Sansa could hear her daughter bawling as she came down the hallway. She hurried towards the nursery now.
"Serena, my little bird, why are you crying?" she asks as she enters and sees her little girl pushing her nurse away as she tries to comfort her.
"I wanna go home!" Serena wails to her mother.
Sansa stares at her in confusion. "But…but Serena we are home-"
"No! Winner-fell!" Her daughter is red in the face and struggling to knock over all her toys in a fury. "I don' like here!"
Berena shakes her head at Sansa. "Forgive her, milady, but she's no one to play with anymore. Young Eddard just finished telling her that he can't be playing with girls. He says he's a man now, milady."
"Oh," Sansa understands. "I see." She walks over to them and kneels by her daughter. "I will play with you, Serena. Here let me help you pick these dolls up and straighten your tea table," she tells her gently.
"NO!" Serena yells. "Not you. Wan' sister like pwincess!"
Sansa looks on her sadly now, and wishes that she could offer comfort to her daughter. It breaks her heart to think that she may never give her little girl a sister; but it is not her pain that matters right now.
"Come here, Serena," she tells her. "Come let me hold you, little bird." Her daughter struggles a moment but then subsides into her mother's warm embrace and lets herself be rocked and soothed.
"Here, that's better now," Sansa croons as she strokes her girl's soft brown hair. "I'm sorry that you don't have anyone to play with, Serena; but even if I gave you a baby sister now, she would not be able to play with you for some years," she tells the sniffling child. "And even then, a sister may not like to play the same games as you: my sister, your Aunt Arya and I did not like the same games," she recounts now. "She had much rather play with our brothers-"
"Edda'd don't play," she blubbers sullenly.
"Oh, I am sure he will want to play again, Serena. When you are a big girl, you can ride together and mayhaps your father will teach you both to use a bow."
"Da play wit' me?" The girl seems to brighten at the thought.
Sansa smiles at her now. "Well, your father must see to the castle and the lands and the commons, and he must train with the garrison…but I am sure he will make time for his good girl. Have you been good?"
"Yes," she pouts. "Want Da."
"Very well then; let us see if we can find him together."
Sansa knows that they will find him in the solar with their guests but cannot be certain that he would welcome the interruption of his demanding little daughter. However once she reaches the solar with Serena in her arms, her husband looks up and smiles happily to see both of them.
"There's my good girl," he holds his arms out for her, and Sansa sets her down so that she can run to him.
"Da," she calls, and he bends down to pick her up. Sansa hesitates to see him exert himself and yet he lifts her easily and holds her to him.
"What's this," he says examining her face. "Has my good girl been crying?"
She sniffles again. "Edda'd mean. Won' play wit' me," she complains. "Wan' sister."
The Greatjon looks to Sansa and she cannot help dropping her eyes penitently, and so he looks back to his daughter. "You have two sisters, though they live elsewhere. Shall we ask them to come and visit you?"
"Noooo. Lit'l sister," she explains.
"Serena misses playing with- with Robb's daughters, my lord," Sansa tells him now.
"I see," he ponders. "Well, we must see what we can do so that you have some playmates… But right now, you must meet our guests." He sets her down to stand. "Prince Oberyn, this is my daughter Serena."
"Lady Serena," the prince bows formally, "it is my honour."
Serena smiles and grips the skirt of her dress in her chubby hands as she curtseys childishly. She turns and does the same for the big wildling next to him.
"Har! The little lady will be making a lord o' me yet with her fine manners," and he bows awkwardly.
"This is Tormund Giantsbane…a wildling from beyond the Wall."
Serena's eyes go wide and she backs up into her father. "He steal me?" she asks in an awed whisper.
"Har! Your lordly father'd have me head to decorate his castle wall...and your brother too, little lady."
"I have daughters of my own, Lady Serena. Will you tell me what games you like to play?" Prince Oberyn asks kindly.
Serena twists her body side-to-side and swings her arms. "Not game…tea," she tells him.
"Ah, you like to serve tea like a proper lady," he nods understandingly. "And would you show me your tea set some time, my lady?"
"Yes," she answers simply and runs to the door. There she turns and looks back to him. "In nurs'ry."
"Forgive me," the prince excuses himself and follows Serena out the door. Once they are gone, the Greatjon questions Sansa.
"Are there no girls in the castle?"
She shakes her head regretfully. "There are a few older girls and one girl babe. I-" she stops short and purses her lips.
"We'll think of something, Sansa. I'll speak with Eddard; though he is at the age of playing with boys his own age, and most are beginning to train now, or to apprentice."
"I will try to spend more time with her, my lord; I can teach her songs and some dancing," she suggests. "In time she will be old enough to learn needlework and to have lessons with the master."
They all turn now as Serena returns with her dolls in her arms and followed by Prince Oberyn who carries her tea set on a tin tray.
"We play tea," she smiles happily, and hands her older brother Smalljon a doll and then offers one to Tormund Giantsbane who holds her up curiously.
"Does it have a name?" he asks. "I've not been introduced proper."
"Awya," Serena tells him now, and runs to her mother with her little teapot. "Need tea, Mama."
"Have you named your doll for your Aunt Arya?" her father asks now.
"Yes," replies and hands him a doll.
"And what is this one called?"
"Nymewia."
"And mine, little sister?" Smalljon asks as he examines it closely.
"Cat'wyn."
"Oh," he says, embarrassed, and pulls the doll's skirt back down. Tormund Giantsbane stifles a guffaw.
Sansa looks at him reproachfully. "Lady Catelyn is my mother's name. Arya is my younger sister," Sansa explains to their guests," and Nymeria is the name of her direwolf."
"Your brothers also have direwolves, if I am not mistaken, Lady Umber?"
"Yes, Prince Oberyn. I- I do not know what happened to Grey Wind…my brother Robb's wolf," she realizes now.
"It was at the Wall, with the Lord Commander's wolf and that of your youngest brother. Lord Rickon wishes to return with him and his own wolf to Winterfell. He believes the wolf is very protective of your brother's children."
Sansa nods sadly. "Of course. Robb would have trained him so…"
Berena appears at the entrance of the solar. "I brewed some tea, milady; not too hot. Shall I leave it on the table?"
"Thank you, Berena."
Sansa pours the tepid tea into the little teapot so that her daughter can serve her guests. "Slowly. Gracefully," she whispers to her, and then watches with proud amusement as the big, renowned warriors in her midst accept the tiny tea cups on behalf of their dolls. Their hands are so large that they needs hold them with a finger and thumb alone. Serena is chattering happily about her dolls and pouring them all second cups when the wildling man clears his throat noisily.
"Is the tea not going down as well as our ale, my friend?" the Greatjon jests.
The big man pauses and then looks at him sheepishly. "Are we friends, then? Might be we can do each other some mutual service," he suggests tentatively. Sansa is surprised to see him behave with such uncharacteristic restraint and humility. "There are many children at the Wall: wildling children. This war's made many orphans, and before then too; and the Lord Commander's not got rations to feed them all."
"We send them what we can," the Greatjon replies.
"Aye, and the Watch'd be grateful; but we risk cleaning them out before Winter'd be done and there's some that don't want us there as it is, and smaller portions at table won't help that. Many may starve and it'd be the young and the old that go first…so if it's little girls for playmates you'd be wanting-"
"Smalljon, how many men did we lose beyond the Wall?" his father asks now.
"Six and twenty," he replies, "not counting…" he hesitates to mention his lost brothers.
"We will take six and twenty of your children," the Greatjon tells the wilding man resolutely. "Boys and girls both: the older ones can apprentice to a trade. That will be useful to you when you settle in the Gift. But the younger ones will needs minding so send some of your old women with them if you can. And let it be understood that I am lord here," he states firmly, "and they must follow our laws and customs when they are with us. If they wish to have leave to return to the Gift in the Spring when you settle there, they shall have it. Anyone who would stay with us can stay. Smalljon, see that soldiers and sledges accompany Tormund back to the Wall for the children. Sansa?"
"Yes, my lord?" Sansa replies softly. She is thinking how much she loves him for what he is doing now.
"Mayhaps our warden Lord Stark would help to find places for other children if you wrote to him," he suggests and she nods.
"I will take up your cause with Prince Doran when I return to Sunspear, to see what provisions we might send your people," Prince Oberyn adds to Tormund.
The wildling man nods thoughtfully. "It's a lot you're doing to help us; and you won't be finding us ungrateful either."
As the men continue talking and drinking thimble-sized cups of tepid tea, Sansa takes a moment to thank the Dornishman. "I am grateful for your attention to my daughter Prince Oberyn: you have made her very happy."
"She is a spirited little girl; and your son is a strong boy. You and your lord are proud of them, but you wish for more children, yes?"
She blushes slightly. "I have always wanted many children, Prince Oberyn. Surely you did as well; and you are very good with both my children," she notes.
He shrugs slightly. "I have eight daughters, Lady Umber: I have taken tea with dolls, and I have taught them to fight as well."
"Yes," she acknowledges, "I remember them well. My own sister has also learned to fight, and still trains, though I imagine that will soon become difficult in her present condition," she notes delicately.
He nods and tilts his head, eyeing her sharply. "They say she is very much like you father's sister, your aunt Lyanna?"
"Yes," she smiles and then remembers that his sister Elia was Rhaegar Targaryen's wife, and mother to his children: all murdered by the Mountain during Robert's Rebellion. Sansa knows that in Dorne, Lyanna is believed to have stolen the prince away from his wife, rather than having been stolen from her family and her betrothed, Robert Baratheon. Now that she is aware of Jon's true parentage, she wonders what the truth is herself. "I- I fear her name brings unhappy memories for both our families," she adds.
"It does," he acknowledges, and then looks her over, "though I understand now why a man would become so…distracted by a young and beautiful Stark woman." His eyes gleam darkly, and Sansa feels the same discomfort under his gaze that she feels with Lord Jon.
"M-my sister will have a happier life, I am certain. She-she loves her lord husband…as do I."
"Hm," he scarcely acknowledges. "She trains with a sword?"
"Yes, but in the Braavosi style-"
"Ah," his eyes brighten somewhat, "she is a water-dancer then?"
"Y-yes, I believe that is what she called it. She quotes a Valyrian phrase: valar morghulis."
"All men must die," he translates thoughtfully, and then glances towards the Greatjon and back to her. "Kessa."
Sansa stands immobile with her smile frozen on her face and is unable to answer.
"Please forgive me, Lady Umber, I have need to find your master and send a raven to Dorne to prepare for my return journey. I will be accompanying our friend Tormund back to the Wall before leaving for Eastwatch where a ship will come for me." He bows casually and leaves the solar.
She watches him leave and looks back to her husband who is accepting yet more tea from their daughter. His hair is all grey now, and he becomes red in the face from exertion and tires easily because of his chest cold. Sometimes his breathing is labored and his coughing racks his body. But the master has assured her that he will recover completely.
She looks again to the empty doorway.
Sansa's own maester, Maester Luwin taught her and all of her siblings some High Valyrian; and though she had never heard the phrase valar morghulis as a girl, she does know that kessa means yes.
She looks again to her husband and whispers to herself: "Daor."
No.