Young Eddard looks uncertainly at the ancient face carved into the weirwood tree in the center of the godswood at Last Hearth. The Greatjon kneels and speaks solemnly to him.
"These are our gods, boy, the old gods of the North: the children of the forest built these godswoods for the First Men. Pray to them and honor them and be a good man, and they'll watch over you. That's why we give them eyes to see."
The boy looks to his mother; and Sansa nods reassuringly to him. She is pleased to be part of this: her husband's teachings to his son, and wonders fleetingly if he did the same with his first son and those who came after, and if his first wife accompanied them to the godwood as well. She is not jealous, but only wonders if she is being made a part of his family's traditions and is happy to think that it is so. I am a Stark, but I can also be an Umber if it please him, and teach our children to be Umbers.
As her husband talks she turns to the tree and says her own prayer: Help me to do what is right by them, and please do not let them be hurt by my failings.
Sansa.
She lifts her head, startled; and leans closer to the trunk of the massive tree, and places her hand on its white bark.
"Sansa?"
She turns to look at her husband and son who are looking at her curiously.
"I-I wanted to offer my own prayers…for my family," she smiles shakily at them.
"You see?" the Greatjon tells his son. "Your mother is a true Northerner."
Sansa looks searchingly up into the red leaves and but hears only the wind rustling through the tops of the branches.
Bran?
….
Sansa does not slip away to the north tower at midday as she normally does. The Smalljon has been gone to patrol the Lonely Hills, but she worries about his return. Will he hear the talk about the lord and lady of the castle retiring to their chamber at midday after ordering the servants out of the hallway? They have been dining in their chambers as well, and the servants who bring their meal say their bed has been tumbled and they are dressed only in robes. Lord Umber is flushed and smiling broadly; Lady Umber is flushed and smiling serenely. She no longer wears her long auburn hair tightly bound and braided, but held back by combs and falling down her back. Her gowns are looser and her maid says it is because her belly has begun to swell but some of the coarser servants jest that it is to give their lord less troublesome access to Lady Umber's charms.
This midday Sansa lies on their bed naked as the Greatjon traces his fingertips is swirls across her gently rounded belly. Sometimes is tickles and she giggles and bats his hand away, only to have him kiss her belly and resume his feather-light touches.
"You're as ticklish as young Eddard," he chides her mildly but he smiles at her.
The next times she bats his hand, he rises from their bed. Sansa sits up and feels contrite.
"Forgive me, but I cannot help being ticklish. Will you call for our meal now; or shall we dress and to the hall?"
He smiles and walks around the bed closer to her and reaches for her ankles.
"It is too soon for our meal, Sansa, though I will eat," he almost growls.
Before she can question him, he pulls her to the edge of the bed and runs his great hands up the inside of her legs. Thinking he means to take her, Sansa lies back and waits for him to climb over her. Instead he kneels between her knees and begins to kiss up her leg. His beard tickles and so she giggles again and still he does not rise. When he kisses her with his whole mouth right between her legs, Sansa squeaks in protest and tries to squirm away from him, but his hands hold firmly onto her hips and he soothes her.
"Hush now, Sansa; be still," he murmurs against her skin and she bites her lip in trepidation and obeys.
She can feel his lips kiss every part of her down there, and then she feels his tongue tracing her outline and she gasps and writhes and, oh gods be good, his tongue slips inside her and she clutches the furs beneath her hands and arches and calls out to him and finally peaks with a shudder. Now he climbs over her and turns her over carefully and he thrusts into her slow and deep so that she tilts her hips back to feel him better and he bucks his hips sharply and keeps bucking and settles his elbows beside her head and pants into her hair.
"Sansa…gods, my Sansa."
"Yes," is all she says before he groans his completion and kisses her shoulder and pulls out of her body carefully. He rolls onto his side and curls himself around her. He rubs her belly again now.
"We'll needs mind the babe soon…eventually," he breathes. He has never taken her so many different ways before; and he never touched her after her belly swelled with Serena. When she carried Eddard, she had still had her own chamber. He had never even felt them kick inside her.
"But when, my lord? I confess, I do not know," she blushes at her ignorance and to remember how quickly and how much things have changed between them. "Mayhaps I should inquire of the maester-"
"Blast him," he retorted angrily, "a lot he knows-" He stops short then. "Pardons, Sansa; but Berena will know best about such things," he counsels her. Her husband had always shown an unwavering respect for the old mountain woman and Sansa believes it is because she had known his first wife.
"As you say, my lord," she replies humbly.
Suddenly there is noise and voices and running footsteps in the hallway and the Greatjon furrows is greying brows in anger since he had ordered the servants away. He grabs a fur from the bed and stomps to the door as Sansa hastily slips into her robe. He opens the door with a forceful yank and a squealing of hinges and he shouts to rattle the very beams and walls.
"Are my orders to be disregarded now? Who told you to disturb-"
Sansa recognizes the big, stern man who leads the garrison, but his face is not stern but stricken, and he bows apologetically to his lord.
"Pardons, m'lord, but there's riders approaching and those on the walls say there's men slung across their saddles," he informs him breathlessly. Sansa's own breath catches now, as this can only mean dead or wounded men.
"Is it Smalljon's patrol?" the Greatjon asks numbly.
"I believe so, m'lord." He sees that he and Sansa are not dressed properly and swallows awkwardly. "I…I'll send for the maester to meet them, m'lord."
Sansa and the Greatjon dress in haste, even shoving their bare feet into their boots before wrapping themselves in fur-lined cloaks. Her husband forgets his gloves and Sansa hurries after him with them in her hands, only to realize that she has forgotten her own.
When they emerge into the yard, and gates have been opened and the sun has already begun to set: the sky above the castle walls is vivid with pinks and violet and orange and the snow is tinged with blue under the white surface where it is unmarred by footprints and horses' hooves. The beauty of the North is a harsh beauty but it stirs her nevertheless. The breaths of men and beasts fog in white gusts in the cold and the air hits Sansa with a frigid blast and makes her shiver violently. She clutches her hands together beneath her cloak and watches helplessly as servants stream out behind her with torches in the fading light.
Shouting men are leading whinnying horses into the yard and the men riding them are dirty and ragged and bleeding; and they are the fortunate ones. Over the saddles of three horses are the bodies of dead men. Sansa knows they are dead because they are not wearing their cloaks but are covered by them, and their arms hang down limply and their hands are dark with stagnant blood. Their horses are skittish and have been led by their reins by the other men.
Gods be good: do not let him be hurt; or at least do not let him be….
The Greatjon goes to the first corpse and grabs it by the hair and lifts it so he can see the man's face. He growls low in his throat and shakes his head angrily but it is not his son, she knows, and so he moves to the next one but it is growing darker by the minute and still she does not see him among the mounted men who are riding through the gates. And then she does.
"My lord!" She calls to her husband and runs to him and points wordlessly to the Smalljon who is the last man through the gates before they are closed behind him. He is weary and his face is filthy but his bearing in unbowed and so she is relieved, both for herself and for her husband. The Greatjon's face does not change from its grim expression but he does look more determined as he makes his way through the horses and bodies towards his son who has dismounted. He turns to his father now.
"Wildlings?" his father asks shortly.
"Aye; not a great many but big and well-armed: they had steel-"
"Did you kill them?" the Greatjon growls threateningly.
The Smalljon puts his hand on his father's shoulder and nods. "All of them: every one," he replies assuredly.
His father grips his son's shoulder and curls his lip into a sneer. "Good," he says simply, and they embrace heartily as men do but Sansa knows it is the only way they know how. She had seen her father and uncle Benjen do the same, as had Robb and Jon when they parted last before Jon left to join the Nights Watch. She feels like an intruder now, to sees their deep affection, and is ashamed. But still she walks towards them now and the Smalljon sees her over his father's shoulder and stares coldly and pulls away from his father then.
She approaches more hesitantly now.
"Lord Jon, we are relieved to see you returned alive, and unharmed, I hope?"
"I am only slightly wounded, my lady; the other men are worse and we bring home three of our dead."
"I am sorry," she offers sincerely.
"Take them into the hall,' the Greatjon orders the soldiers standing around watching now. "Lay them out on tables and let all the castle show their respect. They fought and died for House Umber and the North."
The soldiers obey him somberly and the Greatjon reaches to his son and pats him on the back as they make to follow. Sansa follows after them.
I will tell the kitchens to keep food warm and to set some on a table in a smaller room so that men may help themselves. They must make strong broth for the wounded…But her thoughts are broken when her husband suddenly turns to her as though he has only just remembered that she is with him.
"Go back to our chambers, Sansa. You don't need to see this in your condition," he tells her gently but wearily.
Sansa lifts her chin. "They fought and died for House Umber and the North, my lord, and I am the Lady of House Umber and sister to the King in the North. It is my duty and my honor to attend them." When she sees him hesitate, she leans closer. "Did you not say yourself that I am more woman now than girl? I pray you let me stand with you, my lord; I have seen men die," she reminds him.
He puts his great hands on her shoulders and leans towards her as though to speak but instead he looks down on her and nods once, and offers her his arm wordlessly. She rests her hand inside his elbow and walks beside him now, and soldiers and servants bow their heads as they pass and Sansa has a fleeting memory of being led into the throne room of the Red Keep on the arm on one of King Renly's Rainbow Guard but she pushes that thought away and tightens her grip on her husband's arm.
He must feel it because he leans slightly and quietly tells her: "You can still change your mind, Sansa."
Sansa sees Lord Jon standing by a table before a dead man, waiting for them to approach and replies clearly: "I will not change my mind….my lord."