"Will you not go to Bear Island for the wedding?" Rickon asks them at dinner one night. "I've never seen the Bay of Ice," he notes rather longingly. "Didn't Brandon the Shipwright disappear on the Bay of Ice?"
"No, Rickon," Sansa answers him, inwardly fearing that his tremendous responsibilities may spur him to run off and explore the world, "he was lost on the Sunset Sea; and so his son burned his great fleet in his grief."
"Will we go to see to Smalljon wed, Father?" young Eddard asks as well.
The Greatjon sets down with his spoon before replying. "It will take too long to travel so far when it is still Winter, my boy; and your brother seems in a haste to claim his young bride," he smiles now.
"Just like his father did," Hother mutters into his stew with his mouth full, and the Greatjon glances sharply at him as Sansa feels herself blush.
"We'll have a great feast for them when he returns; would you like that, Eddard?" His father replies.
"Can we have lemon cakes like at Winterfell, Mama?" Serena asks now.
Sansa shakes her head. "We have no lemons to make lemon cakes, my little bird; but I am certain that the cook will make something special for us."
"Speaking of brides, we may have more company soon," the Greatjon continues. "Apparently those Thenns have been busy making Queencrown habitable for their leader; their Magnar and Karstark's girl will be travelling to live there…and they are like to stop here along the way."
Sansa brightens at the news. "I should be so pleased to welcome them, my lord. Surely they will have word of Arya. I have only received one missive from her since she has been at Karhold, to tell me that she had arrived safely with Lord Harrion. Will you not stop at Karhold on your way to Winterfell to visit her, Rickon? She would be so pleased to see you; she is expecting her first child soon…and Nymeria is with her and so Grey Wind and Shaggydog can keep her company."
Rickon toys absently with his knife, digging the point of the blade into the wooden tabletop. "I suppose I should," he ventures. "I don't know when I will pass this way again…but I would stay here a while longer if you will let me," he asks hopefully looking back and forth between his sister and his host, though Sansa notices that he glances longer towards her husband.
"You are welcome to stay as long as you like, Lord Rickon. As I have said, my lady wife's family is my family as well," he states firmly.
"Thank you, my lord," Rickon answers sincerely and Sansa thinks she notices his first flicker of a real smile.
Her youngest brother had joined the training in the yard the morning after he had arrived; and good to his word, the Greatjon had found reason to speak of his father to him as they sparred together. He later told Sansa that Rickon had been quiet at first to hear him speak of his father but had finally shown interest when he had mentioned how Lord Eddard had inherited the lordship when his own father and brother had died.
"Of course he was older than you are," he had observed casually, "but he had been fostered in the Vale and so had a great deal to learn about the North and the castle again when he returned. He managed though: he was always dutiful, your lord father; but you are fortunate to have more time than he did, and to have your lady mother as well. Now, help me to teach these wildling boys to swing a real sword, will you? They're wild to be sure but that is not always enough, is it? A man needs train himself properly: body and mind." Despite her brother's age, he had spoken to him as another man.
Sansa had been in the yard, and she had overheard that much of their exchange. But she noted that Rickon was easier with her husband after that, and had been talking and mostly listening to him for days. To give them time together, she has been busying herself with the wildling girls: she and Berena had assisted in getting them bathed and sorting out clothing for them. Sansa had even attempted to brush their hair, though not all had been willing. Berena counselled patience.
"They're like to come around in time, milady; and if they don't they'll go back to the wildlings no worse than they came."
Though Sansa agrees with Berena, she wonders if there is not more that she could do to tame what seem to her to be slovenly ways. Then she has an idea.
"Who would like a ribbon for her hair?" she asks the next time the girls are bathed. She has gathered some of her more worn ribbons, and has cut them to shorter lengths; but they are still pretty.
She can see them hesitate. Their eyes look longingly at the ribbons; but they are reluctant to accept any gift from a kneeler, as they styled them, unless it should be food. They are not ready to trust her yet. Sansa remembers how they had first laughed at themselves in dresses and proper smallclothes, but she had also noted that some had fiddled admiringly with the skirts and braided ties and the spare embroidery.
"We will needs plait your hair first, after we brush it, and then you may choose which ribbon you like best. Then you may keep them, and share amongst yourselves if you like."
"I want one," a scrawny, dark-haired girl steps forward with a face that is almost defiant. Sansa is reminded of Arya at the same age.
"You will speak respectfully to milady," Berena chastises her, though gently, "and thank her for her generosity. She is gifting you her very own ribbons which by rights should go to the Lady Serena."
The girl furrows her brow in anger but the wildling Willow speaks up.
"You heard 'er then, Ivy. What's that ye say to Lady Greatjon?"
Berena wrinkles her forehead to hear her lady addressed so, but Sansa nods imperceptibly to her to indicate that she is not offended by the name. Secretly, she is charmed.
"Please. Thank you. Lady Greatjon," she speaks each word with sullen difficulty. "Canihavablueone?" Ivy then blurts out all at once, with her eyes still fixed on the ribbons in Sansa's hand.
"Yes, you may," Sansa smiles at her. "You will look very pretty with a blue hair ribbon in your hair. If you will come and sit, I will brush and plait your hair myself."
As she brushes and braids the wildling girl's hair, the others come to watch. Berena starts on another girl and lets her choose a ribbon. Soon almost all the girls have accepted their braids and ribbon but Sansa spots the smallest girl crouching in a corner and, though she watches attentively, she does not come forward. She beckons her with her sweetest smile, but the girl does not move and very soon she drops her eyes and turns red from shame. Then Sansa sees the little puddle slowly spreading beneath her feet.
"Oh," she remarks, embarrassed. "Berena, would you bring me a wet linen please?"
"I'll tend 'er Lady Greatjon," Myrtle says swiftly. "Come on, Gretel, let's clean you up." She leads the girl away as the others fall quiet.
"I- I am so very sorry," Sansa tells Willow and the others. "I fear that I must have frightened her."
"Ev'rythin' frightens'er, Lady Greatjon," Willow tells her now quietly. "She's not spoken since she were found. T'was another girl knew her name. She'll come 'round…we hope."
"Yes, hope," she repeats numbly. "There is always hope."
Had she not once hoped with all her heart? She had hoped that Joffrey would remember to treat her kindly, hoped that Robb would come to rescue her, and hoped that she could one day go home to her family. There had always been hope. But she had also hoped to stay in Winterfell, and not to wed a great big warrior who was older than her father. Then she had hoped that he would return to her from the Wall; but she had hoped that Robb would return too. There was always hope; but it was not always enough. Sometimes the best you could hope was that it would get better in time; or be over quickly.
"Well," she clears her throat now, "I had best tend to my own little girl. She has lessons with our maester. You may run along to eat now; and then to your own lessons: the women will gather to spin and weave after midday."
When she joins her husband to eat with their children, she feels somewhat melancholy.
"How fare the wildling boys, my lord?"
"Hm? Oh, well enough. They like fighting," he laughs, "and two have taken to apprentice with the smith and some others will learn to tend animals. Though they may needs to learn some building before they return to their own people," he thinks aloud to himself.
"That is good but, I meant: do you think they are happy…and feel safe?"
"They are safe here," he tells her firmly. "If they do not know it then they will in time. Happy? Well, that is almost up to them now, would you not say so, Sansa? There is no happiness in being orphaned surely, but they are living better than some of our own commons. There is only so much you can do to make others happy, Sansa; they must do some of it themselves."
"Yes." Yes. We can choose to be happy. We can choose who we will love, and why. I learned to do so. Pray Lord Jon has done the same…and that little Gretel can learn as well: gods be good to her.
"Besides, they will be free to leave come the Spring," he continues before scooping up more barley stew. "The lands in the Gift are very good for farming, though they needs be cleared and planted again; and the abandoned villages can be reclaimed and rebuilt. Your father had meant to see to it after Winter came but… Well, the Lord Commander and Lord Stark will see to it now. Strange though: it was meant to be re-settled to keep the wildlings from coming further south. Now it is to be their home." He shakes his great bearded head at the thought. "Things don't always turn out as we planned…but they can still turn out well enough, is that not so, Sansa?"
She smiles tenderly at him. "Yes, my lord: they can turn out very well."
….
"Mama, wildlings don't know how to play tea," Serena tells her plaintively.
Sansa puts her sewing down now and turns her attention to her daughter.
"They laugh at me and say it's only pretend, not real tea and ladies but just dolls and empty cups…but that's why it's play," she insists knowingly.
"I know, my little bird; but you must realize they have probably never seen a pretty little tea set like your own; or had dolls as fine as yours." She wonders what types of dolls or toys the wildling children used for play. "Their lives have been quite hard; harder than our commons even, and all of these girls have lost their mother and father. Please be patient with them, Serena. I am certain they will be friends to you in time, especially if you are kind with them."
Serena huffs but nods obediently.
"That's my very good girl," she croons and strokes her hair: a tawny brown like her father and his children by his first wife. It is thick and soft, like Sansa's hair; but there is no trace of her own auburn at all. "You are your father's daughter, Serena. He is so very proud of you; and you are growing up so fast. Soon I will finish sewing you a new dress and you will look so pretty for him."
Serena giggles happily now and stretches up to her mother for a kiss. When she backs away from her in her chair, she dances around the solar with her chin raised and a gentle smile and Sansa is entranced: her daughter is beginning to behave like a little lady; and though she can still be willful and stubborn, she is also as bright and graceful as one of the children of the forest from her father's or Old Nan's stories. She has sought to temper her own stories of knights and fair maidens and romantic heroes in favour of such stories as her husband tells their children: tales of the North, and of the Night's Watch and of the children of the forest. Great-uncle Hother is full of such stories and songs, and Sansa is pleased that he enjoys sharing them with her children. She reminds herself to ask if he will tell them to the wildling children as well, for they are of the North and seem likely to respect him for his great size and his gruffness and even his temper. She knows her own kindness is appreciated by most in the castle; but she knows that it is not respected…just as Bran's cleverness is admired while his poor body is pitied. She wonders if it is possible to have respect without fear. Joffrey and Cersei thought not; and that was all Sansa needed to know to doubt such beliefs.
Sansa leaves the solar to fetch her shawl from her chamber. She needs consult with the cook before their supper about rations to feed the Magnar of Thenn and his lady and people if they should stop at Last Hearth on their way North to the New Gift; then they will needs discuss plans for a welcome feast for Lord Jon and his bride, Lyanna Mormont.
As she passes through the hallway, she hears a sudden gasp and turns. She steps back to peer into a dark alcove and sees nothing at first, but then she spies a small soft shoe beneath a wooden bench. Sansa kneels carefully without approaching.
"Forgive me if I frightened you, Gretel; for I would surely never wish to do you harm," she speaks softly to the girl though she cannot see her face. "I- You see, I know what it is to live with people who are not your family…because you have lost your family. The people that I lived with were not kind; they were cruel even. They…they killed my father, and I watched him die. I was too young to see anyone die, and so I was very frightened." She pauses now to remember how she felt then, to understand why the girl beneath the bench is frightened too. "And then, I- I was frightened to come here too, to Last Hearth, to be wed: the Umbers are all so very big and loud and, well, I was only a girl then and did not know them. But they are so kind, Gretel; despite seeming fierce. My lord would never harm a woman or a child…and he keeps us all safe. No one may harm us here. Please, Gretel," she almost begs tearfully, "if there is aught that I may do so that you do not feel frightened anymore…please tell me…or show me. I cannot bear that you should feel this way, as…as I once felt."
Overwhelmed, Sansa drops her face into her hands and lets herself sob briefly, but the she gathers herself and raises her head again to wipe her eyes. When she does, she is astonished to see the small girl kneeling before her and looking at her sadly.
"Oh," she exclaims softly. I- I am glad that you came out, Gretel…shall we find the others now?"
Gretel reaches up tentatively to brush her fingers on Sansa's cheek and feel her wet tears, and then looks at her small hand before looking up to Sansa again and shaking her head.
Sansa wipes her tears away resolutely and shakes her head as well. "Very well, Gretel. I promise that I shall not cry anymore. Would that please you?"
"Gretel," someone calls, and they both turn. It is the defiant, dark-haired girl called Ivy. Sansa wonders how long she has been standing there. She is wearing her blue hair ribbon, as she does every day now.
"Go with Ivy now, Gretel. You are safe with her too," Sansa prompts her with an encouraging smile.
The little girl stands and walks over to Ivy, who takes her hand. But before they walk away, Ivy looks back over her shoulder at Sansa.
"Thank you…Lady Greatjon," she says without difficulty this time. She even sounds respectful. Then she leads the smaller girl back towards their chambers.