Since her first flowering, Sansa's moon blood had come at every first quarter of the moon. Five days after she had drunk the mix of moon teas in her chamber with the help of Maege Mormont and two days after following with a second cup as instructed by the old woman in the Neck, Sansa's moon blood came as expected. Her immediate feeling was one of relief: she would not bear a bastard child and she had kept her promise to Sandor.
Later the same day, she stole a moment in the godswood to kneel before the carved face in the weirwood and mourn what may have been her last chance to have a child by Sandor. Sansa knew well to be wary of what she wished for; so she prayed instead for the strength to face what she must do for her family and for protection for her army and her brothers: Rickon in Winterfell and Bran and Jon beyond the Wall. And she prayed for Arya. After bowing her head before the heart tree, she turned and headed to the kitchens to help with the bread-making. In the larder, she saw that Sandor had been right and that their stores were indeed meager. Though other houses had shared what provisions they had for their soldiers, Sansa could see that it was not enough to last them the long winter without access to the sea and the rest of Westeros for trade. They would needs rid the North of the Boltons and Freys and have access to harbours and reopen the Kingsroad and the Neck. They would need peace with all of Westeros and not just in the North to achieve prosperity. Sansa sighed. She would need the strength for which she had prayed, and mayhaps even the alliance of which Sandor had warned her. She also wondered how they would pay for anything or what goods they could provide even if they could trade. She was kneading dough thoughtfully as she pondered their situation then she heard footsteps running into the kitchen.
"My Lady!"
Sansa turned and wiped her brow with the back of her hand which was dusted with coarsely-ground flour. A soldier of House Forrester, vassals of House Glover, stopped short and bowed his head to her.
"Riders, my lady," he informed her breathlessly, "coming from the Wolfswood. They are still too far to see their banners, but Lady Mormont asks that you be told, and to assure you that you will be well-protected should you chose to come to the outer wall."
"Kindly tell Lady Mormont that I shall join her as soon as I don my cloak and boots," she nodded for him to go ahead without her. "Forgive me," she told the other women working, "I must be present to greet our returning soldiers."
"Ye don't know yit iffen they's ours, girl," Squirrel called after her from near the ovens. "Fiery underneath that one: wildlin' blood, likes I tol's ye," she commented to the others.
Sansa left the kitchen and hurried through the kennel and across the Hunter's Gate to climb the outer wall looking out west towards the Wolfswood. She met Maege Mormont who looked concerned.
"I can well understand the use for Myrish eyes, my lady," the She-Bear told her as she looked out across the vast expanse of snow.
"Our Maester Luwin had Myrish eyes; he would study the stars," Sansa remembered now, "but they were likely lost when the Maester's Turret collapsed in the fire, if they were not stolen first. They say that Myrish glass is the very best. It may have brought a price somewhere…for someone."
"Let us pray it is not those same someones approaching us now," Maege Mormont replied with foreboding.
Sansa leaned against the outer wall between the crenels over the gate. Soldiers gathered with bows and arrows at the ready. Peering hard, Sansa understood the She-Bear's unease. The only banners at the front of the host appeared to be red, possibly those of the Bolton's flayed man. She leaned further and felt someone take her elbow.
"Take care, my lady," a young soldier murmured respectfully.
"Umber!" Sansa cried. "They are the banners of House Umber, Lady Mormont. I see the giant on a red field. It is our forces returning. Make ready to open the gates," she turned with a flushed smile.
"Mayhaps it would be best we let them come nearer first, my lady, to be certain it is not a deception. Anyone can pick up a fallen banner on a field," the young man from House Forrester advised.
Sansa turned to him wided-eyed, and the young man bowed his head humbly.
"Beg your pardon-" he began.
"There is naught to pardon," Sansa told him earnestly. "You are right; I am too eager. I thank you for your counsel." To her surprise, the young man flushed with pleasure and pride.
Maege Mormont nodded brusquely. "Archers to your marks," she commanded.
Her order was shouted down the length of the wall and men hurried to stand between crenels. Sansa stepped back and moved closer to the She-Bear, her rancor towards her for her designs on Sandor for her daughter forgotten in their shared apprehension.
The host rode closer and both women watched intently until Maege Mormont laughed out loud. At the same moment, Sansa saw why: at the head of the host was the unmistakable figure of the Greatjon who had left with the rear guard and who now was leading them back with his house banners aloft.
"Stand down," the She-Bear called. "Prepare to open the gates now." She turned to Sansa. "Victory, my lady, most assuredly. A host that size is not defeated, I'll wager, nor retreating at that pace either. Let us greet them heartily," she all but slapped Sansa on the back.
But Sansa remained looking out over the edge of the wall. "I see my great-uncle," she ventured.
"You'll see them all I the yard, my lady," Maege Mormont spoke firmly, and Sansa understood the mild chiding and nodded. She knew her duty.
Riders filled the yard with raised voices and cheers and the whinnying of horses. Boys came out of the stables to take their reins and guards came to help the wounded dismount and be brought into the keep. Sansa approached Lord Umber first, trying hard not to cast her eyes about for Sandor.
"My lord," she smiled, "all of Winterfell is overjoyed at your safe return."
"We vanquished them, my lady; did I not tell you we would? They were caught between our staggered forces, just as your man Clegane predicted," he crowed. "Now, where's my victory kiss, then?"
Sansa laughed and reached up to throw her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek again. She continued to greet and praise the lords and soldiers as she shivered against the growing cold. The Blackfish smiled down at her and asked if she would not rather greet men as they entered the Great Hall: they would all be seeking the warmth of the hearth and ale and bread for their bellies. She thanked him for his concern but replied that she would wait until the gates were closed and every man returned.
"There will be some men grievously wounded, Sansa," he warned her.
I saw my father's head cut off and put on a spike, she almost countered him but refrained. He meant to protect her, and she was grateful. "Then I must stay," she told him gently, and he patted her shoulder admiringly. "Please ensure that the maester is summoned, great-uncle, and Rickon who is with him at his lessons. He should be here as well."
As the Blackfish walked away, Sansa finally glimpsed Stranger being led through the gate by a one-eyed man in mail and mis-matched bits or armour. Both the man and a guard then helped Sandor, who had been bent over his courser's neck, to dismount slowly and carefully. When his feet touched the ground, he drew himself up with a groan.
"Help me inside," he rasped impatiently.
"Yes, Commander," the guard replied, taking Sandor's arm and draping it across his shoulder to keep him upright.
Sansa rushed up to him and stopped short, remembering her position and his.
"Commander Clegane," she spoke tightly, "are you wounded?"
"Aye," he grunted, "my lady. It's not deep; only it opened my old wound."
"Sansa now saw what looked to be a tattered banner wound tightly around his thigh and darkened with blood.
"I have asked my great-uncle to summon the maester. I will have him attend you at once," she insisted.
"There's many worse than me," he rasped. "Boiled wine and bandages for the leg and some dark wine for my belly will see me to rights," he tried to jeer. "Let the maester see to those in the sledges first."
Sansa reluctantly nodded and let Sandor pass though she wished to stay with him and to tend him herself. Despite her concern for him, she knew she must speak with as many of the wounded as possible, to thank them and praise them so they would know their sacrifice, even if it should be their life, was appreciated by their lady of Winterfell. Horses and footmen pulled stretchers behind them, with bloodied and bandaged men. Some were missing limbs, others had bloody faces and soaked furs covering holes in their bodies. All were shivering and some were blue from cold. Sansa kneeled by them and squeezed their hands when she could, or wiped their brow. She whispered encouragement and smiled determinedly at them, even those with gruesome disfigurements and those near-death, telling them they were all her heroes, her valiant warriors for the North and welcoming them back to Winterfell.
"The maester will see to you," she told each one, though her heart was breaking and the tears she had stopped in her throat threatened to choke her, "and you will be well again. The North needs you, as do I."
Finally the guards shut the gates and she stood there for a moment, remembering that she stood in the same place after they had rode out to battle, dreading that any should be killed or wounded in her service.
If I could ride out and fight with them, like my father or Robb or even Sandor, I would not feel so terrible for sending them out there. It is not for me that we do this, or even for Rickon or any Stark; it is for the North. I do my duty for the North.
Knowing that the wounded men now needed her as much as she had needed them, Sansa turned to enter the Great Hall and assist the maester with his healing…or his mercy.
They had no milk of the poppy.
She kept the sharply-honed dagger Sandor had given her strapped inside her boot.
