Sansa shivers in her bedgown and robe and looks around their room at the inn. The first village where they have stopped is small, and so she will needs share her bed with Berena and her maid while the children sleep on pallets. They have at least been given the largest room, with a big feather bed and its own hearth, but the day-long journey by covered sledge began early that morning, and she is still feeling chilled despite their fur cloaks and lap coverings. She glances now at the worn bolster, then she closes her eyes and remembers.
To my Lord husband,
I leave Last Hearth at your command which I respect and obey as your wife; however I confess that I defy you in that I do not take my heart with me but instead I leave it here with you. I know that I shall have no use for it without you, and so I fear for its death from loneliness. I beg you to keep it close and guard it well, for I hope to reclaim it from you when I return to you and to my home, where my heart now dwells.
Ever your devoted wife, Sansa
She had written the small scroll that morning, and left it for him on his bolster at the head of their bed, tied it with a long plaited lock of her hair. She did not needs beg him for a token; she had brought his children with her. But she feels that she has failed by leaving him, for if ever she has needed to stand by her husband surely it is now. But he had insisted the previous night when they were still in the solar with Jon Snow.
"I'll not be here to protect you, Sansa" he told her only the night before, "neither will most of the garrison. We will needs cross the Gift and fight at the Wall, if not beyond the Wall. I want you and the children safe."
"But your older children-"
"My sons are old enough to fight. My daughter is married and so no longer mine to command; and she and her sister are almost as far away as Winterfell. I can only pray to the old gods that they remain safe…but you and our young children I can see to," he tells her firmly. "Besides, the king has sent an escort for you; and they needs leave as soon as possible, in the morning."
Sansa bows her head. He is her husband, and she will not defy him; she feels that she had already been too outspoken in proclaiming her wish to stay. Jon came over then to sit by her and comfort her.
"I admire your sense of duty, Sansa; I know that you learned from your father as well. But Arya is also staying in Winterfell at Harrion's command."
"Arya is not the Lady of House Karstark, nor is Karhold her home; not yet, Jon. This is my place," she explains.
Jon looks over to the Umber men and leans closer to speak confidentially. "Sansa, do you remember asking me if I would seek out Daenerys Targaryen? Well," he continues when she nods, "I have sent her a message, signed by myself, and by Robb. She has dragons, they say, Sansa: do you realize how much that could help us in our fight? If they truly are like the dragons of old, dragons that breathe fire, then it could mean the difference between living and dying…for all of us."
"Jon," she is astonished now, and glances as well towards the others in the solar and drops her voice quietly. "And have you heard-"
"Not yet, we had only just sent the message when I left and the gods only know how long it will take to find its way to her; but we hope to hear from her… You realize what this could mean, don't you Sansa? If we invite her to fight with us…she may want to take all of Westeros. Robb may have to bend the knee, as Torrhen Stark did to Aegon the Conqueror."
"Robb will turn against Renly?"
"He hasn't pledged to fight in the South, nor will he; because we don't expect Renly to show any less sense than Torrhen. If her dragons can defeat the Others, they can defeat the armies of Westeros. Robb knows if we don't invite her, and we falter; she may come anyway but she may wait until our lands and people are decimated: better we live and be her allies than die and have her claim what remains as a conqueror."
Sansa thinks now and realizes why he is telling her in confidence.
"The Northern lords don't know this," she tells him, and he shakes his head, "Some may not fight if they think help may be coming: some may wait and let other lords lose men and mayhaps their heirs and so benefit from their losses," she says sadly. "Usually the lords have always supported the king."
"Yes," Jon agrees, "but this is not a regular war with spoils and glory to be won: it's the Others; and the Ironborn are hungry and so are the Freys and both are too close to risk any division amongst ourselves. We are risking too much already by having all the lords and their armies heading to the Wall. Only Robb and I know of our invitation to Daenerys; and Bran, and now you."
"With only daughters to his name, Bran is Robb's heir; but why me?" Sansa smiles faintly: "Do you tell me to learn where my loyalties lie, Jon?"
"I know your loyalty is to your lord, and I know without question that his loyalty is to King Robb."
"Thank you, Jon," she replies. "I will let Robb tell him what you have told me; my lord deserves to hear this from his king."
Her husband came over to them then, and offered his hand to Sansa.
"You should retire, Sansa. You will be leaving early; and travelling in winter is wearying."
"Yes, my lord. Good night, Jon." She takes his hand and leaves with him, and they walk slowly and silently to their chamber.
Sansa had dismissed her maid earlier, leaving the girl to pack her own belongings. She undresses herself, and sits naked at her dressing table as she brushes her hair. The Greatjon sheds his boots and his furs and, from her mirror, she sees him looking at her. She sets down her hairbrush and stands and turns to him. She stands still for a time, so that he can look at her and he does. She walks to him now and reaches for him without hesitation: she throws her arms around his neck and stretches up on her toes to kiss him and he lifts her onto their bed. Their love this night is passionate and wordless. They kiss and kiss and he runs his fingers through her thick auburn tresses, and then runs his large hands gently but firmly all over her, caressing her skin and mapping her every curve, as though putting her body to memory. He follows his hands with his lips and mouth, and Sansa touches him back by running her hands through is hair, caressing his beard on his face and tracing her fingertips through the hair on his chest. When he finally takes her, she cleaves to him, clutching his back and shoulders and his buttocks with her slender arms and wrapping her long legs around him to bring him ever closer, and hopes that he can feel everything that she has not yet been able to say to him. It is near dawn when they fall asleep in each other's arms, exhausted. They are still entwined when they awake.
Many in the castle turn out to see her off. There are two sledges prepared: one is for their baggage and the second is enclosed by heavy curtains to ease their travel in the cold. Heavy horses toss their heads as they are bridled and they breathe out puffs of white clouds in the frigid air. The soldiers sent from Winterfell are so heavily wrapped in furs that they seem to her like a small army of bears covered in grey cloaks. Berena and Sansa and her maid are wearing fur cloaks with hoods and Serena is wrapped in a fur blanket. Eddard keeps pushing his own fur hood back from his head, complaining that he is dressed like a girl.
"Why can't I stay with you, Father? I know how to fight," he pleads.
"I know you do, Eddard; that's why I need you to go with your mother. You needs keep her safe." The Greatjon kneels before him now. "Do you have my gift with you? Good. I want you to promise to be good, be brave and continue your training, hm? Watch over your sister for me. I'm trusting you to being her back home."
"Yes, Father," he tells him and then throws his arms around him.
The Greatjon hugs him back with a hearty slap on the back, as he does with his older sons. He now opens his arms for his daughter who is being held by Berena.
"Come here, Serena. Who's my good girl?" he coos.
"Mm…me," she exclaims proudly.
"And who loves you?" he whispers closely.
"Hee, Da," she laughs.
"That's right: Da loves you," he murmurs to her. "Give me a kiss now, and go to your nurse." He leans into the covered sledge and hands her to Berena. Then he turns and offers his hand to Sansa. He nods firmly when she hesitates. "It's time to go, Sansa," he tells her.
Sansa knows there are many people present, but she does not think that a show of affection at such a time is improper, and so she lifts a gloved hand to cup his bearded cheek and raises herself up to kiss his other cheek. She pauses to whisper in his ear:
"I…I shall miss you, my lord."
He puts his great hands on her shoulders both to lower her down and away from him and to touch her one last time.
"I'll miss you as well, Sansa. Keep safe and please give my best sentiments to your family."
He sounds almost formal, which is proper; and so Sansa bows her head and curtseys to him as a lady should. She takes his offered hand now to climb into the sledge.
"Farewell, my lady," Lord Jon addresses her as he appears on her other side, and after a slight hesitation, she takes his hand as well. He leans his head into the curtains and says good-bye to his younger siblings. Eddard is subdued but Serena smiles and giggles at him.
Sansa hears shouts and the jingling of harnesses and the snap of reins and the creaking of the main gates as the sledge gives a powerful jerk and they set off through the yard, gliding over the packed snow. Eddard leans his head out the curtains and Sansa leans with him and they watch and wave to the assembled people and look back at the Greatjon who stands holding his arm aloft as they leave him behind in the snowy yard. They continue to look back until the gates are shut behind them. When the curtains close around them, Sansa is desolate, but she reaches her arms around Eddard and draws him closer to her.
"It's your first trip away, Eddard; and we are going to my family 's castle: and we wills top in many villages long the way. Is that not a wonderful adventure?" she prompts him. She remembers how badly her own first trip from home ended, and she is glad he will be spared the same; but he does not seem excited.
"Yes, Mother," he replies dutifully.
"What gift did your father give you?" she asks now.
He looks up at her and seems very hesitant.
"Is it a secret between you?" she guesses; and he nods. "Well, then I shall not ask you to break confidence. It is right that you should respect your father," she smiles and he settles back next to her again.
Now after their long day of travel, they are settling in to sleep together. Berena finishes tucking in the children, and Sansa's maid leaves to return to the main room below to empty their chamber pot and, Sansa suspects, to speak more with the soldiers who smiled at the girl all through their shared supper at table together.
When Berena spies how unhappy she is, she tries to cheer her.
"S'not so bad, milady; we're snug and warm here. We could be sleeping downstairs with the soldiers…or still be at Last Hearth afeared for White Walkers…or just wildlings."
"I do not believe I could ever be fearful at Last Hearth; and the Lord Commander believes most wildlings will obey our laws and not practice their…customs against us."
"I'd like to believe it myself, milady; but I've lived long enough to have seen different and so I know well that I couldn't ever bring myself to trust wildlings."
Sansa turns to her and tilts her head inquisitively. "You must have been at Last Hearth when Uncle Mors' daughter was taken."
"Aye, milady; t'was a terrible time for all," she intones wearily and does not look at Sansa.
"My lord says it was not her fault," she says wistfully, thinking on his great kindness as opposed to Mors' own harsh words about his daughter's defiance.
Berena pauses and then answers indifferently: "I expect he would say so, milady."
Sansa feels oddly irritated. This is the second time Berena has spoken less than respectfully, and she decides now challenge her.
"Your reply would seem almost insolent, Berena-" she begins.
"Then I beg your pardon, milady," the old woman says.
"And I do not give my pardon, Berena," she tells her quietly but firmly, "unless you can explain yourself to me. Why do you say in that tone that you would you expect my lord to say the taking of Mors' girl was not her fault?"
The woman seems to be gathering herself before turning to Sansa and looking her straight in the eye.
"Because, milady…it were his fault."