Chapter Text
Sansa Stark
She had never wanted her mother more than she did at this moment. Sansa was pacing up and down the hallways of Winterfell, for what felt like the dozenth time this morning. She had Gilly on her left, and Jon on her right, but they felt so far away from her.
Her mother hadn’t shared much with her about childbirth. Sansa supposed she’d thought they’d have more time to discuss it. Sansa had been young when Rickon was born, only eight, too young to be allowed to see what was going on. All she remembered was being ushered into Bran’s nursery during the night, sitting in there with all her siblings, waiting to meet the newest Stark. She and Arya had got to see him before the boys, escorted in by her father late in the evening.
Rickon had been all red and tears, but Catelyn Stark had been smiling down at him like he was the whole world. Sansa had wished he’d been quiet.
She wished now, walking slowly, that she would be able to talk to her mother just one more time, ask her why she’d been willing to do this five times, let alone once!
She’d felt as if the baby- who’d been causing her great distress since late the evening before- seemed content in causing trouble, but not actually making an appearance.
At the thought, her stomach gave another lurch, and she moaned, loudly.
“Sansa? Do you think you’re close?” Gilly asked, concerned. She’d given birth just three months before, and Sansa had attended, fascinated. She had a much easier time than this.
“I don’t know,” Sansa complained. “Every time I say I think we’re close, and we go back to the room, and nothing happens!” Somewhere, deep in her mind, she was aware of how much she was whining. But birth seemed a responsible explanation, she decided.
“It’s not a hassle, Sansa,” Jon said, gently. “It’s not as if there’s anything more important than the baby.”
Sansa paused for a moment, and met his gaze. He had a soft smile on his face, but she could see the concern behind his gaze. After all, she thought, childbirth had been how his mother had died.
“How’s your leg?” she asked him. He hadn’t grabbed his cane when they’d left their chambers this time, and she could tell he was moving slowly.
“We’re moving as slowly as possible,” Jon pointed out, echoing her thoughts. “I’ll survive.”
She smiled at him just as another wave of pain rushed through her. “Oh, that felt like something,” Sansa breathed.
Gilly hurriedly turned her around. “Let’s get you back to Sam, then.” Another wave of pain rushed through her, and Sansa gasped, loudly.
“What are you going to name the baby?” Gilly asked, as she and Jon hurried Sansa through the empty hallway.
“We have a, a few names picked,” Sansa gasped out, the pain starting to get worse. “Depends on the baby.”
“Good idea,” Gilly told her, loudly. Trying to distract her, Sansa realized, affectionately. “If the second baby had been a girl, we were going to call her after one of my sisters. Dyah, or Ferny.”
Sansa smiled. “So Jon wasn’t your first choice?” she asked, trying to clear her mind.
Gilly laughed, light and happy. “No, we both wanted a boy. So Jon was our first choice.”
Sansa knew if she could look at Jon right now, he’d be blushing. “A good name for a baby,” Sansa agreed. She kept her head up. They were almost there. “But we have a few others in mind.”
They’d talked about it endlessly the last few months. They both had so many people they had loved, and wanted to honor. The only names they’d agreed to set aside for now would be her parents. Sansa knew Jon still had a complicated relationship with her mother’s memory, and she didn’t want to push him on that. And her father’s name, while meaning so much to them both, might mean more to Arya.
If it was a boy, they’d agreed on Robb. Little Robb Stark, Sansa had imagined, with her brother’s red curls. And for a girl, Lyanna. Sansa had pushed for it, knowing that Jon wouldn’t speak up. But she’d seen how happy he’d been when she suggested it.
Sansa didn’t care which it was now, as long as this baby was out of her.
A wave of pain rushed through her. “Ah,” Sansa moaned, shutting her eyes. “I think the babe’s coming,” she muttered, trying to keep it together. With her eyes still closed, she felt Gilly and Jon speed up, and lead her back to their rooms.
The rest of the night seemed to pass in a haze of pain and sweat. Sansa remembered Jon’s hand, clutching hers, and his worried eyes shadowed by candle light. Sam and Gilly were telling her to push, and she tried to focus on their voices-and then she was here.
Sam was holding her, as Gilly wrapped her in a thin blanket. Sansa blinked up, watching as Sam carried their baby over to her waiting arms.
“Here she is,” Sam told her. “Perfectly healthy in every way, if a bit late.”
Sansa held open her arms, and felt the warm weight of her daughter. She blinked down at her. The babe’s face was scrunched up, as she whimpered slightly. There was a fuzz of dark curls across her scalp, but her eyes were too shut for Sansa to see the color. She was perfect.
“She’s perfect,” Jon echoed her thoughts. Sansa looked up at him, but his gaze was solely focused on their daughter. He was even tearing up. Sansa shifted the babe slightly, and held out her right hand, which Jon took.
“She’s all ours,” Sansa said softly, still feeling a bit awed by the idea. Jon laughed wetly, as if he agreed with her.
“What’s her name?” Gilly asked, softly, from across the room. She was folding up all the blankets she and Sam had used for the birth.
Sansa looked up at Jon again, and this time he met her gaze. Before Sansa could make her suggestion, the babe issued a loud yawn, and opened her eyes for the first time. Sansa could see her own bright blue eyes reflected on her face. Her thumb went out and stroked her face. The perfect little mix of Stark and Tully.
“Lyanna,” Sansa said, suddenly. She looked at Gilly first, who smiled, and then to Jon who beamed at her. He was always most handsome when he smiled, she thought, absentmindedly.
“Lyanna Stark,” Jon repeated.
Lyanna yawned again, as if she was responding to her name. Sansa laughed a bit as she continued to stroke her face. “Do you want to hold her?” Sansa asked, looking up at her husband.
Jon looked hesitant for a moment, but he nodded. Sansa lifted her up and set her in Jon’s arms just as carefully as Sam had set her in her own. Jon’s face softened as he held their daughter for the first time. His eyes tracked her face, and his hand reached out to stroke the babe’s face, mimicking Sansa’s movements.
Lyanna yawned again, a big movement for someone so little. Jon’s good eye crinkled, and Sansa felt as if she could watch them forever.
-
Gendry Baratheon
It was early in the morning, and Gendry took advantage of the quiet of the castle to try and get through his letters.
They’d been living at Storm’s End for over half a year, but this was still one of his least favorite tasks. He was still nervous going over his letters, and preferred to read alone, where he could take as much time as possible.
There were almost too many letters to go through alone, as he and Arya had just returned from a several week’s long expedition to visit some of the nobles around the Rainwood, trying to take stock of what the noble families of the Stormlands still possessed after all the long years of war. They’d arrived back at Storm’s End the evening before, and both were too tired to do anything but fall into bed.
Gendry had forced himself awake as soon as the sun rose, knowing he had much to do. Still, leaving the bed, where Arya continued to snore away, was hard. He smiled, thinking about her. She had been insistent over their journey she was only sleeping next to him for warmth, but he’d let her take her time. He’d be here when she was ready.
He fumbled through the letters, trying to focus on the words from Lord Arstan Selmy about this year’s coming harvest, but his mind kept drifting. There was so much to do- he’d have to meet with Edric, who’d stayed behind to mind the castle.
His half brother was not particularly fond of the political dealing that came along with being a Lord, but Gendry had never admitted to him that he wasn’t either. But they’d come to an easy agreement- Edric would host dinners and get to feast with whoever came to visit, and Gendry would go out and talk to people in their homes, whether it was the smallfolk or the other lords of the Stormlands.
It worked well, so far.
Arya, meanwhile, came along with him on his journeys, but spent the rest of her time training up the castle’s guard. They’d not shown her much respect at the beginning, but now that she’d pushed them all around, she’d even gotten them to accept a few new female guards within their ranks. She was pleased, and Gendry was happy she was happy.
The only moments Gendry got off from playing being a lord were late at night, where he’d go into the castle’s well sized smithy, and pound away on a new sword or helm. It took his mind off the endless frustrations of trying to get the lords and ladies of the Stormlands to work with their smallfolk, instead of against them, as they had for years.
But it seemed to be working. He’d gotten Lord Selmy to agree to work with his smallfolk to sell some of the harvest to fund the building of actual towns, which the Stormlands had historically lacked. Arya had described to him how towns created commerce which would help the small folk move on from farming to survive.
Her journeys across Westeros and over to Essos had exposed her to a number of different lifestyles, and she told him how the people of Braavos were able to fund different sorts of shops and inns, something that the majority of Westeros lacked. With the fertile, somewhat empty land of the Stormlands, they had a chance to offer a new life to the people who lived here.
The only struggle was getting those living in their safe, fancy castles to agree.
But they were getting there. Gendry thumbed through the other letters, looking for anything that caught his eye. There was one from Mya- he ripped that one open first. They’d been writing for the last few months, and she had agreed to come down for a visit later in the year. She seemed insistent to return to her mountain, however, which put a stop to Gendry’s dream of having all of his newfound siblings under one roof.
He smiled at her words, writing about her beloved mules and her new husband, a man named Lothor. He’d need to write back soon, he thought.
The next letter was from Winterfell. He opened it quickly, thinking about how Sansa was due to have the babe any day. It was Jon’s handwriting, and it only took one sentence for him to jump up and rush out of his solar and down the hallway to wake Arya.
He opened the door too loudly for the hour, but Arya sat straight up before he could even say her name. Her hair was mussed up in the back, and she blinked at him, confused.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice a little hoarse. Gendry simply handed her the letter, before sitting next to her on the bed.
She gave him a look. “Just tell me, I’m still too asleep to read this.”
“You’re an Aunt,” he told her, voice soft. “Sansa had the babe!”
Her eyes widened, and she started reading the letter eagerly. “Lyanna….” she said softly. “Little Lyanna Stark.”
To his surprise, she started to tear up. “Are you alright?” he asked, concerned. He could count the number of times he’d seen Arya cry.
She nodded, rubbing her elbow across her face. “I guess I never really thought they’d be more Starks,” she said, softly. “All those years when we were all scattered to the winds...Lyanna is proof we survived.”
Gendry smiled, and reached out and took her hand. “Yes, you did,” he agreed. He let that hover in the air before asking the question he’d had in his mind since they found out Sansa was with child. “Do you want to go back to Winterfell?”
She blinked at him, looking a bit ridiculous with her hair and her red eyes. “Of course I have to go back!” she said, voice annoyed. “Don’t be stupid, Gendry. She’s my niece! I have to go meet her!”
“I know that!” he retorted, furring his eyebrows. “I meant...do you want to go back for good?” It’d been the back of his mind since before they’d even left Winterfell. Arya had seemed eager to go with him, excited for a new challenge and more people to help. But he knew how long she’d fought to get home, how much she loved her family. How he could keep her from that, no matter how much he wanted her here? No matter how much he needed her here?
She opened her mouth, clearly ready to retort. But she just stared at him for a moment, before beginning to smile. “Gendry… are you really worried about me leaving?”
He shrugged, and looked away. The window caught his eye, and he could see the sun shining off the sea in the distance.
“I just… like you being here.” he admitted. “I don’t know how I could do this without you.” And it was true-she always was there to explain to him a concept he didn’t understand, whether it was trade with far off kingdoms, or the different levels of nobility. She was there to back him up in arguments with Davos or his brother, to talk the lords and ladies into helping with their wild schemes.
But that all felt like too much to say. He looked back at Arya, worried about how she’d respond.
Arya pulled her legs up, the letter still in her other hand. “No, I’m not going to go back for good,” she told him. “I...like being here too,” she admitted, looking as if the idea still surprised her. “I like being in charge, teaching your useless guards how to fight. I like going with you to yell at the lords. I like...being here with you.”
He smiled at her admission, trying to control how his heart wanted to soar. That was for another day, he told himself. When she was ready. “Then let’s talk to Edric, plan our trip North.”
“Our?” she repeated, raising her eyebrow.
He squeezed her hand. “Our.” he confirmed.
He’d like to meet his future niece, too.
-
Brienne of Tarth & Jaime Lannister
Dear Ser Jaime,
I hope you are well. Is the weather at Casterly Rock agreeable? I have never been to the Westerlands, and have little to compare it with. Winterfell’s weather is finally improving, and has almost become pleasant.
The Queen and King are well. She is with child, and it has brought happiness across the castle. It does give me less to do, as she’s moving a bit slower these days.
I have added two new members of the Guard. One was the third son of a lesser lord from past Torrhen’s Square. The second is a member of the free folk-though I suppose he is a former member, now, as he has now dedicated his life to House Stark.
I feel as if I am rambling, trying to find the words to talk to you about anything that is not simply the mundane. I have re-written this letter almost a dozen times. You asked me for my words, and I hope what is to follow will be enough.
When you left me, I was at my lowest. Podrick’s death still weighs heavy on my heart. I still find myself angry that you left, even with your explanation, even with the outcome of both sides of the war.
I do not have words for you that can comfort you. Not yet. But if you wish to write me back, I promise I shall read it.
With regards,
Brienne
Ser Brienne,
If you can be formal, so can I.
I must admit, I did not expect to hear from you so soon, even if the words were not what I desired. I am happy you wish to communicate at all, and have not cut me off completely.
If you wish to hear of Casterly Rock, I shall share.
The castle is in near disarray. It seems after I left King’s Landing, Cersei became somewhat lacking in sending funds to my Uncle Kevan and his sons, who were in possession of the castle. With Cersei on the throne, myself a member of the Kingsguard, and Tyrion at the time a wanted Kingslayer, they had assumed the castle would pass on to them.
I have to admit, seeing their faces when I arrived to take back my birthright was humorous. I had not laughed so hard in so long, watching Kevan’s son Willem gawk at me.
I have since been preoccupied with reorganizing the lords and assuring their loyalty. This also required reassuring them all that Daenerys Targaryen will not be enacting her revenge over her house, as she has no dragons left to do so. I still find the story of their demise- Varys told me, at her coronation- somewhat unbelievable. But no less believable than the walking dead, I suppose. Or the giant kraken in Blackwater Bay.
The smallfolk of the Westerlands remained somewhat untouched by the wars, minus those who had marched with my father. The lands were not razed, and their livelihoods remain. But now it is I, a fool with no history of leading from a castle instead of from aloft a horse, that must lead them.
I suppose this is more than you wished to hear from me, but I must admit, I have no one else to tell. Even if you do not reply, thank you for the chance to get my thoughts down on paper.
What I did to you was unforgivable. I do only hope you can understand why. What I said in my first letter still stands- I only hope you understand why I did what I did.
I did forget to mention the weather- it is beautiful here. The wind is light, the sun is high in the sky, and I spend my evenings looking at the sea. I suppose you once did the same, back in Tarth.
I hope you are well.
Yours, always,
Jaime
Ser Jaime,
I must admit I did not see myself replying. But nonetheless, I am, because I cannot leave your words unanswered.
I am able to understand why you went South. You were saddened at Tyrion’s death, and did not wish to lose your sister as well. I do not have a sister, but I do understand- if something had happened to Lady Sansa after Podrick had died, I, too, would have been unconsolable.
But your words, as you left- that you were not a good man, that you could never be a good man-seem held in opposition in every action you have taken since you left the camp. You not only went to Cersei to spare her life, but to help end a war and stop more deaths, on both sides. You peacefully surrendered the throne, you have committed yourself to helping the people of the Westerlands- these are not the actions of a bad man.
I do not resolve you of all your sins- I remember how you were when we met-but you have changed since then.
I suppose I have gone back on my words from the previous letter, where I said I had no words to comfort you.
I suppose I still have many.
Your description of Casterly Rock does remind me of Tarth. I spent many summer afternoons with the sun on me, watching the sea.
Best regards,
Brienne
Brienne,
I have no words for what you’ve given me. As I mentioned previously, your words have a hold over me, and I can only wish to be half the man you believe me to be.
Serving the people of the Westerlands was always my birthright, yet I continually ran away from it-going so far to join the Kingsguard to stay close to Cersei. It was the act of a selfish, lovesick, young man- especially for one who knew my father would never let Tyrion inherit Casterly Rock.
Now that I finally have a chance to lead them, I suppose I feel I must do it right.
That is enough of me, I suppose. How are you? How is Winterfell? Has the little wolf pup arrived yet?
I find myself joyful that you would share bits of your childhood with me. I hope one day to hear more.
Tarth sounds beautiful. I hope to see it one day.
Yours, always,
Jaime
Jaime,
I am happy my words are finally getting through your somewhat thick skull. It may be my second finest accomplishment-the first will always be the knighthood, however.
I am well. My daily tasks are simply to watch the Queen, train the new recruits, and to consider any threats to the Queen’s safety. I enjoy it, though I must admit it is often quite quiet here. It is a nice break after the war.
The Queen is getting larger every day. Young Maester Tarly says she will be due to give birth soon. The entire castle is full of joy at the idea of a babe. It does feel as if spring has truly come.
I’m happy you liked my tale. In my childhood, I was often alone, as I did not wish to do what the other girls wanted to do, and the boys rejected me outright. Sitting and watching the sun across the sea was one of the few activities that brought me peace.
Maybe one day we could see it together.
Warmest regards,
Brienne
Brienne,
The children of Tarth did not know what they were missing out on. You are an incredible person, and it is their loss.
My childhood was honestly the exact opposite. Training in swords, training to be my father’s heir- it seemed as if everyone wanted something from me. Cersei was my closest companion, but was easily upset when I was given more than she was. Tyrion was always there, which helped, even when my father despaired of him.
No time to myself, very little time to watch the sun set.
I find myself missing both my siblings, often, even though so much of our relationships were tainted by the time they were ending. I hope I do not sound repetitive, but speaking to you gives me much relief, as I have no one else to talk to about these feelings.
I’m happy to hear it is quiet in Winterfell. Both yourself and Queen Sansa deserve some quiet. And her little brother-cousin-husband-King as well, I suppose.
If it is ever too quiet, there will always be a place for you here.
Yours, always,
Jaime
Jaime,
I have to admit I would like that.
After the babe is born, after I believe the new trainees are prepared, would you welcome a visit from a delegation from the North?
Yours,
Brienne
B-
Only say the word, and Casterly Rock will be yours.
Yours, always,
Jaime