"Sansa!" her husband greets her heartily when she enters the solar. "Come meet our guest," he tells her and then coughs wetly into one hand. He holds a pewter goblet in the other. Sansa rushes to him concernedly but he waves her worry away.
"Nothing this mulled wine won't settle," he jests mildly.
"As you say, my lord," she smiles for him.
"Lady Umber," the man she knows is Prince Oberyn greets her formally now. "It is my great honour to meet you at last: the wife of the formidable Lord Umber, and the sister of the King in the North. I am Prince Oberyn Martell, of Dorne." He offers his hand to her and when she takes it, he raises it and bows elegantly over her hand.
"I am also greatly honoured to meet you, Prince Oberyn: I had the pleasure of the company of your daughters when I sailed from Kings Landing to White Habor many years ago. I am deeply indebted to your most gracious Prince Doran for sending the ship for me, so that I could return home to my family. Please know that I have never forgotten his kindness and generosity, and never shall."
"I will be pleased to tell him so, my lady. He was happy to be of service to your brother, King Robb, after he defeated the Lannisters at Casterly Rock," his face darkens as he speaks of them. "It was Tywin Lannister who gave the order to kill my dear sister Elia and her children when Kings Landing was sacked during the Rebellion. We were of course very glad that your family could return Lord Tywin the favour," he sneers dangerously. "And of course," he turns to the Greatjon, "I wished to personally thank the man who killed the Mountain; though I admit it was a pleasure I had hoped to enjoy myself. I had planned to decorate our walls with his head."
"He lost his head right enough, Prince Oberyn; I saw to that," the Greatjon says mildly, "and no man ever deserved it more."
"May he burn in all seven hells," Prince Oberyn replies hotly. "Forgive me, Lady Umber, but-"
"There is naught to forgive, Prince Oberyn," she assures him gently. "I know of his many crimes, and of the heartbreak and destruction they have caused throughout his terrible life. I am deeply sorry that it should have touched your family as well, and so very tragically."
His eyes narrow at her, and Sansa sees that he is taking her measure.
"I see that you are as kind and gentle as my daughters have said, Lady Umber. They marveled that someone who suffered such torment and suffering at the hands of the Lannisters should have remained so sweet and innocent."
Sans ducks her head demurely now. "I fear I have not the skills of your remarkable daughters, Prince Oberyn; they are strong and resolute women. I have great admiration for them."
He smiles graciously, which only serves to heighten the effect of his sharp features. "There is also strength in kindness, my lady, and in not breaking under torment. I see that you have that strength."
"There, Sansa," her husband interjects. "Have I not told you the same?"
"You have, my lord," she smiles to remember his always encouraging words to her.
"Hrphm," he coughs once, "my lady is a lady…but with the heart of a wolf," he boasts to his guest.
Sansa blushes now and speaks again with Prince Oberyn. "Please accept again my gratitude for having aided in the search for my lord husband. I am once again indebted to your family for their assistance, and happy to be so. But, forgive me, there was another-"
"Har! 'Tis meself you mean to thank, I suspect. Tormund, I'm called; I've many other names, some that aren't fit to say before a fine lady like yourself, so Giantsbane will have to serve, though I use Thunderfist more," the big man announces loudly as he enters the solar with the Smalljon and young Eddard.
"Mother, Tormund is a wildling," he tells her excitedly. He's from beyond the Wall and he fought the Others with Father and the Night's Watch. They're not our enemies anymore, he says; and Smalljon agreed."
"Not your enemies: true; but we're not kneelers either, though your pretty little queen has them dragons, har! Only slaves kneel, I told her; and didn't she free slaves in the East, I ask you. So she asks me if I'd rather my folks were slaves to White Walkers. Har! True that; but a slave's a slave either way."
"All of Westeros has accepted Queen Daenerys Targaryen claim," Sansa notes now. "Even King…Lord Renly relinquished his throne to her and returned to his seat at Storm's End; how is it that the wildlings have not…not bent the knee as well?"
"Our terms are with the Lord Crow, your very own brother…though you'd not know it from looks, though he be right pretty in his own right, har! 'Tis kissed by fire, you are, and your boy here too: that'd be lucky by the Free Folks' reckoning, though your King weren't so lucky, but a prettier-than-most walking corpse he made as well-"
Sansa gasps now and she stares at the wildling man in horror. The Greatjon rises immediately and sets to coughing.
"Sansa? It's alright, Sansa. Here, come to me," he chokes out between wet rattles. "Come now," he embraces her comfortingly.
"Oh," is all she can manage to say before tears well up in her eyes. "Oh, poor Robb," she sobs, and her husband holds her closer and strokes her hair. "Forgive me-" she apologizes for her outburst.
"As you have said there is naught to forgive in such circumstances, my lady," Prince Oberyn interjects smoothly and glances meaningfully at the wildling.
The big man Tormund comes to stand before her now and she sees that though he is massive through the chest and belly, he is not so tall; especially when standing next to her husband. "Forgive me too: I'm no lord with fine manners but I'll take a knife to me own throat before I make such a fine woman cry from grief. We're too used to them creatures beyond the Wall; and I had to see to my own boy once when he was one o' them. I know it be hard; and worse if it be new to you."
Sansa nodded timidly. "I- I thank you. I should have known only…" She had not given thought to the manner of Robb's death; it had been bad enough that he was gone.
"I would have told you in time, Sansa; only it seemed too much to start with," her husband murmurs, and she nods again.
"Th-thank you, my lord." She sniffles and wipes her eyes now and sees they are all looking sadly at her. "I- I think I would speak with the maester," she tells them, "and leave you to enjoy your ales," she tries to smile graciously.
"Mayhaps some mulled wine would ease your mind, Lady Umber," Prince Oberyn offers now.
"Thank you, but I wished to speak to him of another matter. My lord, I may require your leave," she tells her husband now, "for I wish to have access to the maester's scrolls and books about childbearing. Berena has been teaching me midwifery, and I had studied with Maester Luwin at Winterfell."
The Greatjon studies her with a quizzical look. "Midwifery? Whatever for, Sansa? We have always had a midwife and a maester at Last Hearth; there is no need for you to take this task upon yourself."
"Berena has said there is always a lack of proper, trained midwives, particularly in the far North, my lord."
"It is a useful skill for a woman to have, regardless of birth; if you will permit me to say so, Lord Umber," Prince Oberyn offers easily. "It is not called the bloody bed for naught, I am told; though none of my daughters' mothers were lost in childbirth, I would hate for one of my own dear daughters to suffer for lack of knowledge. If you permit, my lord, I still have books from my days at the Citadel and I would be pleased to offer them to Lady Umber."
Sansa looks to her husband for approval now and though he seems unconvinced, he accepts nevertheless. "Well, if my lady truly wishes to learn…"
"I am grateful to you again, Prince Oberyn," Sansa thanks him.
"I will see that they are shipped to you once I return to Dorne, my lady." He smiles with another flash of white teeth and dark eyes.
Sans smiles now and the Greatjon smiles in turn to see it; then he cups her face with one hand and caresses her cheek with his thumb. "Tell the maester he's to share all his books and scrolls with you then," he tells her. "So long as you are happy, Sansa."
She visits the maester then, and discovers that he has the same reservations about her study as Maester Luwin.
"You needs have no fear with the care you will receive at Last Hearth, my lady," he says somewhat defensively.
"I know that most certainly, and I am grateful to you maester, however I understand that there is little in the way of such care for many commons, particularly in more remote areas here in the far North."
He snorts in judgement now. "Some that claim to know midwifery have attended births of naught more than cats, dogs or pigs, my lady; sometimes believing one has knowledge can be more dangerous than knowing one is ignorant. It is true that many suffer and die but it can only be the will of the gods, my lady; and who are we to argue with that?"
"Y-yes," Sansa answers, "but surely as a learned man, maester, you know of the benefits of knowledge and the wisdom that comes from experience."
"Indeed, my lady; but women cannot study at the Citadel, and so all of their knowledge is tainted by…emotion, and not grounded is true science as befits the person with true knowledge," he informs her ponderously.
"I see," Sansa replies noncommittally. "Pray then, maester, what is the science of my lord's condition? You have said it is a chest cold but quite severe…"
"The severity is due to his prolonged exposure to the cold, and an extreme cold it was, even for a Northman. Lord Umber is stronger than most men fortunately however the strain on his breathing was excessive, certainly worse than I have seen, my lady."
"But…he will recover, will he not?"
"Oh, most assuredly, my lady; so long as he gets proper rest and treatment: the poultices are helping as are the various teas that I offer him. He needs remain confined…more that he likes," he remarks archly.
"Yes," Sansa replies, "I fear that is true. My lord takes his responsibilities very seriously, maester: it will not be easy to have him relinquish them without a struggle." Remembering Lord Jon's words, she questions him tentatively again. "And so his heart and his lungs are not irreparably damaged by the strain?"
"Who can say for certain, my lady? He is a tremendously strong man, but he is of an advancing age. He is a grandfather twice over by his elder daughter now; and he has fought wars and battles with wildlings his entire life. Every man, every person has their limits, my lady; but he will recover from his current affliction in due time and may still live a long life. He is happy enough and so that is…encouraging. Idleness and misery and loneliness will shorten a man's years, my lady," he looks at her significantly. "It is better that a man has something to live for."
"I thank you for your reassurances, maester, and your honest counsel. I will return your tome as soon as I have made a throughout study of its contents," she says now. "Good day, maester."
She heads down the hallway quickly, thinking that if it were not for Berena's emotions and her experience not-grounded-in-science ,rather than the maester's watchful waiting, that she would be dead from infection and fever and not just possibly barren.
Something to live for…let Lord Jon marry and have heirs then: that will give my lord something to live for. She smarts against the injustice of the expectations required of her. I would give him many more children now, if only I could.
As she hurries along brooding, she nearly runs headlong into Prince Oberyn. "Oh! Forgive me, Prince Oberyn. I-"
"Forgive me for startling you, Lady Umber. I see you are eager to begin your study."
Sansa looks down at the book in her hands and forces a smile. "Yes, I-"
"Your maester disapproves, is that what troubles you, my lady? You have met my daughters; and so you know that I do not believe in the restrictions placed upon women and learning...of any kind."
"That is most open-minded of you, Prince Oberyn."
"I am hoping that you are similarly open-minded, Lady Umber," he says leadingly.
"I- I- Forgive me, I do not understand-" she stammers.
"You are concerned for your lord husband's health, I can see," he continues. "I had offered some remedies that I had brought from Dorne for my own use that I believe will improve Lord Umber's recovery, but the maester has shown no interest. I though mayhaps…you might be more willing to consider them? It is a remedy that would be best administered by a woman's gentle touch," his eyes glint with an almost seductive gleam and Sansa feels herself blush at his words and manner.
"Oil of the eucalyptus tree," he explains in a soft purring voice as he proffers a stoppered vial of coloured glass towards Sansa. "It is a strong aromatic oil which benefits the breathing passages: so strong that it needs be diluted, perhaps in bath water, or with another mild oil such as almond oil, and rubbed into the skin of the chest and back to soothe muscles and ease the passage of air into the lungs. It is a favourite oil of mine own paramour, Ellaria Sand."
Sansa hugs her book to her with one arm and takes the stoppered vial with the other hand.
"Here, permit me," he pulls the little cork at the top. "Smell, but not too close, my lady, it is strong," he cautions her.
Sansa holds it near her nose and takes a deep breath. Immediately she feels as though she has breathed fresh air into the depth of her lungs and her body almost seems to tingle. It reminds Sansa of the first time she tasted tea made from peppermint leaves; and she looks at the prince with bright eyes of surprise.
"Your husband would benefit greatly from the warm, dry air in Dorne; but I fear that he will not consent to leave his lands and castle for such a long voyage. This is the best I can offer him here."
"You are correct, Prince Oberyn: my lord has rarely left the North but for reasons of war, and he takes his role and responsibilities as the Lord of Last Hearth most seriously, as is proper." She looks at the vial curiously. "How is it that you have need of this remedy in Dorne? Surely you must suffer few if any chest cold in the warm, dry air."
The prince smiles good-naturedly now though his dark eyes still have that seductive gleam that unnerves her. "The desert is very cold at night but…in truth, my lady, we use it mostly for pleasure. Rub-downs with aromatic oils are a treasured prelude to love in Dorne, enhancing the senses and heightening the act of coupling. I can see that you love your lord husband, my lady," he tells her when he sees her blush furiously, "there is no shame in enjoying each other. We are quite open about such matters in Dorne but…I am not in Dorne now," he relents. "I hope I have not given offence, my lady. Lord Umber had been most kind and hospitable; and it has been an honour to be of service to him and to his lovely young lady wife. I had only wished to be of further assistance. "
Sansa raises her eyes to his searchingly, and sees that he is sincere; and so she and the looks to the vial again. Finally she smiles politely, though inside her heart is fluttering. "I…you have not offended, Prince Oberyn. I am very grateful for your concern for my husband's health, and for your assistance."