Jon opened his mouth. Shut it again. He swallowed. Then he nodded. "If you are certain," he said.
She turned towards him suddenly, her hand coming up to cover his cheek. Her thumb stroked the underside of his jaw. "You worry too much," she breathed. "Did I not bear you a healthy son at an age when most women have yet to wed? Did I not escape birthing fevers and complications at four-and-ten? I am older than that now, Jon Stark. I am stronger. Do not dare doubt me now."
Jon swallowed, and nodded, and drew her to him. Absently, he noted that in the two and a half years they had been wed, he had grown taller. He would never be tall, be she only came up to his forehead now, and he was broader than he had been at the first, and she fit perfectly within his arms these days. No longer did she feel like she might overwhelm him if she would only try. No longer did she make him feel small and boyish. With her in his arms, like this, he felt a man, in a way even holding their son had not let him. "I do not doubt you," he muttered. "I doubt myself. I doubt what I would do if you do not survive this time. I doubt whether I would survive myself."
Her hand tightened on his face, and she pulled him down for a brief, hard kiss. After all, she knew better than to dismiss his fears out of hand; she knew where they came from. "You really think I would leave you and the babes alone when there is still so much out there for us to do?" she asked. She leaned in, pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Jon, you need to rid yourself of this ridiculous belief that you killed your mother. You did not. As a mother I can tell you that even if childbirth had been the sole thing to kill Lyanna Stark, she
would never in a lifetime have blamed you. If it had come down to me or Duncan, I would have given my life for his each and every time. But even that was not what happened to Lyanna Stark." She paused for a moment, raising her other hand until her palms framed his face, held his forehead to hers. "She gave up. I am sorry, Jon, but that is what happened. Your mother gave up. I do not blame her. She did not know how to deal with losing her father, her brother, her husband and his whole family. She did not know how to handle the consequences of the choices she had made, how to handle the reality of King Robert's rule and what that would mean for her, let alone for you. She did not have the best care. And so she did not survive what another woman might have. The fact that you lived is a miracle in and of itself. You came weeks early, you were small and you were born with an unspoken kill order on your head. Yet you lived. Lyanna may not even have wanted that. It would have been the perfect tragic song to go with the death of her Silver Prince, would it not? Her death, along with the son she bore him, the final heir to the dynasty behind him? To a young girl who knows only songs..." She stopped, pressed her forehead against his so hard that for a moment it hurt. "I understand her, you know? But I could never be her. That is not me. So long as my children live, so long as you live, and my brothers. So long as the world still moves, I will not give up. That, I swear to you."
Despite himself, Jon smiled. He was not sure how she had deducted exactly what had been bothering him. He did not waste time being surprised. This was who she had been to him for almost as long as they had made this - oddly successful - attempt at an equal partnership.
Margaery was still a mystery to Jon in so many ways, but he, it seemed, was an open book to her. "Thank you," he told her.
She flashed him a crooked grin, pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I was born a Tyrell," she said. "I will grow strong, even with your seed inside me." An impish grin tugged up her face, made Jon smile in response. "I will never stop growing strong, whatever my name. I promise."
Jon pressed his own kiss to her mouth. "I love you," he said, then. "You know that, do you not?"
Her grin only widened, growing all the more lopsided and imperfect, and all the more lovely for it. "Of course I do," she said. "You need not ride in a tourney to show your worth. I already know the warrior you will be. You need not worship the Seven; I can do that for the both of us. Just keep being a good liege and a good husband, and I will do my due." There was no question as to the level of suggestion in the wink she shot him them, and Jon laughed even as he felt certain parts of himself coming to attention. Well, at least he could not get her with child against Maester Cressen's recommendations this time.