If you're there, watch over her, she repeats to herself, and she wonders if he thinks of her as well. He watched over me once, and saw that I was delivered safely to King Renly.
"Sansa? Is it you he means? I know that you asked King Renly to spare his life."
"I…I cannot say, Bran; but he did protect me the night the city fell to Renly. The Lannisters meant to have me killed so that their loss would also be a Northern loss. My head on a spike was to be their last victory over Robb."
"It would have been their only victory, since Father's execution: Robb won every battle," Bran tells her.
Sansa smiles vaguely now. "He had help," she murmurs.
Bran smiles and demurs. "Yes, he did Sansa. The Greatjon took most of the West for him; while Roose Bolton took the Riverlands and Harrenhal."
Sansa stares off into the middle distance. "I suppose it should have been some comfort then that Robb did not marry me to Lord Bolton," she muses, "though I suspect he would not have graciously accepted a bride thought to have been despoiled…"
"As Lord Umber did," Bran finishes tentatively.
Sansa turns to look at him. "As Lord Umber had thought he did: I was not despoiled, Bran…no matter what they may say. My lord knows that well…" From our bedding, she could say but she does not. "A man knows these things, a man of experience at least."
Bran turns red; and Sansa is aware now that he does not know such things, though he is nearly a man, and that he possibly never will because of his legs. Her heart hurts for him now.
"They thought the Hound would not protect you unless…"
"Unless I had earned his protection on my back? Is that what they say, Bran? Were that true, Queen Cersei would have earned his protection and allegiance a thousand times over me: she said a woman's best weapon is between her legs, and that I had best learn how to use it," she recounts with a sneer of disgust, for Cersei and for herself. "Do you think I could ever bring myself to be like her?" Her words are harsh, and she turns away from her brother as her eyes fill with tears of guilt and remorse.
"Then how have you failed your family, Sansa?" he asks gently after a quiet pause. "Your son…both of your children are the Greatjon's children-"
"They are," she rounds on him, "they are my husband's children; but the one I lost…." Sansa catches her breath now and realizes that she has divulged her most horrible secret, and so has trusted him with her life…and Lord Jon's; but there is no taking it back now. "I- I betrayed him, Bran…and I am so ashamed. I have failed in my most important duty. I-"
"But you love him, Sansa…don't you? Then why?" She hears his surprise, and his disappointment.
She takes a shuddery breath and tries to explain. "I have not always loved him, Bran: I did not understand why they wed me to him and so…and so I thought it had been for a reward or an alliance and because I did not think anyone wanted me at Winterfell anymore. I- I thought that you all hated me," she sobs softly now, "because I had wanted to marry Joffrey once, and be his queen; and so you all sent me away to forget me. Gods help me, but I was so lonely and unhappy. Lord Umber was kind but he treated me like a girl, a fragile doll; I would almost have preferred if he had been harsh with me for I knew how to bear that but I could not understand his seemingly kind…indifference: as though I were another servant, meant to run his castle and warm his bed and wear his gifts before guests in his hall…like a palfrey in a shiny new bridle and saddle."
…I was to be sold to some stranger like a horse, to be ridden whenever my new owner liked…
Sansa squeaks in horror and slaps her hands over her ears to recall Cersei's bitter words about marriage and to think that she should have felt the same way at one time, especially about her husband.
"No," she whimpers faintly, "no, please: I'm not like her."
"Like who, Sansa? Cersei?"
Sansa sobs once. "She poisoned me…with her bitterness and her hatred and her scorn: she said I was a stupid fool to want to be loved, and that love would kill me. It did not kill me, but it killed my babe, Bran, because the gods sought to punish me; but I lived and I may never have another child now and so my lord is punished as well. But I was a stupid fool, like she said; and all because I wanted to be loved…but I found I did not even know what that truly meant until it was too late."
Bran pushes himself closer to her with poles that he sticks in the snow to move his sled. When he reaches her, he throws one down to take her hand tightly.
"You are not like her, Sansa; do you hear me?" he tells her. "Do you think Cersei ever cried tears that she betrayed Robert? Or thought that she deserved the punishment of the gods? And it is not too late: you love him now, don't you; and not just because you are sorry about…about what you did?"
She shakes her head and dabs at her tears with the pads of her fingertips. "No, I love him because he is kind and good; and because he treats me as a wife now and…and I think that he loves me too," she sniffles. "Is that selfish?"
"Everyone wants to be loved, Sansa," Bran tells her sincerely.
She laughs shortly, mirthlessly. "I said that once…and I told myself that I would always believe it. I guess it is not love that I doubt, but myself: I always seem to get it wrong somehow."
"You do not sound like you have it wrong now, Sansa. Mayhaps you were too young to be wed; or, like Arya, you needed time with your family to remember everything we were taught. You have made a mistake, a very grave mistake that is true; but I know you have a good and loving heart, Sansa. I know that you would not mean to hurt someone that you loved, or even someone that you didn't. You must have been hurting very badly to have done something that you knew to be wrong."
Sansa smiles feebly through her tears. "I thought it was romantic…gods be good, I am a stupid fool," she laments. "And the gods were right to punish me but…but what if they meant for me to die, Bran; and because I did not they will instead take away my lord?" she whispers hoarsely.
"We can't know what the gods will do, Sansa; we can only do what is right…and hope that they understand. Mayhaps the gods mean for you to live a long life to make it up to your husband," he proposes.
"That would not be a punishment, Bran; that would be all my prayers answered," she says softly.
"Then do that, Sansa; and mayhaps the gods will favour you this time. We all make mistakes, and we must live with them. Father did when he lied about Jon: he hurt mother to protect Lyanna's boy. That was brave, though it was not easy. You will needs be brave and keep your secret all your life, Sansa: would it not be more hurtful and dangerous if your lord knew?"
Sansa looked up to the heart tree now. "It would," she answered dully.
"Then protect those that you love, Sansa, and live with your mistake, and your lie. You were wrong; but now you can make it right. Father never got that chance," he tells her bluntly.
Sansa looks at him now. "You have always been the sweetest boy in the world, Bran; but you are no longer a boy, and you have become wiser than your years even. I want to do what is right, and I pray that the gods will forgive me in time." She bites her lip and blinks nervously. "Do…do you hate me, Bran? I will understand-"
"I don't hate you, Sansa; I never could." He looks down at his legs now and tires to smile bravely. "We have all suffered because of everything that happened; and we all have out burdens because of it: Robb tries to be a good king and a good husband, but it is demanding, even more than having to be Lord of Winterfell; and his heart is elsewhere. Arya strides about in breeches with a sword at her hip because it makes her think that no one can hurt her again. And Rickon…Rickon will not speak of Father: it may be that he does not remember him, but he is hurt and angry and wild inside. It comes out through Shaggydog mostly but sometimes Rickon can be dangerous, even to himself."
"I am sorry that I did not see him, or Robb, before they went to White Harbor to sail for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, where my lord met them. I want Robb to know that I am happy now; though he may not have wanted to see me."
"Of course he would. Sansa. I see your burden it that you no longer trust that those you love will love you back, especially if you are not some perfect girl you heard about in songs. But you're wrong: we all love you, Sansa."
Sansa smiles weakly; she feels tired from her confession but her heart is full because of his words.
"Thank you," she whispers. "And you, Bran," Sansa reaches her hand to touch is knee though she knows that he cannot feel it. "What of your burden? Are you not angry? I wish I knew how to help you, if I could. Would you tell me, Bran, if I could help you?"
He sighs resignedly. "I used to be angry, and hurt, and ashamed; sometimes I still am when I cannot do the things I want, the things I did as a boy. But I can do other things, Sansa; Maester Luwin has helped me to learn a lot; and so has Jojen Reed. Mayhaps I'll forge a chain at the Citadel someday, or I'll write all of Old Nan's stories into a book…except…they weren't all just stories, were they? The worst ones are true now," he looks at her and his eyes are shadowed.
Sansa's heart tightens and her breathing seems to stop for a moment. All of her tales of woe and the troubles that had plagued her family seem to matter little when faced with another Long Night. Then she has a thought.
"Can you see, Bran: beyond the Wall? They have weirwoods there, don't they? That wildling woman, Osha, says that the old gods are the only gods beyond the wall," she asks desperately.
Bran shakes his head doubtfully. "I've tried, Sansa, I've tried to see beyond the Wall…but…" he seems reluctant to speak.
"What is it, Bran? Tell me, please."
"When I try to look…all I see is ice, Sansa: ice and fire."
"Mother!"
Sansa turns now to see her son approaching the heart tree with Arya striding behind him her sword in a belt slung around her slim hips.
"You said we'd pray together, Mother," he chides her, "like Father taught me."
"I was speaking with your Uncle Bran, Eddard; I have not prayed for your Father yet because I was waiting for you. Did you like your training with your Aunt Arya?" she asks him now.
"Aunt Arya let me swing Needle; but I have to learn Water Dancing, she said. I have to learn to be quiet as a shadow and swift like a…"
"Swift like a deer," Arya finishes for him. "And what else did I teach you, Eddard?"
"Fear cuts deeper than swords," he recites. "Is that true, Mother? Father and Smalljon fight without dancing; and they don't fear anything!"
Sansa eye's meet those of her brother and sister. Her son does not fully realize what kind of war the men of the North are fighting. No army has fought the Others for eight thousand years, and no one is sure how they won. Old Nan's stories told them that the children of the forest had helped the First Men defeat the White Walkers, but the children of the forest are all gone now.
Sansa holds her hand out to her son now. "Let us pray for them anyway, Eddard. Let us all pray for the old gods to watch over them: Father, and your brothers, and King Robb and Uncle Rickon, and Lord Harrion who is your Aunt Arya's lord husband, and the Lord Commander and all the men of the Night's Watch."
Arya kneels now behind her sister and young Eddard who turns to look at her now. "I'm going to pray for them all not to die," he tells her.
"Valar morghulis," Arya intones with a gruff softness like a prayer.
"What is that?" Sansa asks her.
"It's High Valerian. It means: all men must die." She holds her sisters stricken gaze.
"Must you say that before Eddard?" Sansa reaches a protective arm around her son. "He is so young to know such things."
"So were we, Sansa," Bran tells her levelly.
"I'm not afraid, Mother," her son tells her bravely. "Father will come back…just like Aunt Arya's wolf."
Sansa looks down on his proud face, full of love and admiration for his father; and she smiles gently for him.
Yes, let him come back like Nymeria came back; and not like Lady came back.