Three

"He wouldn't stop calling for you, your grace," the milkmaid affirmed, handing the crying toddler in her arms to Sansa. "I didn't know what to do."

She had been standing on the bridge that gave her a view of the Queen's Road for some time already, waiting for a sign of the men of the Night's Watch, for a sign of Jon Snow, and wondered if her young boy was feeling the same angst she felt in her heart.

While Ned and Robb had recently turned seven and Rickon was close to his 5th nameday, her youngest boy was just a few weeks older than two and was by far the one who needed her the most, not just for his age, but for some clear need of frequent affection and attention. Theon Stark, named after the friend who risked everything to save her life.

She had struggled for a week after birth before giving him his name. She thought about naming him Jon, but how could she give the name of her lost almost-lover to her son? That was masochism, and very unfair to Pod.

"What's wrong, baby?" she caressed his red cheek. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Theon was the one between their four children that had his father's dark hair, although he still had the Stark looks and the dark eyes that Sansa had seen on her father, sister, and then-half-brother growing up. Maybe the babe she was carrying now would finally look like Podrick. Her husband had beautiful and soft looks.

Sansa rocked her boy slowly, humming one of the many songs Catelyn sang to her and her siblings long ago. She couldn't remember her mother's voice anymore, but she remembered every one of the songs.

"Open the gates," a man shouted, and Sansa raised her eyes from her toddler's face to see the small group of men almost entering Winterfell, quickly recognising the mop of black curly hair among them.

Jon.

Holding Theon tightly in her arms, she rushed down the stairs almost desperately and had just planted her foot on the ground when the men dismounted their horses and dropped to their knees in a sign of respect and submission, Jon being the first of them to do so.

"Your grace," he said, still looking down. "Thanking you for your invitation."

She had to stop herself from pulling him right up and held back the tears in her eyes. Ten years. A lifetime.

"Stand up," she commanded strongly.

Jon complied, and his shoulders sagged as soon as he laid eyes on her, releasing a tension they were both unknowingly holding.

"You haven't changed at all," he said, staring into her face with fascination.

"Neither have you," Sansa noted.

He was still the same man she'd said farewell to in King's Landing. It was almost as if time had frozen the two of them.

"I suppose that's Theon," he looked at the young toddler in her arms, who'd stopped crying to look at the strange man in front of him.

"Yes," Sansa moved a hand to fix her son's hair.

Jon took the boy's hand delicately in his and did a small bow for him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, your grace," he said to the boy before turning to his mother. "I hope he is not so similar to his namesake, though."

She laughed in a way she didn't even remember she could in response.

"No," Sansa affirmed. "Thank gods, no. He's very sweet and not a troublemaker at all. That one is Rickon."

Jon only smiled and gave the maid who'd just come to take the boy from the Queen's arms a nod.

"Take him to his father, it's time for them to eat."

"Yes, your grace."

When the woman left, she turned back to Jon.

"Congratulations on your family," he pointed out. "It's very beautiful."

Sansa raised her eyebrows to him.

"You haven't met all of them."

"I don't have to," Jon looked down at his feet. "You were always destined to have many beautiful children."

She moved her eyes to the yard, suddenly feeling the angst from earlier crawling into her insides again. Once, she thought she would have his babies.

"I don't believe in destiny, you know that," Sansa sighed. "We do what we can with what we have."

Jon sighed.

"Sansa…"

"Don't," she interrupted him. "I'm married now. I have a family. I have…"

"Everything I denied you," he finished her sentence, and the pain was clear in his voice this time.

Sansa closed her eyes. She thought of her boys and their memories together, of her people and how she was there to see Winterfell thriving, and about Podrick.

"He gave me almost everything I needed to be happy," she told Jon, almost as if that was going to settle the subject between them.

"Almost?"

She closed her eyes. Almost. She was content. She was fine. Her life was good and prosper, she had a beautiful family, but…

"He isn't you," the Queen almost choked out, feeling tears coming to her eyes. "He'll never be. And I don't know how I feel about that yet."

Jon wanted to reach out of her, but knew better, only staying in his place.

"I'm sorry."

To that, Sansa sighed.

"I know you are. But it doesn't change anything, does it?"

He was ready to answer when a voice interrupted them, and one of the kitchen maids walked in their direction.

"The meal is ready, your grace. Lord Stark and the princes are waiting for you."

She nodded and offered the woman a smile before looking back at Jon, who had an understanding look on his face. Stark. Podrick had taken her name, it wasn't a surprise.

"I'll see you later. Excuse me."

"Of course, your grace."

Jon was ready to bow after his words, but stopped himself. Sansa was already leaving before he had finished talking.