The Greatjon stares in angry astonishment now as Sansa tells him of the attack on Winterfell. Eddard sits hunched over in his chair watching his father's reactions.

"That filthy squid dared lay hands on Lady Umber!" He shouts and coughs until Sansa is not certain which is making his face redder. "How did he think he would get away with it? Even his queen would not have protected him: she and King Robb had a pact! And her cur whelp of a brother breaks it and tries to abscond with my wife!"

"My lord, please: you must not excite yourself so. I fear for your health," she implores him.

He sputters and wheezes and his brow is deeply furrowed and she clearly sees the rage burning in his eyes. She has seen a similar wild rage burn in another man's eyes once, in King's Landing, and it frightened her too.

"Who killed the blasted squid then: was it Cassel? Good man, Rodrik," he nods approvingly and thumps the table.

"H-his own man killed him, my lord: he…he said he wanted me for himself," she glances at her son and away, embarrassed. "He said he was going to hunt me for…for sport," she stammers.

"Gods be good," her husband mutters in shock. "That would be the work of Bolton's bastard. They say he committed such crimes against common girls, but they never found him after Cassel killed his man, the one who stank. He left Lady Hornwood to starve to death in a tower in her own castle. We all thought he had got clean away during the war." He keeps looking at her when she does not speak again. "What is it, Sansa? Did he hurt you?" He glances at Eddard as well and back to her.

"N-no, my lord; h-he was killed too…before he could hurt me," she tells him as she wrings her hands together in anticipation of telling him who killed the man.

"I had to, Father: he was going to hurt Mother. I had to protect her…like you told me!" Eddard blurts suddenly. "I- I used the dagger you gave me…to kill him."

The Greatjon's eyes go wide and his breath leaves him is a wheezy rush. He takes his son by the shoulders and leans in to him. "You killed a man…to save for mother?" he demands.

"Yes, Father: I had to! There was no one else," he pleads with tear-filled eyes. But his father pulls him close and embraces him tightly.

"My boy! My brave boy!" he exclaims in wonder. "You…you saved your mother! Thank the gods!" He leans back at arms' length to look down on him proudly. "You did good, Eddard. Gods but I'm proud of you. How old are you, now? Six?"

"Almost, Father…"

"Almost…" He chuckles and then laughs and then coughs noisily. "Almost six and you've killed your first man," he murmurs solemnly. "That can be a hard thing, Eddard. Are you scared?"

Eddard furrows his brow and looks the image of his father. "No," he insists angrily. "He was going to hurt mother. I'm glad he's dead. I'm glad I killed him. But…mother thinks bad men might hurt me for killing him. She said tell no one but you."

The Greatjon glances up at Sansa and then nods in agreement. "Aye, that's best; we don't know who hid this man for so long. He must have had loyal friends somewhere. We can tell your brother though: he'll protect you as I will." He slaps the boy on the shoulder heartily. "He'll want to hear all about it. After all, he has trained you as well. Sansa?"

"I will fetch him for you, my lord."

Sansa sits and listens as her son recounts his deed to his father and brother, and she watches as their astonishment turns to pride and love for her boy.

"You did everything we taught you, little brother," Smalljon tells him, "and you did it well. You have a lot more to learn; but you have already learned to make use of what you know. You'll be a great warrior one day: fearless and strong. We're all terribly proud of you, Eddard." He looks to his father now who nods back. "Stand now, Eddard."

The three men stand and the Greatjon looks down on his youngest boy. "You know we don't have knights here in the North, boy; but we have just as much honor and pride as they do. More, I'll wager; and there's none that can boast of what you did for your mother, and you deserved to be honored yourself, so…kneel, boy."

Eddard looks to his mother and then does as he is bid. His father takes his greatsword and pulls it from its scabbard in one easy motion. When he stands before his son he lowers the blade and lightly touches his son's shoulder with it.

"Lord Eddard Umber, you knelt as a boy; now rise and stand as a man."

Sansa watches her son lifts his chin and looks up to his father with pride and then stands tall. Then his small face breaks into such a smile of gushing happiness that she feels her heart fill for him to have this acknowledgment from his father and older brother.

My boy. My brave boy but…still a boy. Do not grow up so quickly, she thinks now; but she holds her arms out to him when he turns to her and embraces him fiercely. "My brave son," she croons as she cradles him.

"I'm a man now, Mother," he mumbles into her neck and, for the first time in his young life, he pulls away from her.

Though her heart breaks a little now, she smiles bravely and cups his cheek lovingly. "Yes, you are," she agrees solemnly, "but I hope that I can still be your mother, Eddard."

His sweet face droops a little now as he asks uncertainly: "Won't you always be my mother?"

Sansa smiles in relief. "Yes, Eddard: I will always be your mother."

….

The maester knocks at the door now and the Greatjon grumbles yet again. "Another blasted poultice. Sansa, please see to our guests until I am done here."

"Both Prince Oberyn and the wildling Tormund are in the yard, Father; I should be as well," Smalljon tells him. "You too, Eddard; you still have much to learn. Go get into warm furs now."

Sansa checks her reflection in the mirror on her dressing table. "I needs make rounds of the castle then, my lord; I have been gone so very long and should consult with your uncles again. Then I shall meet our guests. Will you join us in the hall or solar?"

He coughs into his great fist before answering. "As soon as I am done here; I'm still lord," he answers.

Sansa curtseys and smiles sweetly for him, and then follows after her son and good-son into the hallway and closing the door behind her. There she is unnerved to see Lord Jon waiting for her, but she smiles primly and nods to him.

"Lord Jon, I thank you for all you do for Eddard-"

But he stands to block her way and takes her by her elbows so they are standing close together. Sansa looks around sharply to ascertain that no one else is near.

"You see how sick he is, don't you?" he asks her. "We may soon have our chance."

Sansa understands immediately his meaning and recoils, but he is holding her arms too tightly.

"It…it is a chest cold: that is all. He will recover," she insists.

"Aye, from the cold…but he was many days and nights beyond the Wall wandering in and breathing in that cold : you don't understand that it was like breathing daggers of ice into your lungs when…when they came."

"He is strong," she counters.

"He is," he admits. "That is how he lived; but for how long? His heart, his lungs…the strain…how long do you believe he has? It may not be long…my lady," he speaks the term tenderly, as he once did when they were lovers.

Sansa stares at him a full moment and then tears her eyes away. "No. No, he will be well. He told me so. He-"

"And do you believe that Greatjon Umber would ever admit to weakness?" he argues in a whisper. "And to his wife…his pretty, young wife?"

She looks up at him now, with resolve. "Yes, I am his wife. I will remain his wife; and I will be only his for however long his life may last; be it a fortnight or forty years. I swore that on the old gods and I mean to keep my words. I had thought that you had sworn the same," she challenges.

"I don't ask you to break your vows…again," he adds and his meaning cuts her deeply. "I mean after he is gone. We can be free to marry. Your brother, the king, is dead…gods grant him rest; and the other one-"

"Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell," she corrects him firmly.

"Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell cannot force you to wed again against your will-"

"I never married against my will," Sansa insists though she knows that this is true only because she had never voiced her reluctance to her family then, "only without understanding. If they had only told me why they had sent me here…" she stops herself now: she knows she cannot change what has happened, she can only decide how she acts now. "I will needs obey my brother Bran as much as I ever obeyed Robb, my king." She can say this with conviction because, in her mind, Sansa knows Bran would never do anything to hurt her; and would stop anyone who tried. If and when she married again, it would be her choice: she did not doubt it.

"And if another like Theon Greyjoy comes for you, where will you hide then…behind a crippled boy? Do you not see how men want you?" He looks down the length of her tall body and back again. "I can give you my protection, and you can remain at Last Hearth…with your children."

Sansa's heart stops as soon as she realizes the truth of his words. If she were to remarry, her new lord would not likely want to raise her children; and Lord Jon could decide to keep them at Last Hearth as would be his right as the lord of House Umber. She would have no right and no say in the welfare of her own children.

"That…that would be your right, Lord Jon, when you are the Lord of Last Hearth; and I know that you will treat them well…as you always have," she tells him though her heart has turned cold inside her.

He snorts now and lets go of her arms. "Ever courteous," he observes archly. "Fear not, my lady: I would never turn you or your children away from Last Hearth. You will be my father's widow and mother to his children; and I love them as much because they are yours as I do because they are my own brother and sister."

"I- I thank you," she replies humbly, but she is fearful nevertheless. He once wished his own father dead; she prays he does not wish the same again.

"I pray that he has the long life you hope for, my lady…he is my own father, after all. I had only hoped… But I see we do not share the same hopes anymore."

"Lord Jon," she calls softly as he begins to turn away from her. "I pray that you find the happiness that you deserve…I only know that it can never be with me, for I will carry the burden of my betrayal for all my life and-"

"And I am that betrayal," he states flatly. "I thank you for the truth, my lady." He bows his head respectfully, and leaves her standing in the hallway.

….

Once she has regained her composure, Sansa searches for Mors Umber. She finds him standing in a doorway and glaring malevolently into the yard where the wildling man Tormund is sparring with the garrison. She can tell by how he sways on his feet that he is already in his cups, though it is not yet midday. Realizing that he will be of little help to her this day, she asks then if he will guide her through the castle the next morning.

He turns unsteadily towards her now. "It's still standing, isn't it? I've done my duty as castellan," he glances and looks hard at the wildling man. "I've done right to keep us safe."

"I do not doubt you for you have always done your best duty by all in Last Hearth; and I thank you most gratefully. Would that I could have stayed and helped, but my lord commanded otherwise," she placates him.

"Your lord commanded otherwise alright," he snarls, and she smells the strong ale on his sour breath. "We should have killed them all years ago; or let the White walkers kill them and then the dragons burn them all. No good will come of this…and it's be on the head of the Lord Commander: a bastard through and through."

Sansa stares back levelly at him; but she is more broken-hearted for him and his unhappiness than she is angry about his words towards her husband and Jon. "We will needs discuss the choice of a new maid as well," she continues politely. "My own girl stayed in Winterfell to be wed to a villager. "

"Of course she did," he jeers. "Women are always leaving. No loyalty. No heart. No honour." He sneers angrily and sways again as he looks down on her. "'Least you came back," he admits grudgingly. "Mind you don't get carried off too," he barks.

Disheartened now, Sansa turns away from the yard and back towards the hall. She could return to assist her husband in their chambers but instead she walks aimlessly around the castle, nodding greetings to all those she meets until she finds herself in the North tower. She could climb the stairs to the storerooms and inspect the rations by herself but she does not. She sits instead on the bottom step and stares emptily at the spot where she fell. She thinks of her loss, and finds that it still hurts. She remembers Theon looking her over with want, just as Lord Jon had done when he had…proposed marriage? But he had never said that he loved her; and she wonders if he ever truly did.

Do you not see how men want you? She cringes now and shakes her head: she does not want to be wanted, not like that…without love. She still wants to be loved; Cersei be damned; and she knows what love is now. It is not meeting secretly in a tower. It is not hiding and lying and fearing discovery. Love held her in his arms when she discovered that she may be barren. Love comforted her when she unburdened herself of her grief and pain from Kings Landing and after. Love carried a lock of her hair in a pouch around his neck through the killing frozen cold beyond the Wall for days and days, fighting to return to her and their children. She wants nothing now but to be true to that love, and the past forgotten; but she cannot forget.

No loyalty. No heart. No honour. She remembers Mors' bitter words, and how they once would have been true of her.

She feels the tears rise in her, and chokes then back down.

I took a man's head. I am stronger than this.

She stands instead, and goes to find her husband.