Sansa has been sick every morning for a sennight. After voiding her stomach a second time, she cringes with humiliation as she looks up apologetically to her husband. The Greatjon scoffs gently.
"I've seen many a drunken man heave his guts and countless dying men spew blood, Sansa; a woman with the morning sickness is no hardship to look upon."
He holds the basin in one great hand and smoothes her hair back from her brow with the other even as he loudly curses her maid for not having been in attendance and not being quick enough with a towel and fresh water for Lady Umber.
"I was asked to bring you word of Lord Jon, my lord," the girl explains as she sets down a pitcher and clean basin and linens.
"Smalljon?" he booms, "Have the Others taken him?" He has been gone more than a moon's turn as a guest at Karhold.
"He returned before dawn, my lord. They met with good hunting on their way back and so there is fresh meat for the larder and more to dry for winter stores."
At the mention of fresh meat, Sansa's stomach turns and she retches again. The Greatjon pats her head soothingly and shouts at the maid once more.
"If I needs attend my lady, girl; you'll needs train with the garrison! Now will you move your ass or swing a sword?"
Once she is certain that her nausea has passed, Sansa eats some fried bread and has her maid help her dress and braid her hair. She looks pale right now but it will pass by midday, she knows. Let him see me at my best: it has been so long. She speaks with her husband's uncle, Mors, regarding the addition to the winter stores, and learns that none will be taken to the north tower today. She thanks him for his diligence as castellan and tells him how much she depends on him to manage the running of Last Hearth.
"Winter is coming, my lady," he tells her archly, and she smiles gently and nods her agreement.
When she encounters the maester, he inquires after her morning sickness and reminds her that she only need be concerned if it worsens or does not pass. She reminds him that it has always passed before and he says he hopes for the same this time. Then he looks past her and bows his head and murmurs: "My lord."
The Greatjon appears and furrows his greying brows in concern. "Sansa, are you well enough to attend the hall?" He is giving an audience for his commons and Sansa often attends as his lady.
"Mayhaps for a time," she replies, "unless you think it will be taken as insult if I must retire to rest, my lord?"
"Come greet them with me, for they all love to see you," he proclaims proudly, "then take your leave before we begin." He steers her into the great hall by her elbow and she walks gracefully beside him. He greets each man heartily by name and Sansa smiles and nods and repeats their names when they murmur milady. Some of their eyes go wide and even a few mouths fall open and whispers of a beauty and the king's sister follow in her wake. One woman curtseys to her.
"May th'gods grant yer father rest, m'lady: 'e was a good man; jus' as th'King inna North," she says humbly.
"You are very kind; I thank you," Sansa tells her though her heart hurts to remember her father, and so she smiles at the small boy hiding behind her skirt. "And pray what is your name, young man?"
The boy takes his finger out of his mouth says: "Jon…m'lady."
"That is a fine name; may you grow as big and strong as my lord."
The little boy looks up at the Greatjon with awe and her husband laughs his booming laugh.
Sansa takes her leave as her husband takes the high seat and walks calmly towards her chamber as her heart pounds and her mouth turns dry. There are no servants in the hall and so she picks up her skirts and hurries toward the north tower. A few more furnishings have been added: another high-back chair, a trestle table meant for use as a writing desk with parchment for scrolls, quills and ink and an oil lamp. He has made the tower room a sanctuary for work but Sansa knows that the ink jar has never been unstoppered. Still, she runs her hand languidly across the surface and touches his belongings. She wants him to come soon: the audience may last some hours, and she will need time to gather the courage to tell him what she must.
"Don't move."
She stays where she is; she does not even turn her head but a smiles plays on her lips and her heart skips a beat, she has felt it. She has heard the huskiness in his voice and she knows the promise that it holds for her. His footsteps in his heavy boots approach her and her breathing is quick and shallow.
"I did not think it possible that you could be even more beautiful, my lady…and yet you are."
When his hand caresses her cheek, she draws her breath sharply and closes her eyes. She turns her head now to press a kiss to the inside of his palm and she feels him take her around her waist and lift her to sit on the edge of the table. She opens her eyes now and he is right before her, his bearded face close to hers and his warm brown eyes are gazing at her with love and want.
"Lord Jon," she sighs, "I missed you so."
He hums and presses a finger to her full lower lip. "Open," he commands gently and she obeys. She parts her lips and he slides a finger in and over her teeth and she wraps her tongue and mouth around it and sucks softly because he likes this, he has made her do it before and he stares lustfully at her face when she does. His eyelids grow heavy and he growls and tells her she has such a pretty pink mouth: soft and warm and wet like his favorite part and he looks down to her lap and Sansa raises her skirts for him and he takes his finger from her mouth and slips it into her smallclothes and inside of her and she cries out softly to feel his firm touch after so long.
"Oh gods," she whimpers shakily, "I missed you, I dreamt of you, I wanted you."
He tugs at her smallclothes and pants excitedly. "Show me then, my lady."
She begins to unlace his breeches and he reaches behind her knees and lifts them up to open her to him and she grasps his buttocks and pushes him into her as he thrusts hard and deep. Sansa leans back on her elbows now and looks at him as he bucks his hips and begins to grope and stroke at her breasts through her new gown: a brown velvet bodice with the neckline cut wide to show off her smooth shoulders and a brown wool skirt open in front with red underskirts because these are his house colours, they are Umber colours and she is Lady Umber but the wrong Lady Umber and this is wrong, she knows, but it feels right, it feels good, yes, it is so good.
"So good," she repeats breathily, and he brings her legs up to his shoulders and bends over her now and wraps his large hands around her creamy throat and strokes her skin with his thumbs. He quickens his rhythm now to a steady pump of his member into her body that makes her breath catch and gasp.
"I can never have you enough," he tells her tightly between grunts. "I want you every way…naked and flushed and ready…" and he stifles a groan, long and drawn out, and Sansa writhes and arches and bite her lip to suppress her own desperate cry of release. The Smalljon lowers his head and licks long and hot up her length of her neck and wraps his arms around her and lifts her up with him. She smiles sweetly and then remembers her condition.
"Lord Jon…I-" she begins.
He kisses her on her mouth and releases her. "Forgive me, my lady; though I hate to leave you, I must see to my duties," he begins to lace up his breeches. "I have been away too long but I have news of your family that will please you. I will join you in the solar this evening."
Sansa is disappointed: whatever it is that he will tell her is not private but for all to hear and what she needs to tell him is very private. But he is leaving and they cannot do so together so he takes the winding stairs up to the castle wall while she waits to descend back to her chamber. She washes quickly and loosens her gown and lays on the great bed and wonders fleetingly how it would be to share a bed with him but she stops herself because she knows this is something that she can never have and so she take another linen soaked in cool water and places it over her eyes to stop any tears and to lessen the pounding in her temples as she tries to devise how and when to tell him that she is pregnant. She does not want to think about the questions he is bound to ask her. She knows that he must ask because she has asked herself so many times and knows not the answer.
He joins the master-at-arms at his table for the evening meal but he is waiting in the solar when Sansa and the Greatjon join the family after seeing their children to bed with their nurse.
"Young Eddard wants to start training, Smalljon: what say you? Shall we start your little brother already?"
The Smalljon does not smile. "Mayhaps that is best, he will have a head start before we needs train the next…for the maester informs me that there is another Umber on the way," he tells them without warmth.
"Blast him! We would have told you ourselves: a welcome home gift to you! Soon my lady will give us a whole garrison of Umbers to train! Is that not right Sansa?"
Sansa swallows and hopes he is not blushing too hard. "The- the child may well be a girl, my lord," she stammers.
"Another pretty girl or strong boy: what matter, so long as there are many more," he enthuses. "We will fill the North with Umbers!"
The Smalljon raises his horn of ale to Sansa and his eyes on her are hard. "To your lady, Father."
"Well, she didn't do it all herself, boy," the Greatjon replies slyly before exploding with laughter.
"No," the Smalljon acknowledges flatly, "she did not."