Much work had been done in Winterfell prior to their arrival, but it was not nearly enough, and only one wing of the castle was rebuilt and fit for habitation when they came.

"This is not Casterly Rock," Sansa said apologetically.

"No matter," Tyrion said gently, "here is all I ever wanted and more," he placed a tender hand on the swell of her belly.

Arya, on the other hand, was growing restless. "When will Jon come?" she asked every single day without fail.

"I sent a bird to the Wall the first morning after we arrived," Tyrion said for the fifteenth time, "I got no reply from Jon, but this is not to be wondered at, given how things stand at Castle Black right now."

Then Arya looked down from the tower where the three of them were standing, observing the northern woods, and gave a startled jump:

"Look! Look! Riders from the north!"

Indeed, a column of men was advancing towards Winterfell, three of them in the blacks of the Night's Watch.

"It is Jon!" Arya cried out in exhilaration.

"That's not very likely," Sansa said in more sedate tones, "Jon is Lord Commander now, he would be too busy to come so soon…"

"It is Jon!" insisted Arya. "I know it is! It must be him, look, there is Ghost, and – and – "

Her voice faltered.

"Summer," said Sansa very quietly, "and Shaggydog."

Without wasting one more second, Arya bounded downstairs. Tyrion limped after her to his best ability while supporting his pregnant wife.

When they reached the yard, Arya was hanging about Jon's neck, hugging him one-armed. Her other arm was keeping a firm grip on a little boy. Another boy was gently set upon the ground by a silent giant Sansa remembered well from her father's stables.

She was squeezing Tyrion's hand so hard he felt his fingers go numb.

"Bran," she whispered incredulously, "Rickon!" her voice was raised now, and it carried all over the yard.

In another second, all the Stark children were hugging, kissing, laughing, crying and saying words no one could make out in the excited noise. Jon and Tyrion stood aside, watching and smiling.

"My good-brother," Tyrion stretched out a hand, "I suppose all this makes a long and interesting story."

"Too long and too interesting to tell while standing here, in this frozen courtyard," responded Jon.

… "You will wear a trail in the carpet," warned Arya.

"It has been too long," Tyrion said impatiently.

"This is her first," his good-sister reminded him, "it often takes long." Yet Tyrion wasn't reassured. His own mother had died while bringing him into this world, and he knew not health, nor strength, nor good hips, nor prior successful births were any guarantee to safe outcome.

But then the maester's steps were heard, and Tyrion turned towards him, pale as a ghost. The smile on the man's face told it all. He mopped sweat from his brow.

"My lord," said the master, "accept my sincerest congratulations. The lady has just been delivered of a healthy, strong boy."

Arya gave an oddly muffled exclamation of joy, something between a shriek and a sob. Tyrion, meanwhile, wasted no time in going to his wife, whom he found propped up on pillows in their bed, pale and with dark shadows under her eyes, but beaming. When she saw him, she said nothing, but merely beckoned him to come closer and offered him the bundle of blankets she was cradling in her arms.

"Oh, no," Tyrion shook his head, "I wouldn't – I don't know how –"

"Don't be silly," said Sansa with a smile, "just hold him firmly. Like this, yes."

Tyrion stared down at his son. The babe was fast asleep, full of warm mother's milk. His head was a mop of golden curls, but there was also something of a Stark in his features.

"How shall we name him?" he asked hoarsely, blinking back tears of joy.

"This is our firstborn," said Sansa, "you shall name him, Tyrion."

"You endured a day and a half of labor. You shall choose the name," insisted Tyrion.

"Whatever name you pick is fine with me," said Sansa, "we are one. One flesh, one heart, one soul, remember?"

"Eddard," said Tyrion, and the look upon his wife's face spoke volumes, "his name is Eddard."

Eddard Lannister, he mused. With the Lannister wits and the honor of Stark, he would surely grow up to be a great man.

T h e E n d

A/N: Sequel is already written and is waiting to be edited.