What Could Have Been

V

The music was loud and the people were drinking like never before. Tormund and some free men had arrived to celebrate with them, and Jon and had blended in like never before, and the kids that had come to fill the North since its reconstruction were playing together outside with maids caring for them.

Pod was sat beside Sansa, both of them enjoying the food and socialising with all guests except for Jon, who was clearing brooding on his place. The Queen in the North and her Lord husband were a sight to be seen, matching even in clothing and so in synch it hurt to see. After some wine, Podrick had even started picking the foods Sansa liked and feeding her with his own fingers. He looked at her as if his wife was something made in heaven and more than he deserved after a thousand lives of good deeds, and she looked as beautiful as ever, as if she had hardly ever been pregnant in her life, much less three times already.

The whole hall became silent when the Queen stood up from her seat, followed by the young Lord Stark, all their eyes fixated on them.

"We have news," Sansa announced. "Lord Podrick and I are happy no announce that the gods were good. We are expecting once again."

The men roared in celebration, raising their drinks, and Sansa giggled when Arya mouthed 'Rabbits' in their direction. Lord Tyrion wasn't any close to that discreet when he walked to Podrick and slapped him on the back.

"Five kids in eight years, Podrick?!" he exclaimed. "Is Her Grace even allowed to leave her bedchambers to care for the North?"

Her husband laughed, pink in the cheeks both from the drinking and the insinuation.

"I find time to sneak into her chamber when she's done with the people," he corrected his friend. "She's Queen before she is my wife, after all."

"Then congratulations, my lord and your grace," the dwarf gladly raised his cup along with his voice. "And may you have another five children to fill this castle and your people with joy."

Those who heard them raised their cups to the toast, including Arya, Gendry and even Bran. Jon followed, almost grumpily, but didn't say anything. Jealousy was bubbling inside him, and he was afraid that – after the goat's milk, the ale, and the wine – anything he said would be clearly filled with it, so it was best to keep himself shut.

A couple rose to the empty space they had opened for those who dared to dance, and that had seen to give the lord of Winterfell an idea of what to do. More regally than Jon expected Podrick Payne to be, he stood up and offered a hand to his wife.

"My Queen. Shall you give me the honour of this dance?"

And she did. Gods, Sansa danced gracefully, and had apparently taught her husband enough steps that he didn't look like a fool beside her. There was love between them, everyone could see. Older inhabitants of the castle could even claim that this was like seeing young Lord Stark and his Tully wife starting to kindle their romance and love all over again.

Jon couldn't take it. Utilising the fact that everyone in the room was paying attention to the royal couple, he walked out of the room the same way he'd once done when King Robert had visited Winterfell and took a moment to contemplate the children playing in the yard. Robb and Rickon certainly took after their namesakes when it came to their looks, and Jon couldn't help but wonder how strongly they would resemble their mother had they been his sons and not Podrick's, had he taken different paths and made different choices. Would any of the children have his dark hair and eyes or inherit the white locks of his father's house?

There was a reason he hadn't come to Winterfell in this many years. When she was crowned Queen, he told himself she would give up once he saw him and would offer him the North's crown back. When she invited him to her wedding, he told himself that he wouldn't be able to take seeing her marrying the squire boy under a heart tree when he had more than once dreamed to be the one taking her under his name. When her children were born and he was invited to the celebratory feasts, they gave in their names, he would say to himself that he couldn't look at those babes and not imagine what would be like if they were his. Jon regretted many things every day of his life. Not coming home to Sansa Stark when she begged and begged was now one of them. Not telling her the truth - the real truth, that everything he did he'd done to protect her - was the biggest of all.

He was standing in the battlements when he heard her approaching. Now that he was looking, he could see the glow on her face, the one he'd seen on Gilly and the women he'd seen when they were pregnant – not that he'd seen so many.

Sansa didn't say anything when she stopped by her side, and neither did he for a long time until the silence was too painful to stand.

"You're beautiful," he decided to say.

"Thank you," she touched the sleeve of her dress. "I sewed it myself."

Jon looked back onto the horizon.

"You always do. No seamstress can ever come to do the things you do with a dress."

She didn't respond to the compliment, and he shifted on his feet.

"He looked like he truly loves you," Jon noted. "It's beautiful."

"I told you that," she turned her head to look at him. "Pod loves me. He has probably loved me for longer than I've noticed."

He turned to her with a confused look.

"He was Lord Tyrion's squire when I was married to him. We were often left alone and he was probably the only person who was always kind to me without expecting anything in exchange. Even if I mistreated him out of anger for the other people, he was never mean to me. Father would be proud that I married him, I know that at least."

Jon didn't answer. He wanted to ask her questions but didn't know what questions. He wanted to hear her saying something to him, but didn't even know what.

"Do you love him?" he finally asked. "Like a wife loves a husband?"

Sansa nodded.

"I do. I never thought I would but I do. Maybe not the way I..." she stopped, struggling with the words. "Not the way I loved you. But I love him."

The words pierced through him.

"Loved?"

The Queen by his side let out a sound of annoyance she was holding since he'd stepped in Winterfell, and he saw as tears filled her eyes.

"It's been 10 years, Jon. You made yourself clear that night, you didn't choose me. It took me three years to accept that and move on. I begged you for your love before the war like a fool, and I begged for it again when you arrived with another woman and begged when I released you from your sentence. I begged you to come home. I begged and begged and begged, and you didn't come."

Jon just stood in silence as the tears streamed down her beautiful face. He wanted to reach out for her, to hug her and kiss her, tell her he never loved Daenerys and everything he did was for her own good but how could him when, seeing now, this was the best he could have done for her? So he just stood there in silence.

"You don't have the right to ask me questions, you don't have the right to even think that my husband doesn't love me with all his heart and soul!" she kept her voice cold. "I fought for you because you are my family and I forgave you more times than I can count. But I can't take more of this, Jon."

Finally, he nodded, and she moved a hand to dry her tears before looking at him again with a question she had been wanting to ask since the night she'd expelled him from her solar, eleven years ago.

"Did you ever sincerely love me?"

Jon raised his eyes to Sansa, feeling all sorts of pain; missing her even though she was right in front of him.

"I can't answer that, Your Grace."

Except he could. But ten years had passed, and Sansa was happy: She had people who loved her, a husband who would give her the world, the moon and the stars if she ever asked him for them, four beautiful sons and another child in her belly. Any words that he said wouldn't change the past in any way, it wouldn't change what the ten years he had avoided her because he couldn't deal with the consequences of his actions. He loved her with all his heart but this wasn't what she needed.

He would suffer, yes, but this was the closure Sansa needed to truly move on.

So he just lowered his head and left. Maybe he'd be back someday to see if her babe would finally be a girl, and Sansa would have the daughter she always wanted. Just maybe. For now, he would bury the 'what ifs' somewhere he couldn't find them any more.