The sledge rocks and the horses' reins jingle as they rush over the packed snow covering the wide path that leads from the Kingsroad towards the east gates of Winterfell. Sansa had been watching from out the curtains since the castle had first come into sight; though the wind chilled her face and snowflakes blew into the closed sledge. It stands solid and immense and unchanged, just as it has since the Age of Heroes, and as it did when she was a girl and it was the centre of her life. There are flocks of crows pecking on the ground, and they scatter and fly away as the horses approach at a swift gallop. She hears the shouting of orders and then the great creaking of the castle gates as they are opened and the hollow rattle of the sledge passing over the drawbridge. She is met now with cries of welcome by those men who recognize her and she smiles to them fondly.
"Eddard, Serena: we are at Winterfell, the castle of the King in the North," she tells them excitedly as they pass through the inner wall and underneath the covered bridge linking the Great Keep to the armory.
"Where king?" Serena cries now that the sledge has stopped.
"The king has gone North, Serena, to fight with Father," Eddard tells her, and he does not smile.
Sansa must turn away from him though, when the curtains are flung back and the solider who led them announces: "Winterfell, my lady," and offers his hand to help her down from the sledge. "Mind the ice, my lady."
"Thank you," she smiles courteously and nods to him. "If you would be so kind as to help my nurse with the children-"
"Sansa!"
She hears the cry from the doorway and turns to see her mother hurrying to her over the slippery pathway leading to the Great Keep. She is wearing a heavy fur-lined cloak with the hood pulled up over her graying auburn hair.
"Have a care, Lady Stark," another soldier warns her and offers his hand. A servant runs out of the Keep now to scatter gravel over the path.
Catelyn Stark all but ignores them to greet her daughter after so many years; and Sansa remembers that she has not seen her since young Eddard was born.
"Oh, Sansa…" She opens her arms for her daughter and enfolds her now: "My sweet, sweet girl," she almost croons. When she leans back to look at her she smiles and says: "Welcome home, Sansa."
Sansa chokes up at her words, and she notices the changes in her mother's face: she sees the lines from age and grief over her husband and worry for her children and now for the North. Sansa loves her mother; but her mother is mistaken and she corrects her now.
"Thank you, Mother," she replies, "but…Last Hearth is my home now."
Her mother's smile falters a little. "Of course, Sansa…well, I am pleased that you are here."
"I am very happy to see you again, Mother; it has been so very long…since Eddard was born." She turns to her son and leans to put her arm around him and bring him forward. "Eddard," she says, "this is your lady grandmother."
Eddard takes a step towards her and bows: "My lady," he says politely and then stares up at her curiously.
Lady Catelyn's eyes go wider and she kneels before her grandson now. "Young Eddard," she breathes, "let me look at you, for I have not seen you since you were born." Her eyes narrow slightly as she examines his face. "He's an Umber," she pronounces finally.
"Yes, of course he is," Sansa replies, rather too quickly and firmly than she intended. She wants there to be no doubt: her son is her husband's son; and not the spawn of some unnamed soldier in King's Landing…or worse.
"I know that well, Sansa, since I helped to pull him from you; only I had hoped…but you have always favored my Tully looks; only Arya has your father's features." She smiles at young Eddard again. "You were named for your grandfather, Eddard: he was my late lord husband." She smoothes his hair down now. "You have your mother's hair, I see; but you are the Greatjon's boy in every way."
Eddard's eyebrows draw together in confusion. "Yes I am, my lady: he's my father," he explains seriously.
"You will remember my nurse, Berena, Mother; and here is my daughter Serena," she tells her now.
Her mother nods to Berena and welcomes her to Winterfell and then steps closer to her granddaughter.
"Serena, I'm your grandmother," she speaks gently to the girl.
"Hee-hee," Serena grins. "Gamma!"
Catelyn Stark shakes her head in wonder. "She has the shape of your face and your mouth, Sansa; but the rest…pure Umber," she remarks again.
"I should take the children inside, milady," Berena advises.
"The steward will show the way," Lady Stark motions her towards the entrance to the castle. "Come, Sansa: there is a fire in your old room to warm you," she pauses now and drops her voice as she slips her arm around Sansa's waist. "Jon told us why you could not come for Arya's wedding…I am so very sorry for your loss, Sansa."
"Thank you, Mother," Sansa whispers now.
"Smalljon said that you were recovering well, though; so there will be other children, Sansa: you are still young and you have lots of time," her mother tries to comfort her.
"I- You are right, Mother, only…you are right." Sansa did not wish to discuss her pain with her mother; she fears that she will not be as understanding as her husband. Any woman would wish for her daughter to breed many sons for her lord; and Sansa does not want to be any more of a disappointment to her. "Where is Bran? And…and Arya? I have not seen Arya since….since King's Landing," she chokes out. Sansa wonders if Arya will not want to see her.
Her mother purses her lips somewhat. "Arya," she begins and shakes her head, "Arya is training. Your father… had arranged for Arya to learn sword fighting while in the capitol; and she insists on practicing every day."
"She did? But father told me she was taking dancing lessons…" she trails off, remembering that she and Arya fought terribly in King's Landing, Her father would never have told her that Arya was sword fighting.
Lady Catelyn laughs shortly. "Water dancing, she calls it, in the Braavosi style; so there was some truth to it. She will be around later. I expect. Bran is in the solar," she says sadly, "it is more difficult for him to get around in winter, of course; but he will be pleased to see you, Sansa. He misses Robb, and Rickon. But I must take you to see Roslin and the girls first; the little princesses will be happy to meet their Umber cousins."
Sansa looks up to the walls of Winterfell. It has been so long since I left; yet it still feels so familiar. She remembers too how quickly she was packed off to the far North when all she had wanted was to be home again. Don't think about that: they meant to protect you. When she enters the castle, she tarries as she takes in the feeling of its warm granite walls and the soft glow of the torches. She catches herself up to her children and Berena in the hall leading to the solar.
"We needs greet the king's family immediately, Berena," she whispers, "and I hope that we shall have excuse not to stay too long if the children should tire."
"Very well, milady. I-"
But she is cut off by the sudden presence of a man in their way. He is lean and handsome and dark-haired, with a dark cloak flung back over his shoulders and a kraken sigil on his breast. He looks Sansa over head to hells now with a knowing smirk.
"Lady Umber, is it?" Theon Greyjoy greets her jeeringly. "You're back to joins the rest of the wolves, I see. How do you like living in the furthest reaches of the North then, Sansa?" He looks down haughtily on her children now. "I see the Greatjon doesn't leave off you. Did he even wait to get you upstairs to bed you once you were wed?"
Behind her usually passive expression, Sansa can see that Berena is shocked at his impertinence; but Sansa only smiles gently and flutters her eyelashes.
"My lord and I are quite happily married, thank you. Surely you know just how strong and vigorous my Northern husband is, Theon, for you fought alongside him…for a time," she retorts with a sly innocence. "Are you in Winterfell to meet with the King? I fear that you may have just missed him."
She sees his jaw tighten as he clenches his teeth in anger at her remarks, but before he can answer her son turns to look up at her.
"I don't like him, Mother," he says plainly.
Sansa looks at her son now. She knows that she should correct his manners, for his words were discourteous; but she cannot resist putting the man who spread ugly rumors about her in his place. "You must not say such things to a person's face, Eddard; even if you think them. But it is quite alright that you should not like him," she assures her son now, "neither does your father."
Sometime later, after greeting her family and Robb's, Sansa excuses herself, saying that she wants visit the godswood before it is dark. Instead she turns when she heads out of the Keep, feeling the soft snow fall against her face and melting there, and walks toward the old lichyard around the First Keep. It is there that her direwolf Lady is buried, and she wants to visit her grave. She crouches carefully so as not to kneel in the wet snow and she brushes the off the small marker and then touches it lightly with her gloved fingertips.
"Lady," she whispers, "I miss you so very much. I wish that you could have been beside me these years; mayhaps then I should never have forgotten myself." She pauses to wipe a tear from her eye now. "Sweet rest, my Lady; I never shall forget you."
She stands now and looks down sadly on the quiet and, to her mind, lonely spot: here with the long dead and forgotten loyal servants to the old Kings of Winter. Her heart has not felt so empty since she woke from her fall to realize that she had lost her babe.
"I knew I would find you here," a gruff voice says behind her.
Sansa turns suddenly, startled; and she sees a lithe young woman wearing breeches and a jerkin under a dark grey cloak with a black fur collar. Her long, serious face has grey eyes: her father's eyes; and her dark hair is pulled back and loosely braided and is sprinkled with melting snowflakes.
"Arya," she breathes, and waits for an answer, any answer. When her sister only looks at her, she swallows apprehensively before speaking again. "Jon…Jon was right: you are beautiful, Arya." She takes a tentative step towards her. "It…it has been so long since I have seen you, and there is so much I have needed to say:. I…I'm so sorry, Arya, for…for everything. I was wrong about-" She cannot bring herself to say his name, not here; she does not want him or them to matter anymore. "I was wrong about everything, Arya; and I am sorry, even sorrier than I can ever say. I hope someday you may find it in your heart to forgive me. I-"
"I forgave you for Mycah a long time ago, Sansa, because Father asked me to. I know you suffered for your wrong; and I'm sorry that you had to learn the way you did." She glances towards Lady's grave.
"We…we both suffered for my wrong…" she tells her. Then, with a muffled cry, Sansa runs to her sister and throws her arms around her. She begins to sob. "I had thought you were dead…for so long I thought it; and then I thought that you hated me," she sniffs.
"I knew you would cry," Arya scoffs lightly now. "We're Starks, Sansa; and the same blood runs through both our hearts. We're wolves too: we're a pack, and we need each other. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Father told me that." She looks fierce as she says the words to her sister.
Sansa smiles through her tears. "You are so like him, Arya; and they say you have the look of our Aunt Lyanna."
"That's what the old Northern lords who came to Winterfell all said," she grins wryly at Sansa.
"I'm so sorry that I could not come for your wedding, Arya."
"So am I, Sansa; I'm so sorry for your….your accident."
Sansa nods sadly; and then takes Arya's hands in hers. "Come and meet my children, Arya. They will love you, I know they will. We may have Stark blood, sister; but I am also an Umber now, and you are a Karstark."
Arya laughs softly, almost a cough; and Sansa thinks she blushes a little. "Are your children giants, Sansa? Do they roar and need to be kept in chains?" She jests about the Umber sigil.
Now Sansa smiles at Arya's jest. "They are true Umbers; even Mother said so. Eddard will be big and tall like his father. It is too soon to say with Serena. My lord's elder daughters were big girls: tall and broad; but so was their mother, I am told." She furrows her brow to remember all that she has learned of the girls' mother in the last days. "Will you tell me of your lord, Arya? I met Harrion only once at Last Hearth; but I was very big with child then and so did not stay long in his company. Is he as bright and warm as the sun of winter?" she teases her sister with the words of House Karstark.
But Arya does not smile, she does not even try; nor does she look at Sansa. But before Sansa can bring herself to question her sister she feels her squeeze her hand tighter and when she looks again, Arya is smiling.
"There is someone I wanted you to see, Sansa; and I hope you will be pleased," she tells her.
Sansa is confused, and so Arya raises her chin to direct her to look towards the entrance to the crypts behind them. She turns and looks through the still-falling snow, searching for someone: a man, she thinks. Did Harrion not leave with Robb? When Sansa finally sees who is there, she is astonished and elated. Gods be true!
"Nymeria!"