Oathkeeper

Chapter 49: Talk It Out

The Queen's family was too far for comfort. So far that even if she did change her mind and journey to White Harbor, then sail out across the Narrow Sea and finally dock at Tarth, she wouldn't make it in time. Hell her ship would probably pass theirs as they made their way home.

Even knowing how much there was to be in Winterfell, she couldn't stop staring at the empty castle grounds where her wife and children passed multiple times a day. In every moment she didn't hear their words, or kiss the illuminating colored hairs on their head, she found herself holding her breath wondering if her last interaction with them would remain as such. It just seemed as if the Starks didn't have a good history going too far South and she didn't want anything to happen to anyone else.

As soon as Sansa found her way into the meeting chambers, the door opened and closed, entering another person. She assumed it was the Hand, causing her to take a quick glance at the woman. But she didn't have a beard, nor as much age on her face as the person Sansa just looked at. She looks back up, realizing it was Jon who now stood in front of her.

"What troubles you, sister? You look sad," Jon pointed out.

"Nothing, I just miss them, that's all" Sansa tried her best to shake it off.

Jon's expression drew back as he went into his mind searching for a feeling of relatability. The man didn't have a woman he loved nor children of his own, and in a way he was content with that. But seeing Sansa with her own family almost made Jon want to reconsider that decision. He never wanted to father children, simply because he didn't want them to carry on the bastard name. But if that has changed, he figured maybe his opinions could too.

Still after all his time spent protecting The North from what was to come of the Long Night, he decided to be done holding himself responsible for the lives of others. And a family wasn't any different.

"Is having a wife and kids of your own something you always saw for yourself?" Jon questioned.

"Well most Lady's including myself, saw a husband in their future" Sansa joked finally allowing to shake herself out of the slump a bit.

"Right, you know what I meant," Jon joked.

"But honestly yes. I've always wanted to marry someone who was gorgeous and sweet whilst still tough. And I wanted a big family, five kids at least," Sansa answered. "Why?"

"I was just wondering if it's all worth it"

"For the most part yes, but when they're little you'll find yourself questioning that a lot" She laughed. "I remember when the twins had maybe just under three years of age . . ."

Sansa looked to the wooden door, hoping someone would eventually come in and save her from the hell she was in. Brienne needed to hold an emergent meeting with the men of the Queensguard about a change in schedule rotation due to Ser Mathew injuring his ankle. Therefore she was too busy to help Sansa with the twins for at least another few hours, and her pride wouldn't let the wetnurses in for another minute. Rickon and Ilizabeth swiftly rushed around the room, both refusing to dress or settle in any manner.

"Rickon, please honey would you just-" Sansa chased after him.

Then she turned to see her daughter yanking on the cloth with an assortment of food and drinks on top. Just as Sansa reached out to stop the girl everything came clattering off the table. The chalice of wine shattered, splashing purplish liquid all over the small girl. Her platinum blonde food riddled hair was now stained with a shade of magenta. The girls turned to one another with an equal amount of shock on their faces, then the babe began to wail.

"Oh, Ily." Sansa picked the girl up immediately, bouncing her on her right hip. "It's alright honey."

As Sansa began picking the food out of the girl's hair, the door opened. Her eyes darted over to Rickon who was more than quick on his feet. She jolted forward in chase of the fleeing boy before noticing Brienne at the door. The Lord Commander stood tall looking around the room in wonder of how things went south so fast. Rickon's chubby pale bare legs waddled hastily towards his mother, whilst lifting his arms up. She took the boy into her embrace, feeling how cold his skin was.