what you went through. For all of it. Your young life deserved far better."

"No matter." Sansa said, trying to not dwell on it. "We all went through trials. I suppose we are stronger because of it."

"You sound like father." Bran said.

She looked at her hands.

"You are unsure, though, how to tell Jon." Bran said. "You are unsure if you want this pregnancy to continue."

Even Meera looked surprised at his comment, and Sansa's head snapped up. Bran didn't look bothered at all, but instead settled his eyes on Sansa's.

"Children are born and die in winter. Some children never have a chance to see the sun." he said. "Yours will see the sun, Sansa."

"I saw the sun." she said. "Arya saw it. Robb. Mother. Father. We all saw it. That doesn't mean it came without tragedy."

"There's rarely a life that does." he said.

"I'm sure you intend for that to comfort me."

"I don't mean to comfort anyone." he said simply. "I mean to enlighten."

She shook her head. Her brother had been gone so many years and she immediately swelled him with her own problems.

"Go talk to Jon." Bran insisted, seemingly reading her mind. "You won't feel better until you do."

She took his hands and kissed them. "Thank you, brother."

Evening was coming quickly at Winterfell, so Sansa hurriedly crossed the castle to go change into some nightclothes. The fire in the chamber they shared had already been lit, but she went around the room, igniting some candles as well.

As she waited for him, she nervously paced around the room. Eventually, the door swung open. His hair was still slightly damp from the bath, making it look curlier than usual.

"My Sansa." he sighed as he shut the door behind him. "What a sight for sore eyes you are."

Normally such a statement would make her melt. But the nerves wouldn't allow it. She stiffened, wringing her hands.

"What happened?" he asked, noticing her mood. He went to the table in the corner, pouring himself an ale. "You seem so worried."

"I'm with child." she blurted, and felt tears beginning to press at the back of her eyes.

He paused, and set the pitcher back upon the table. She watched him, anxiously, waiting to read his expression.

He turned, walking towards her. Her eyes flitted across his face, trying to drink in the limited information he offered her. He looked dazed almost. Suddenly, he fell to his knees before her, and wrapped his arms around her middle.

A sob of relief escaped her. He pressed his forehead into her stomach, taking a heavy breath in. When he looked up at her, she saw his eyes were also brimming with moisture, and his face was lit with joy.

"Oh gods Jon." she whimpered. "I don't know what to do."

"Sansa." he said, and she sunk to the floor as well. He cradled her face, marveling at her beauty, her clear eyes, her porcelain skin. "It's going to be alright."

"What if we can't keep them safe, Jon?" she asked. "I only just got my family back, broken, half gone. After years of this, of being apart, of trials and pain. I only just was reunited with my brother, and I immediately have to question everything all over again."

His heart sunk, breaking for his bride.

"Listen to me." he said. "I will tell you this, but if it doesn't convince you, if you are still unsure, we can just wait."

She paused, waiting for him to finish.

"Almost every battle I've been in, every time my sword has been brandished, I've been fighting for myself, a singular life. Of course, I was fighting to defend the wall, the realm even, in theory. But in those moments when you see nothing but another sword or weapon coming at you, being wielded by a wildling or even the undead, you are very simply fighting to survive. Fighting for yourself."

She nodded, agreeing. Survival was all she'd known. And survival, when broken down, is simply a selfish act.

"Since I've been with you, since I saw the flash of red hair at the east window, I've been fighting for us both. When my sword meets another, since then, it is not 'fight to save your own life' it is 'fight to see her again.'"

Tears began rolling down her face as she listened.

"You've changed me, Sansa. My life has different meaning now. My will to live...it's only stronger. Any child you give me would only enhance that. I know it. It would make us stronger, all of us. Our house would have an heir, our home would gain another Stark back, after losing so many."

She absorbed these words, and it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Jon climbed to his feet, and pulled her up with him. He guided her, gently, to their bed, pulling back the blankets.

"My queen." he said as she settled into the bed, and he climbed in behind her. "I had such plans to ravish you, take my bride in my bed."

She laughed, brushing away the tears. He pulled her against his chest, stroking her long hair.

"We should rest." he said. "Sansa, no matter what happens, I am still entirely yours, as long as I draw breath in this realm, I belong to you."

"And I to you." she whispered into his neck. She felt his hand slide over her stomach, and wondered if he even had a conscious thought about it, or if this movement now came instinctively.