I was not a pawn, or a reward; he married me for duty. He married me to protect me, and at Robb's command. Oh, gods be good; what have I done?

She is looking up at him searchingly now, but he is looking to their bed ruefully, and he shakes his great head again.

"Of course, I found out that first night…still a maiden. A maiden and so young. Blast that maester," he thunders now. "When I asked him how I should….should proceed, if I should wait to…if I should wait for you, he said no. He compared it to getting right back on a horse after having been thrown: best get it over and done with so that you would get over any fears. And he said it would give credence to any rumors about you if I were to let you wait. Forgive me but I believed him. It was Berena who counseled time and patience, but I didn't listen; to be sure I did afterward but by then, well, it was too late. It was my fault: I was wrong to have trusted the maester but what he had said wasn't anything that I did not want to hear then, you see," he looks to her again now, and smiles wanly, "you were a shining prize for any man, Sansa; much less and old man like me, so long a widower. I remember you riding into the yard when you first came to Last Hearth: you were so young and so beautiful, everyone said you were beautiful; but I saw how proud you were and how brave-"

She sniffles to remember how dejected she had been to be marrying so far away from Winterfel and her family, to an old man whom she knew only for his loud voice and rough manners. She had tried so hard to hide it, and to do her duty to her king and to her family. It had not occurred to her then that he might have been doing the same.

"Was I brave?" she asks him now wistfully. "I wanted so much to be brave."

His hand reaches to caress her face tenderly. "You were brave, Sansa. You were brave and we were wrong. You could have married any man in the North; but instead you were given to me, and all I could see was what a fine Lady Umber you would make. If only we had asked you about Kings Landing then we would have known, but no one could bring themselves to speak of it to you; and now we know that you might have had any young man, any heir to a lordship and castle; even my Smalljon might have done for you, for you seem to get on well enough though he still shows little interest in being wed. Forgive me, Sansa: forgive an old man for falling tumble-down in love with a pretty young girl and her proud seat on a horse."

He blinks in embarrassment and looks down at his feet.

"There is nothing to forgive. You were not wrong, not truly. Even though I was not harmed, not that way…I-I was a maid; Robb was right," she says softly and somewhat dully. She knows rumor is enough; she had been disgraced in King's Landing for being the daughter of a traitor; and Cersei had told her, with some relish she had thought, of how soldiers treated even high-born women when they had the bloodlust from battle. Soldiers who would do the same would have believed that she was despoiled during the sack, or before. "The truth would not have mattered: lords and theirs sons would have refused me, and I should have lived unwanted and unmarried and a shameful burden to my family. The truth never matters so much as what is believed to be true; and people will always choose what is best for them. You didn't know if…but you married me anyway. You were kind to take me."

"And you, Sansa? Should you not have been able to choose what is best for you?"

She shakes her head again. "Ladies do not decide for themselves, my lord: you know this for you have daughters of your own. Did not their suitors or their fathers come to you with their offers? Robb, my brother and my king, had every right to choose my husband for me; as my father had before him. The choice was never mine."

He is silent a moment. "I- I hope I have been a good choice for you, Sansa; I have tried to be good to you-"

She looks at him again, and sees his humility, and his embarrassment; and her heart aches for him. Sansa thinks now of all his gifts, his smiles, his gentleness and his kindness, and she is overwhelmed and ashamed that she had thought only of herself and her own unhappiness for so long. She slips down from the bed and onto her knees before him, and wraps her arms around his legs and rests her chin on his knee and looks up to him.

"You have, my lord. You have been everything good and kind and generous to me…and to our children. I could not have asked for more…or better…in a husband and in a man…and if you needs ask me then I have been remiss, I have been horribly, terribly remiss if I have not told you and shown you how truly grateful I am for how very, very kind you have been to me."

He scoffs dismissively. "Any man would have been kind to you-"

"No," she insists fiercely. "No. Not all men are kind. Please believe me that I know this," she tells him and there is bitterness in her voice and renewed tears trickle down her cheeks. "I know this and I shall never forget."

The Greatjon grimaces angrily. "You should not have had to learn such a harsh lesson, Sansa; I would like to kill all those who hurt you-"

Sansa presses her forehead into his knee and looks up to him again. "They are dead, my lord; and I would not think on them again. I would think on you, and tell you now of how I have failed you…please," she insists, "please let me say this: I- I did not know how to be as open as you all are. I had a septa and learned Southron manners, and so I did not know how be as all of you and still be a lady… Oh!" She realizes what she has said, and how it is insulting to his family. "Forgive me, my lord; I meant that I had needed to be very guarded in my thoughts and my words when I was in King's Landing and…oh…oh dear…not that your family or Last Hearth are anything like King's Landing…"

Sansa was at a loss: everything she is trying to say comes out wrong. It was wrong because she had been wrong, about so many things: her family, her husband, and mostly about herself. She had seen herself as alone and unloved when she had in truth been loved and protected without having realized it; and worse, she had betrayed him, all out of self-pity. She had never hated herself so much; not since she had thought that she had been the cause of her father's imprisonment and execution. She drops her head to his knee again, but she feels his hand under her chin and so lifts her eyes to his.

"No, you're not like us, Sansa; but you're a Northerner, and you're a good wife and mother and lady of the castle. You are beautiful and soft and gentle…and you make me very happy," he assures her kindly.

She smiles back at him now and thinks: he does not know, and I hope he never will. I will make it up to him: on my life and for all of my life. But her smile fades as she remembers why he came into their chamber: he came to send her away.

"I- I am pleased…I am happy to hear…but…why, my lord, why should you wish to send me to Winterfell if…if we are happy together?"

He takes a deep breath and his gaze fixes on the middle distance, and Sansa knows he is thinking of something that is making him angry.

"It's for your safety, Sansa: you and the children. You must go to Winterfell. Your mother has asked for you to go, and the King has sent men to escort you."

"But Last Hearth is safe; and I am safe with you," she tells him.

"Sansa…" he shakes his head and falters again, and she wonders what can be so difficult to tell her. "Sansa, there was a gathering of the Northern lords at Winterfell. The King called them and your brother…or your cousin, the Lord Commander spoke to those assembled-"

"Wildings," she surmises. "I know there have been more crossing into the North; we lost three men from the garrison only days before Jon arrived at Last Hearth. Are there more coming? Has the Night's Watch discovered an attack planned on Last Hearth, my lord?"

"The Commander and his men discovered a plan to attack the Wall. Jon Snow was captured by wildings beyond the wall and pretended to join them to discover what they were planning, and they were planning to an attack on Castle Black. A man called Mance Rayder, himself a deserter of the Watch, had united the wildlings and called himself their king. They were going to breach the Wall and come into the North, and farther, if they could."

"But…but they learned of the attack, and Jon escaped and thwarted their plans. Surely the Night's Watch can fight off the wildlings: they have done so for thousands of years."

"The Night's Watch is sorely diminished in strength and numbers: and many have been going beyond the wall and not returning. Your Uncle Benjen was one; and there have been many more. Some if not most of the men recruited or send to the wall over the past years have been poor boys or criminals and rapists: not the type to care about the North or its people. They have just been surviving themselves, and now they are not."

"Will…will the North needs fight the wildlings then? Will it be war at the Wall? If so, then my place is here: with you and the people of Last Hearth-"

"We will not be fighting wildlings, Sansa. Their king was killed attacking the Wall, and the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch has struck a deal with the King and the leaders the remaining wildlings: they are being let through the Wall to settle in the Gift," he tells her tightly, and she knows why he is angry. The Gift is all that had separated Last Hearth and the lands of the Umbers and the Wall. Were the wildlings allowed to settle there in great numbers, the garrison at Last Hearth would not be able to fight them from trespassing on Umber land and taking its resources or attacking its people; they could even threaten the castle itself. The wildlings have always been enemies to Last Hearth. She understands why he felt betrayed, by Stark and Umber both since his heir Lord Jon must have agreed to it. She is angry herself, and does not understand what Jon and Robb could be thinking.

"But- but of course we will needs fight the wildlings. They cannot possibly find food and shelter in great numbers in mid-winter; and they will come further south to find what they can. Last Hearth and our people will be the first they will find, unless they venture into the mountains of the Flints and other clans. How can they have allowed this? Why did Lord Jon not tell them this could not be borne by the far North?"

The Greatjon chuckles softly now. "And you said you were not like an Umber: look at you now, Sansa, fighting for the safety of our people."

"My place is with our people, and with you. I cannot leave Last Hearth, my lord: surely you understand that I must stay and fight with you," she is insisting to him. "It is my duty, and I want to stay. Please. Surely the King and my mother understand that: they send me here to be your wife and lady."

He is silent and he shakes his head ponderously again, and Sansa knows that there is something she does not understand, or that he is not telling her. She reaches her hand now from behind his shin to his knee and runs it up his leg at looks at him imploringly.

"Please, my lord, tell me what troubles you…and the king. I-"

"We will not be fighting the wildlings because they will be fighting alongside us. We…we have a far worse enemy now, Sansa, and you cannot stay and fight with us. I want you to go, and take the children; I want you to be safe in Winterfell. And when you are not safe there, I want you to run: do you hear me? I want you to take the children and run," he tells her intently now. He takes hold of her upper arms and looks at her so fiercely that he seems a man possessed and she is frightened now. "I want you to go South: to Riverrun, to the Reach, to Dorne. Go as far as you can and then keep going. Sail to Essos, or the Summer Isles, to the end of the known world if you must. Just be safe. And live. And…and think of me, if you would; and tell the children about me," he runs a gentle hand down her cheek and she does not understand. Why should she run? And from what?

"Please, my lord: you frighten me. Why?"

He swallows and leans closer to her. "White Walkers, Sansa."

She blinks in surprise, and almost laughs. She shakes her head instinctively, because it isn't true. It cannot be true.

"My...my lord?"

"They're real, Sansa. They're real…and they are coming. For all of us. You brother has seen them, as have others in the Watch; and the wildlings as well. White Walkers and wights: a great army of them, he says; and nigh un-killable. You must see…you're a Stark, and the Stark words are Winter is coming. Winter has come, Sansa. Winter has come."