Hodor carries her to her bedchamber, leaving her with Maester Luwin, her maid and Berena. There she is stripped of her icy-stiff wet gown and underskirts and stockings and smallclothes. Her maid pulls a woolen bedgown over her head and towels her hair dry before the roaring hearth fire as Berena wraps her in a warm fur from the bed and hands her a pewter cup of mulled wine. Sansa shake her head wordlessly.
"Please, Sansa," Maester Luwin advises her patiently, "you needs get warm quickly. I only thank the gods that Hodor was leaving the stables and saw you make for the godswood in just your gown and slippers."
You have reason to thank the gods; that was all I had wanted. She shakes her head again.
"Think of your children, then: your lord's children. You must stay well for their sakes."
Silently, she relents and takes the cup from Berena. She takes small sips at first, and then drains the cup all at once.
"That should do it," the maester remarks archly. "Come under the furs now, Sansa; and promise me you will stay there until morning. I will come to see you again then."
"Roslin…the queen," she whispers.
"I have given her dreamwine to help her sleep. She is keeping it all inside…as befits a queen. I see you still have some of your romantic impulses, Sansa; and just when I had thought you so level-headed and practical."
She turns her head away from him. The gods want their due, and I would give my life for his: that could not be more practical.
"You have seen worse than this, my lady," he reminds her gently. "You are strong; just stay strong now."
"I'll stay with milady, Maester Luwin; least until she sleeps," Berena tells him, and nods to Sansa's maid who leaves with her wet clothing bundled into a dripping ball.
"The children," Sansa asks their nurse now.
"Serena'd be asleep wit' the princesses and their nurse, milady; young Eddard is reading all about the stars with Prince Bran. I'll bring him to you before bed, if you'd like."
Sansa shakes her head. "Best not…in case I have caught cold," she murmurs and then sobs once after a pause. "What shall I tell him?"
"Don't seem to me you have much to tell him, milady," Berena notes calmly. "Why the Lord Commander thought to send that message by raven," she tuts as she spreads and extra fur over Sansa's bed. "Best to say nothing when you know nothing, it seems to me. Look what comes of it."
"They must be missing for some time, Berena. Jon is not inexperienced in such matters, I imagine; else he would not have been made Lord Commander."
"We will know more only when they tell us, Sansa," the maester says now as he rises from his chair. "They are clearly doing all they can. Though I was surprised to hear Lord Umber's son was at another castle on the Wall."
"My lord and his heir never ride out together: so that they are not both lost if anything…" she leaves the rest unsaid.
Berena changes the subject quickly. "Who'd be this Prince of Dorne, then? Not a man of the Night's Watch."
"Prince Oberyn Martell is the brother of Prince Doran of Dorne, known as the Red Viper: a great adventurer and a formidable warrior in his own right. I am certain a fight against the Others was too intriguing a prospect for him to stay away. He is very far from Dorne at the Wall, and beyond."
"But he is very well-traveled, I recall his daughters telling me," Sansa remembers. "He has travelled all over Westeros and Essos, where he fought with mercenary companies."
"That is true, my lady; he even studied at the Citadel for a time. However, I do not think that a life of order and service suited him," he scoffs mildly.
Sansa is silent now.
"Well, I'll leave you to rest, Sansa." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze that conveys his sympathy and she closes her eyes tightly. She keeps them closed even after he is gone.
"Berena," she whispers now.
"Yes, milady," she hears her voice come closer.
"Talk to me, please. I- I would not be alone with my thoughts this night," she pleads softly.
"Very well, milady," the older woman replies wearily.
"Forgive me," Sansa reconsiders. "I am selfish; you must be tired. I fear very much that you have must needed to act more often as my nurse than the children's nurse."
"I'm heavy-hearted myself this night, milady. I said once the Last Hearth was my home and family now and mind the lord and I have had our differences, I still feel anxious: for you and for all the lord's children that I saw birthed and then nursed and watched grow." Sansa opens her eyes now and thinks the woman's lip trembles a little. "It's of no comfort to you to say this, milady, but…I lost my own husband when he did not return, and t'was on a night very much like this one," she says distantly.
Sansa sees her grief etched on her aged face. "I am so very sorry, Berena: to have forgotten your own losses," she tells her now. "He…he was a huntsman, you have said."
"Aye, he was. A big man, and strong. He were older than me as well," she tells Sansa. "Came down from the mountains one Winter and asked at an alehouse if any man in the village had a daughter to wed. He weren't one to waste words nor time: if aught needed doing, he did it. So when he were ready to wed and breed sons, he ahead and did it."
"Did…did you love him?"
"In time, milady: he were a good man, a hard worker and plain-spoken and honest. Hurt him terrible to lose our younger ones, but he held on and so did I. Late that same winter he went out to find to eat and never came back," she says as she looks into the middle distance. "The worst were not knowing what happened: if it were a beast or just the cold. The worst were not knowing," she repeats.
"Yes," Sansa agrees quietly, "it is."
They are interrupted by a soft but insistent knocking at the chamber door.
"Sansa? Please let me in," Arya calls, her tone uncharacteristically gentle and courteous.
Sansa nods to Berena and, as soon as the older woman opens the door, Arya bursts in and throws herself on Sansa's bed.
"I'm sorry, Sansa, I'm so, so sorry. I wanted to comfort you, not hurt you and make you run off like that," she tells her in a solicitous rush of words. "I know you love him. I know you're scared. I'm-" she stops and swallows and gathers herself. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to help you like you've helped me about…about the baby," she tells her.
Tears fill Sansa's eyes at her sister's kind words that are made all the more sincere by her heartfelt effusion. "I know," she tells her in a hoarse whisper and holds out her arms to her.
Arya hugs her tightly, like a frightened child clinging to a parent. "I want him to come back for you, Sansa, for you and your children; just as I want Robb to come back for Roslin and her girls."
Sansa nods tearfully over her shoulder. "And Harrion," she whispers, "for you and your babe, Arya."
The door creaks and their mother walks in silently and looks at them with a drawn face.
"It is nice to see my daughters close now. You were never close as girls," she remarks.
Sansa sees her mother's own worry and grief, so like Berena's; and she reaches a hand out to her now.
"Come sit with us, Mother, please. I know that you understand," she tells her.
Lady Catelyn sits stiffly on the edge of the bed and speaks dully. "I watched my own husband ride off to war, not once but twice. Then I watched him ride off to Kings Landing…That was not the time I feared he would not return, but he did not. Then I watched Robb leads his host to war; and I waited for him to return." She nods slightly. "All we can do is wait…and hope that they come back." She looks at her daughters now. "I would have hoped that you would never needs do this as I did," she says shakily. "I hope- I hope you never needs grieve as I have," she says solemnly.
Sansa and Arya look at her sympathetically now and Sansa squeezes her hand. Her mother seems not to notice.
"Of course, you grieved for your father as well but… I just hope I needs not grieve a son as well; nor you for a brother," she continues.
"I'll leave you now, milady, if you've no need of me," Berena offers quietly.
"Thank you, Berena," Sansa tells her and the old woman slips away and closes the chamber door. "Forgive me, Mother, I worry for Robb as well, as my brother and my king; but he is not father to my children nor is my life with him."
Her mother nods again, absently, and then remarks: "Roslin sleeps."
"Yes, Mother. The Maester gave her dreamwine."
Catelyn Stark's face seems even more drawn and harsh. "He could give me sweetsleep and milk of the poppy….and I would still lie awake this night," she says almost bitterly, "and all the nights to come."
Sansa is startled out of her worry to see her mother so deeply angry and unhappy; so much that she appears to be a hollow shade of herself, and all her love and warmth are supplanted by the dark emptiness of loss. Sansa hopes fervently that this will not be her fate as well. Arya glances at her, and she sees her sister is also daunted. Catelyn then seems to rouse and turns to Arya suddenly.
"Did not the maester confine you to your chambers, Arya? You must mind yourself and your child," she says now.
"Yes, Mother; but I wanted to speak to Sansa."
"And have you spoken to her, Arya Underfoot?" Lady Catelyn asks in a voice that is once again their mother's voice.
"I have, Mother," Arya looks chastened. "Good night, Sansa."
"Good night, Arya," Sansa says feelingly. "Good night, Mother."
Her mother turns to cup her cheek gently now. "Try to sleep, Sansa. You needs care for your children as well."
"Yes, Mother."
As she leaves with Arya, Sansa thinks of how, even in her pain and grief, her mother is still always a mother. As I will be, if my fate should be the same as hers, she thinks now. She had promised her husband that she would live; and that she would care for their children and tell them of him. She can hear his voice in her mind now:
And…and think of me, if you would.
"Oh, my dearest husband…how I do think of you," she whispers into the empty chamber. "I will think of you always, and tell our children of you. Eddard loves you fiercely and he is your son in every way: brave and kind and strong-willed. You have taught him so well. And Serena…your good girl is so stubborn and so full of life; she is a little giant breaking off her chains just like an Umber," she smiles even as she sniffles and brushes fresh tears away.
There is another knocking at her door now, and Sansa thinks that Arya has returned.
"Come in," she calls quietly.
But it is Bran, carried by Hodor; and though she has seen Bran being carried before she is struck this night by how truly helpless he looks; perhaps because she feels so very helpless herself.
He should be a man grown, and yet he cannot even move about the castle without help. My poor, sweet brother… Mayhaps the gods truly are cruel.
"Sansa, can I talk to you; or is it too late?"
"Of course you can, Bran. Please come in, and Hodor too. I am so grateful to you, Hodor, for helping me: I fear I was quite overcome by the news the raven brought from Jon," she tells him gently.
"Hodor," the big man looks at her sadly.
"Set me down, Hodor," Bran tells him. "Sit over there and sleep if you want. I'll wake you when I'm ready to go back to my chamber."
"Hodor," he nods and lumbers to Sansa's armchair next to the hearth. He puts one big hand over the other on his belly and leans his head to one side.
"Are you alright, Sansa?" Bran asks now then seems to shake his head. "I mean-"
"I know what you mean, Bran; and no I am not alright but I am still here...and I will needs bear up to whatever happens, no matter what happens, for my children. Did Eddard go to bed?"
"Yes, I stayed with him until he fell asleep. He doesn't know; he thinks you have a cold and are confined to your chamber like his Aunt Arya. He's quite interested in the stars: Lord Umber told him the stars on a clear night in the North are a wonder to see, and so he wants to tell him that he's seen them through the maester's far-eye."
"Thank you for watching over him, Bran," she tells him. "His father loves to tell him about the North," she adds wistfully.
Bran is quiet a moment. "He-" but he stops himself and seems to struggle; and Sansa is suddenly alert.
"What is it, Bran? Can you see him?" she asks anxiously. "Is he lost beyond the Wall? Is he with Robb?"
"I…I can't see beyond the Wall, Sansa; at least when I try I cannot see anyone or anything but ice and fire," he says with obvious frustration. "I- I saw him at Last Hearth…in your godswood," he tells her reluctantly.
Sansa's heart stills. "Oh…but he cannot be there, unless…is it his shade, Bran?" she whispers tremulously.
He furrows his brow but shakes his head as well. "I don't think so: it can't be because…because you were there with him, Sansa," he looks to her now.
She thinks she understands now. "You are seeing us from a time before," she says wistfully. "Just as you said you were able to see all the way back to the First Men. Were we happy, Bran? It seems that we had so little time to be happy now."
"You were happy, Sansa; at least I think you were happy. He was holding you, but I could not see your face, only your hair: but I knew it was you."
She nods silently now. She likes to think that she would be with him in the godswood at Last Hearth, and that he would hold her forever. She likes to know that Bran can see these memories of them together, even after they are gone.
"I like to know that you can see us when we were together, Bran; I only wish I could look back and see it myself…but I can feel it, in my heart I can feel it. I hope it never goes away."
"Sansa, forgive me for asking but I have not seem Lord Umber since Robb called the banners for Father. Whenever they have met since, it has been at another castle."
Sansa thinks now. "You are right, Bran: my lord has not been to Winterfell in all the years that we have been wed. What is it you are asking?"
Bran looks uncomfortable but asks anyway. "His beard and hair, Sansa: what color are they?"
"B-brown," she replies, confused, "mixed with grey; I suppose he is mostly grey now but-"
"Grey," he repeats emphatically, "you're certain, Sansa?"
"Yes, Bran, of course I am certain," she tells him, "but what- why do you ask?"
Bran looks at her carefully now. "I have never thought that I could see into the future, Sansa, but…when I saw you together: Lord Umber's beard and hair…they were white."