It is not possible. It cannot be true.
But it was true. Sansa stands by her husband, and Lord Jon and her brother-now-cousin, the Lord Commander, as they try to explain to the people of the castle assembled in the great hall. Jon knows he has a difficult job of making everyone believe him.
"I know what you all think; I know because I believed it once myself: the White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years…that is if they had ever truly existed at all. They were stories from our elders and our nurses, meant to scare us to go to straight to sleep or to eat our vegetables. The Others take you, we all cursed, or jested." He stops now and looks over the hall commandingly, and Sansa can see how much he is like her father, and how proud he would be of the man he had raised for his dead sister.
"I can tell you now that the White Walkers do exist, and the wights as well. I've seen them. My men have seen them. And the wildlings have seen them. We've killed some….but more have killed us. That's because they are many of them: thousands and thousands, and they are not easy to kill."
Sansa sees that women are clutching their children. She wants to clutch her own children and keep them safe; but they are not in the hall and no matter how bad things may be, she does not want to leave because she feels that she is deserting them. She finds that she can hardly look up to face them: her lord's people, and hers.
One of them speaks now, a blacksmith; and he is not convinced. "Even if what you say is true, Lord Commander; how can be fight them, and how do we know we can trust the wildlings? They're our enemy. They're like to kill us all and take everything of ours before any White Walkers come to the Last Hearth." His words are met with a grumbling assent from the rest of those in the hall. They do not trust the wildlings. Mors and Hother bang their tankards in support of the opposition.
"The wildlings are men, women and children, just like all of you. And they want to live, just like all of you. I know what troubles you've had in the past; I'm a Northerner too…like my father was," and he lets his words sink in. No one outside the Stark family know that Jon is not Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son; and this night, it is better that they do not know. They need to feel that they can trust him; and if Sansa knows this, then Jon must know it even more.
"And how do they plan to live? They've no fields, no stores, no homes, no castle, no lord-"
"The wildlings have leaders, and their people respect them. Yes, there will be those who don't obey the laws; but we have people like that too, and justice to deal with them…and so do the wildlings. And if they cross into your lands, they will answer to your lord's justice; just as any of you will answer to theirs if you cross them."
"Can we steal their women?" a soldier asks and many laugh, some uncomfortably.
Jon looks pained though he smiles a rueful and fleeting smile. "Good luck to you: most can fight as good or better than you, believe me."
"We'll all learn too soon how well they can fight, Commander! You've betrayed us all!" Mors shouts in his cups. "The Stark King has betrayed us!"
"That's enough of that," the Greatjon interrupts before anyone can speak again. "There will be no words against our king or the Starks in my hall," he says authoritatively but without rancor. He steps forward next to Jon now and addresses his people. "I did not attend this meeting with the king, as you all know; but my son did, and you all know and trust that Smalljon would not betray us. We know there is a bigger threat, and that the wildlings are pledged to fight with us. The Lord Commander has told me that some of them are even willing to come to Last Hearth or other castles to tell us what they know of fighting the Walkers. I will put my trust in our king and his family and invite some of these men to train with us. Anyone who objects…will be let out the gates and be free to leave."
Sansa sees people glancing sideways at each other, wondering if they should stay or takes their chances with winter and leave. She hopes they trust their lord and stay, but she knows that she cannot judge them if they do not. Her husband tells them why.
"Lady Umber and our children leave for Winterfell under the King's escort…though she begs me leave to stay," and he turns now to look fondly at her, "but I have found this is the one thing I have been able to deny her," he smiles sadly. "So I will not force any of you to stay; I can only tell you that I will do the best I can to protect you all…as I always have. We have stores to feed you, and walls to shelter you: I fear you cannot count on other lords taking you in with winter raging. And we cannot spare either horses or men to accompany you. Once you leave our gates…you will be on your own."
Jon now speaks again. "As Lord Umber has said, we cannot keep you from fleeing, nor will we; but if you choose to stay and choose to fight…we will stand together with you to the last man and, gods be good, together we will save the North from another Long Night descending."
There is a silence that follows and then a stirring in a corner as a young man steps forward. He is the ginger stable boy that Mors had mentioned when taunting his brother Hother.
"I'll fight, m'lord: for House Umber and the North," he offers in a voice that cracks and breaks, to the snickers of others in the hall.
"You do my house proud. Come to the armory in the morning to be readied for training," the Greatjon tells him firmly with a sure nod. "I will start you off myself."
The boy stammers but smiles proudly. "Th-thank you, m'lord; I- I'll train hard and fight my best…I promise."
"Welcome to the fight," Jon tells him. "You have my thanks."
"And mine," Sansa adds. "You are very brave, and I wish you every luck, young man; I hope to see you here when I return."
The stable boy bobs his head shyly. "I'll be here, m'lady; I promise."
"I'm hungry," the Greatjon announces, meaning the subject is now closed. "Let's eat."
Their meal is subdued: talk is quiet and there is no music playing for their guests. Young Eddard is brought to their table to eat with them and is confused by the quiet, but he says nothing for a long while. Finally he looks up from his plate which, like many others, is mostly untouched.
"Is something wrong, Mother? Why does no one laugh?"
Sansa looks at her husband and tries to put on a brave face. "We… You and Serena and I will be travelling to Winterfell soon. Would you like that?"
"Is Father coming too?"
"I have work to do here, Eddard; and so I need you to go with your mother and sister. Will you keep them safe for me?"
"Yes, Father," he replies but looks dejected. "Will we be away long?"
"I hope it will not be too long, Eddard; but I will show you Winterfell where I grew up, and where the King in the North lives. You can meet your princess cousins, and your grandmother and my younger brothers: Prince Bran and Prince Rickon."
"Rickon is squiring for one of Robb's commanders now. He…he may be gone when you reach Winterfell, Sansa," Jon tells her now. "But Arya is there: Harrion insisted she stay until…until it's safe for her to come further North to Karhold."
"Is she?" Sansa asks now. "How was the wedding, Jon; I am so sorry that I could not have been there."
"Arya was beautiful, Sansa; and happy. I think Harrion truly cares for her…or he's afraid of the Starks," he jests.
"I'm glad, Jon: glad that she has a husband who cares for her," and she looks at the Greatjon now, who reaches over and pats her hand. She can see that his son notices this show of affection between them.
He said he wanted me to be happy. I am happy with his father.
"Why aren't you a princess too, Mother? Aren't you a Stark?"
"Your mother was a princess, Eddard," his father responds, "but when a lady marries, she takes the title equal to her husband's. I am a lord so your Mother is Lady Umber now."
"Just as Princess Arya is now Lady Arya of House Karstark; and when Lord Harrion inherits Karhold then she will be Lady Karstark, just as he will be Lord Karstark like his father before him."
He squirms and seems to think. "Will Smalljon be Lord Umber one day?"
"He will," his father answers, "and you will be Lord Eddard of House Umber, as you are now."
"But…will you have to die first?" He looks anxiously between his father and mother now.
"Heirs only inherit on the death of their father, Eddard: that's how it is. That's how it has always been," Smalljon tells him gently to reassure him.
"But I don't want Father to die," he says.
"Father won't die for a very long time, Eddard," his brother tells him now. "He may even live longer than me," he jests to him and smiles.
"Your father is the greatest warrior in the North," Jon Snow tells him. "So your brother may be right."
Sansa locks eyes with Jon. She wants his assurance that her husband will live a long life and that he will return to her and their children; but he only returns her gaze steadily and, to her mind, somewhat sadly. She drops her eyes now and takes in a deep breath. So they finish their supper mostly in silence and, after seeing Eddard to bed, Sansa joins the men of the family and of the Night's Watch in the solar. Only the man called Dolorous Edd has returned with Jon.
"Where's your lecherous singer friend, then?" Hother asks Jon.
"Deserted," Jon answers flatly, "our first night at Winterfell. He went to the Smoking Log in the winter town and never returned. He'll likely make for a port town; they'll be looking for him." But he is grim and weary.
"Did…did Samwell Tarly leave for Oldtown, Jon?" she asks him.
"He left for White Harbor after Arya's wedding. He'll stop in King's Landing where he'll meet with King Renly and his father, Randall Tarly. He will explain our…situation to them. Randall Tarly is one of the best military minds in Westeros, and Renly has control of Dragonstone."
"Why should that matter?" Mors asks belligerently.
"Dragon glass," Jon answers. "We need it to make weapons…to kill our enemy."
"We kill our enemies with steel!" Mors replies contemptuously. " I won't be tossing my glass eye at them!"
"Only Valerian steel will kill a White Walker; or dragon glass. Sam found out for himself, beyond the Wall."
"Are you telling me that fearful, fat boy killed one…one of them?"
"He did. With a dragon glass dagger found at the Fist of the First Men. They were left buried there for a reason."
The Greatjon sighs audibly now. "Not many houses have Valerian steel swords; and dragon glass is not found in many armories," he notes seriously. Sansa knows her husband is fearless; but he is not stupid and he realizes the way he has fought all his life may not help him or his people now.
"No, my lord: we are working with only a little knowledge right now. Fire will kill the wights, but it's not easy to strike a flint or keep torches burning in snowstorms and cold winds. The cold winds rise when the Others come: so cold it's like breathing daggers into your lungs. We may be able to use archers with flaming arrows or with dragon glass arrowheads…but we haven't had the chance to try them yet."
"Many will die, won't they?" Smalljon asks now.
"Many will die," Jon agrees, and then adds ominously: "and unless we can burn them after they have fallen, then every man who dies becomes another wight that we must kill."