"Are you quite certain about this, Sansa?"
Sansa is finishing her bath as her maid assists her. It feels good to be immersed in the warm water: it soothes her stiff limbs and calms her nerves at the prospect of facing the hall once again after nearly a moon's turn. Her husband speaks to her from behind the screen that shields her bath from the open room.
"I am, my lord," she replies. "I will retire if I find myself fatigued; surely the men of the Night's Watch will not be offended with my brother Jon as their Lord Commander. Oh…oh, goodness," she murmurs as she tries to rise with the help of her maid.
"Have a care, milady, we don't needs you falling again," the girl cautions her.
"Blast," she hears the Greatjon swear, and after a short moment, he stretches his neck to look around the screen. She is surprised but pleased as he lumbers awkwardly towards the side of the tub.
"Thank you, my lord," she says softly, and holds out her arm. She casts her eyes down modestly but she hopes that he is looking at her. "If you could help to steady me as I stand…" she requests timidly.
He furrows his greying brow in concern. "Easy now," he mutters as he moves to take hold of her. "Oh blast it," he curses impatiently again and simply reaches into the water and lifts her as easily as a child and sets her on her feet by the hearth. Her maid hurries to wrap her in a towel but she sees that he has looked at her naked body and she knows she felt good to be in his arms again.
"I am grateful for your assistance, my lord; I- I fear you will needs change into fresh garb."
He has soaked his furs almost to the shoulder on one side and water runs and drips down his side. He looks down at his arm and snorts angrily at his carelessness before moving away.
"The brown velvet for the hall…I think," she tells her maid who nods and leads her to her dressing table.
Though Sansa had once worn this same gown for Lord Jon, tonight she wants to wear Umber colors; she also wants to wear a high neckline and to braid her hair. She thinks that if she hides her body and her hair in this small way, her husband may remember that he likes to look at them. She feels foolish and girlish for trying to capture his attention but she knows that she will nevertheless look her best for the hall.
"Young Eddard wishes to eat supper in the hall tonight," the Greatjon tells her as he flings furs to the floor and rummages through a chest in a corner now. "He wants to see more men of the Night's Watch like your lord brother."
"Are there so many travelling with Jon?" she asks him.
"No," he replies shortly, "though one is fat enough for two men. Gods help us if that is what stands between us and the wildlings."
"That must be the one who will travel to the Citadel to be a maester; Jon called him Sam."
"Samwell Tarly: son of Randall Tarly," he comments, "the only man who ever defeated Robert Baratheon," he speaks of the man respectfully. "I'll wager he made the boy take the black: he's no warrior, that one; and so of little use to the Watch either. Probably why they're sending him off to forge a chain."
"Jon said he is quite learned," she nods to her maid when she is satisfied, and she is pleased to see the bruising on her face is nearly gone. The girl helps her rise and when she turns, the Greatjon is buckling a heavy leather belt around a quilted brown wool tunic, and she remembers that he wore it the day she first arrived at Last Hearth. She catches her breath.
"You…you look very fine, my lord," she tells him softly, though she feels sad to remember how she did not want him then.
"Hm? Nonsense finery for guests," he dismisses it casually. "Still, I'm far from being a Southron peacock, at least." He looks up and looks her over now, from head to heels, and nods approvingly. "Now that is looking fine. You do my house proud, Sansa, but…are you certain that you will not reconsider? You walk very stiffly and your arm…" he waves towards her arm which is now in a sling until she recovers her strength.
Sansa spoke humbly. "If it please you, my lord: I have been so long confined to this chamber, and I have not seen Jon since the day I left Winterfell…with my father," she implores him softly. "Of course, I shall obey if you command-"
"I'll not command you stay here, Sansa; not if it is important to you. Come then, let's fletch young Eddard." He holds out his arm for her to lean on as she walks with a slow limp into the hallway where their son runs toward them and away from his nurse.
"Father, Berena made me dress in a tunic," he complains.
"That's alright, Eddard, your mother made me dress in one too!" The Greatjon laughs his booming laugh and Sansa smiles to hear it. "Run ahead now, boy, and find your brother. I needs carry your mother down the stairs." Before she can protest, he scolds her: "If I let you walk down, Sansa, we'll get there in time to break our fast instead of our supper."
If he notices that Sansa lays her head on his shoulder as he carries her, he does not let on. Once he sets her down to escort her into the hall, those assembled erupt with cheers.
"My lady!" "Lady Umber!" and "Last Hearth!" they cry, as though she has won a battle. They roar and pound the tabletops in a manner that had startled her when she first came to the castle but she smiles in gratitude to hear and see it now.
If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me, she had once promised herself. She is not a queen, but if ever in her life she has felt like one it is at this moment: when she is welcomed back to the hall by the people of Last Hearth. Even Crowfoot and Whoresbane are on their feet, pounding their tankards of ale so hard that the empty plates before them jump and rattle. Lord Jon inclines his head to her and her brother Jon smiles warmly and the three black brothers who accompany him look at her with round eyes of amazement. They have all been seated with the Umbers at the largest table and Jon introduces them as she approaches. The shy, fat young man is Sam; the others are named Edd and Dareon. Edd seems as morose as Dareon is at ease.
"I'm very pleased to meet one of Jon's family, Lady Umber," Sam tells her hesitatingly once they have begun eating. "He's- he's been like a brother to me. I- I can't wait to see Winterfell: he's told me all about it. Though Last Hearth is impressive as well, m-my lord," he assures the Greatjon hastily.
"I am pleased that Jon has such a good friend in you, Samwell Tarly: he speaks very highly of your learning. He has said that you like songs as well," she smiles encouragingly at him. He is so very shy, she thinks but he brightens when she mentions music.
"My m-mother liked to sing, my lady; and Jon says you sing very well," he ventures.
"I was an apprentice singer when I chose to join the Night's Watch," the man named Dareon interrupts them as he leans towards her from across the table and gazes at her boldly. "It would please me to sing for such a lovely lady who appreciates music…if your lord approves, of course," he smiles an ingratiating smile at her husband now.
"If it's that or listening to him fart from all the meat he's eaten and the ale he's drunk: let him sing, Greatjon," his uncle Mors slurs rudely.
"My singing's no better than farting," the man Edd comments now, "so I'll sit far from the Lord Commander's sister and try to do neither," he says to no one in particular.
"This is why we call him Dolorous Edd," Jon murmurs on her near side, and she suppresses a giggle. "Dareon can sing though. I was hoping his songs would encourage some men to join the Watch. We're dangerously undermanned, my lord," he addresses the Greatjon now.
"I send you all my prisoners, and as much in supplies as I can spare, Lord Commander," he assures him.
"And we are grateful to Last Hearth, my lord, more than we can ever repay you. I- I regret you will not come to Winterfell, though of course I understand your reasons, and I am personally very grateful for your care of my sister. I hope, my lord…that is…I pray that we may speak when I stop on my return journey, with your leave of course. I would like to tell Sansa of everyone at Winterfell."
"You are always welcome at Last Hearth, my lord; and your men as well," he nods for emphasis.
"M-my lady?" the Tarly boy addresses her timidly. "Would you…forgive me if I impose…but might you…might you sing for us….if Lord Umber permits? It has been some times since I have heard a lady sing."
When her husband nods to her, Sansa lets Jon help her to stand while the hall quiets and some of the servants come out of the kitchens to listen. Young Eddard leaves his brother's side and comes to sit in his father's lap.
In a sweet clear voice Sansa begins to sing Autumn of My Day. Though she is young, she is only eight-and ten, she feels older sometimes, she feels ancient like a crone but without the wisdom. All the sorrow of her loss and her heavy heart from her betrayal of her husband seem to come out in her song, and when she finishes there is a ringing silence before the applause fills the hall.
"That was sad, Mother," young Eddard looks at her worriedly. "Are you sad?"
"It is a sad song, sweet boy: sometimes life is sad," she tells him but she smiles gently.
Without waiting to be invited, Dareon stands and begins to sing The Winter Maid. He sings while looking at Sansa and occasionally glancing around the hall to see that he is being admired. His voice is excellent, deep and resonating as though he is pouring all of his heart into his song, but it is clear to Sansa, and she imagines to most but the greenest of maids, that the man think very highly of himself and his skill, and she is embarrassed by his attention. When he begins again after accepting the applause of the hall, he sings Let Me Drink Your Beauty, and she can see her husband begin to glower. She reaches to hold his hand and smile at him and, seeing her show of devotion to her husband, the singer from the Night's Watch then sings My Lady Wife.
"Do you sing such love songs to your brothers at the Wall?" the Whoresbane finally shouts. "Give us a good Northern song," he insists and the people in the hall echo his request.
"How about Wolves in the Hills?" Jon suggests and his sworn brother obeys. Jon then leans to speak with her husband and her son, and leaves her to sit with Samwell Tarly.
"Thank you for your song, my lady. Jon did not do you justice, for your singing or…or your beauty, my lady, if…if you don't mind my saying-"
"You are very sweet and kind to say so….may I call you Sam? It would please me if you would call me Sansa."
Yes, of course…S-Sansa," he says her name with a shy pride. "I like that song; I think my mother must have sung it. Those songs that I remember are my favourites. I- I always loved songs and stories….though I don't think I quite believe in their happy endings anymore…" he soundes suddenly serious and she looks at him closely. He seems to be remembering something difficult or unhappy, and she feels a comfortable kinship with him because of it.
"A…a man once told me that life was not a song, and that I would learn that one day…to my sorrow," she tells him now. She has never told anyone that. Lord Baelish had unnerved her with his stares and his touches and so she did not like to think of him, nor to think that he should have been right.
"I- I would be very unhappy to think you had suffered any sorrow, my lady…Sansa," he corrects himself clumsily. Then he looks to where Jon is still with young Eddard and her husband and the man Edd who is play-fighting with her son and making them all laugh. "Jon was happy to see you have a good husband and a family of your own," he confides to her. "He said you always wanted to be the lady of a castle, and to be loved. Everyone loves you here. You're lucky to have that…to have what you always wanted," he tells her now and though he is sincere, there is a wistfulness to his voice that is unmistakable and she realizes that her husband was right: Sam had likely been made to take the black.
She reaches now to gently put her hand over his and he looks at her with surprise.
"Oh, Sam: I told you how pleased I was that you were Jon's friend; but you have just been a great friend to me," she tells him feelingly. Then she leans forward to kiss his cheek and though he stutters wordlessly and turns an alarming shade of red, he also smiles happily.
Rising from her chair now, the men all turn to her. "Forgive me, my lords, I must retire. Jon, would you be so kind as to escort me to my chamber? My lord must see to our guests."
Jon helps her climb the stairs and walks with her towards her room now.
"Jon, why is Arya's wedding at Winterfell and not at Karhold? Is it to hurry the wedding before the Freys can object?"
"They can object all they want, Sansa; but Arya is marrying Harrion Karstark. She'll never agree to leave the North again, I think; and the presence of so many lords to witness the marriage makes the trip to Karhold unnecessary."
"But will she not needs travel there anyway to live, or does Harrion stay to serve Robb?"
He is quiet a moment, and Sansa senses that he wishes to tell her something but does not. "Things are…difficult right now, Sansa: that is why I needs attend this gathering-"
"Jon?" she clutches his arm in concern. "Is it wildlings? Is Last Hearth in danger?"
She thinks he looks stricken but then he smiles faintly. "Your husband will protect you, Sansa; you and your children. You just get well." They walk again in silence. Fighting and killing are men's business and she knows he will not tell her more.
"Jon…I never answered your question earlier-"
"What question is that?" he asks now.
"About your parents, Jon, about Lyanna and Rhaegar, and…it is absolutely better to be born of love," she tells him sincerely. "Despite everything…I do believe that, Jon."
"I…thank you, Sansa. I needed to hear that…I guess."
I needed to say it, she thinks now. She still believes in love, even if it is not the love from the songs; and she wants to give love as much as she wants to be loved.
I am not Cersei, I will not let love poison me…or any one I care for. Not ever.