"But Mother, how come Aunt Arya's wolf ran away and yours didn't?"

Sansa smiles gently but sadly as she tried again to explain. "Because my wolf was innocent...I did not think that she would be killed, Eddard; and your Aunt Arya's had to be forced to to run and hide."

"But why did the evil queen say that your wolf had to die?"

"She was evil, Eddard: it is the nature of evil people to want to hurt others. You must always try your best not to hurt others," she tells him now, though her own guilt remains heavy in her heart.

She smiles now to see the Greatjon kneeling and holding his arms out to Serena as she walks unsteadily towards him. When she reaches him, he snatches her high into the air with a booming laugh that makes her squeal; then he sets her back down on her feet to start their ritual all over again.

"Come to me, Serena," her brother urges her now; but Serena only looks at him and steps back to her father.

"And up she goes," he exclaims loudly as he snatches her into the air again.

"Eeeeee! Hee-hee-hee," Serena shrieks and laughs again, and her husband and son laugh as well. She feels that she could be perfectly happy here with her family…if only.

"Let's play too," she whispers to Eddard and he smiles back at her and they kneel on the floor with the Greatjon.

"Go to your mother now," he says and sets Serena down facing Sansa. But Serena turns around and squeals as she walks stumblingly back to her father.

"Mm…DA!"

"YES, girl, I'm your Da! Good for you!" he picks her up now and rubs his bearded chin into the fold her chubby neck and she giggles and squirms.

"Ah-hee-hee-hee-hee."

Berena appears in the doorway now with a look of taxed indulgence. "Milord, you should know by now not to get her all excited before bedtime. I'll be all night about getting her to sleep," she reprimands him mildly and as no other servant would be permitted to do.

"Now, Berena, she just called me Da: is that not reason to be excited?" he explains himself.

"I expect it is milord: I'll have the maester record it in his ledger," she says wryly.

"Gods, woman: don't be a scold-"

She eyes him coldly now. "I'd never be that, milord; it's not my place."

Sansa is surprised by the woman's tone: she has never been anything less than respectful towards him, and though her words are above reproach, her manner is cold. She would expect her husband to tell any other servant to mind themselves, but in this instance he actually appears chastened.

Young Eddard breaks the silence that follows. "Can I eat in the hall with you tonight, please, father, please? I'm five now."

"Hm? Are you?" he asks absently.

"You are five, young man," Sansa acknowledges proudly, "and you behaved yourself very well when the men of the Night's Watch were here. Mayhaps we should wait until they return?"

'Please, mother?"

Sansa looks to her husband who nods curtly. "Very well, but you must thank your father now."

"Thank you, father," her son says as he walks to the Greatjon and takes his hand. "Can we go now?"

They walk together down to the great hall, where they have continued to eat their meals with the household. Sansa had secretly wished to resume eating alone in their chamber but she also knew that a lord needed to spend time with his people, as her father had at Winterfell. Nor did they spend long middays abed together as they once had, but they retired together earlier most nights and Sansa had noted the knowing looks that the uncles exchanged when they did. As the lady of Last Hearth, Sansa knew that her life would always needs be partly duty and she excelled at it; but now she had love as well, this time with her husband.

At their meal, Sansa watches that her son minds his manners and his courtesies but she also see that he watches his father. When the Greatjon spoons up the beef and barley stew and takes a second helping, Eddard does the same. When he drinks for his horn of ale, Eddard asks to try some and his father holds the horn carefully as the boy takes a sip and makes a face when he swallows.

He is such a kind father; he should have more children. And her sorrow returns and her she lowers her head and the contents of her plate swim briefly as her eyes brim with tears; but she bravely breathes deep and wipes them away.

"Why are you crying, Mother?" Eddard asks anxiously.

Sansa smiles for him. "I'm not crying," she laughs lightly, "the smoke from the candles is in my eyes."

Without a word, the Greatjon moves the candle between them away from her and pats her knee comfortingly; but after their meal and once they have walked Eddard to his chamber to be put to bed, he steers her towards their own room.

Sansa's maid is there to attend her and so he strips himself of his furs while her maid undresses her behind the screen and pulls her bedgown down over her head. When she leads Sansa to the dressing table to unbraid and brush her hair, the Greatjon sits in a chair dressed in his robe and watches. Once the girl leaves, Sansa smiles at him and tilts her head.

"What do you smile at now?"

"When I first woke up…after my fall," she says haltingly now. "You were sitting there and sleeping in your furs and I wondered how a bear had fallen asleep in my chamber."

"I called for a knight but you're a bear," he sings and laughs self-depricatingly.

"My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!" Sansa sings softly to remind him that the maiden fair came to love her bear. She stands and walks to him and he holds out a hand to draw her onto his lap. She sits and curls up in the warmth and safety of his big arms and rest her head on his shoulder.

"Was it truly the smoke in the hall that brought on your tears, Sansa?" he asks as he runs the pad of his thumb in swirls over her palm.

"I- Eddard admires you so much, and you are such a good father that I- I want to give you more-"

"Shh, no more of that. We'll face what comes, Sansa. I don't want you to cry anymore," he tells her gently. "I want to see those blue eyes happy and smiling."

She lifts her head and smiles up at him now.

"That's better now. When it's summer again, we'll ride to Long Lake together-"

"Will we bathe in the waters?" she asks teasingly. It has been days since they bathed together and set the castle to talking.

"Right out in the open: naked as our name days," he laughs now and settles. "I want to show you Long Lake: in high summer, the clear blue sky is reflected in the still waters…I had never seen anything so clear blue, Sansa, until you slid down off your horse and looked up at me when you came to Last Hearth."

"You are so very kind, my lord," she whispers now.

"Such a pretty little thing," he kisses her head now.

"I'm considered tall for a girl, my lord," she tells him, piqued that he should think her little.

"Ah, but not to a bear: All black and brown and covered with hair!"

"Or a giant, since that is your sigil; and not a bear."

He chuckles. "True, and yet you are always a maiden fair," he pushes her hair back from her cheek.

Liar. Faithless and wanton. Barren. "If it please you, my lord," she answers after dropping her eyes from his.

He puts a finger under her chin to look at him now. "Mayhaps you prefer to be a lady wolf?"

She smiles for him again. "Oh, yes, but more wolf than lady, I think," she teases him.

He growls his hungry growl now and bring his head down to kiss her: a gentle kiss that deepens as she yields to him and breathes into him because she wants this, she wants to be close to him so that they can't tell where she begins and he ends. When she thinks of it, she reaches all the way around him with her slender arms and presses herself as close as she can. His hand strokes down from her cheek and her long neck and over her throat and into her robe. She lets her head fall back as he pushes the robe open and her bedgown from her shoulder and runs a big, warm strong hand over her breast and lowers his head to kiss it gently but when Sansa hums her pleasure, he licks over her nipple and kisses her again before exposing the other breast to do the same as his hand slips lower to reach up under the gown and press gently between her legs and then rub slow circles that make her warm and wet and flushed. Finally she arches and presses herself into his hand and her husband stops and lifts her from behind her shoulders and under her knees and carries her to their bed.

As soon as he sets her down she sits up and reaches for him after he's shed his robe and climbed in next to her. "It's my turn now," she tells him abruptly.

"What do you mean, now?" he looks at her quizzically.

"You…you always touch me," she blushes, "and I don't…I don't know how to touch you but…please…I want to try."

The Greatjon looks delighted. "Very well, Sansa," he waits, "how would you like to start?" He sounds amused and she thinks that she may lose her nerve, but she doesn't. She reaches towards his shoulders and guides him to lie back on the fur. She looks down the length of his great big body and decides to start at the top. Delicately, she runs her fingertips down his neck as he had done to her and then swirls them over the hair on his chest before sinking her hands in and running them back up to his neck. He has a thick pelt like a dog, she thinks, and she is surprised to feel that he has nipples simply because she has never seen them but she stops herself from laughing; instead she trails her fingers lightly over his muscled abdomen which he tightens in response to her touch. She breathes in suddenly.

"You're ticklish too," she accuses softly, but he is lying with his eyes partly closed and his lips parted and she sees that he likes how she touches him. She thinks fleetingly that she never touched her lover like this; but she does not want to think of him now. Biting her lip hesitantly, Sansa runs her hand down his leg and then slowly up the inside of his thigh until she reaches the coarse hair under his member. She feels the soft sac of skin and hears his breath catch as she lets her hand explore it carefully. She knows this is what men call balls; she's heard the curses and oaths and the insults in the yard when they have told one another that they have none or that they must be very small. They seemed to tie them to courage and manliness and even brains at times but mostly she just sees how he likes her to touch them and so she does and she eyes his member as it grows bigger and harder. With a curious fascination, she moves her hand to trail her fingertips along the length and then swirls and circles the bigger tip that sits at the top like a large pommel on the hilt of a sword and now she does giggle because she knows that men and women both liken men's manhoods to their swords: her husband has done it himself when making bawdy comments.

"Have you found something down there to laugh at, then?" he questions tightly though she sees that he smiles a strained smile.

"I have never wielded a sword before, my lord…" she tells him in mock-seriousness, "it feels quite powerful."

He sits up suddenly and takes hold of her waist. "I'll show you just how powerful, wolf," he says in a threatening voice that sounds more like a promise to her because his eyes are smiling playfully at her. Still, he does put her on her hands and knees on the bed and kneels behind her as he grasps her hips to hold he steady when he thrusts in a little less slowly and less gently than he usually does; but she doesn't care because it feels so good that she gasps and sighs and tilts her hips back to let him fill her deeper. He begins to thrusts in again and again and they both cry out and Sansa thinks that this is alright for him to treat her less gently and that she really is strong, she's a wolf and she is of the North like he says and she keens and sighs some more as he pants, and grunts and nearly shouts his pleasure from behind her.

….

From the further end of the hallway, the uncles are leaving the solar with full tankards to take to their sleeping chambers.

"Ha! I told you: the lord only wants his red wolf," says Mors.

"Hmph, and about time too; but if she's the wolf, why is he the one howling?"