It has rained steadily for three days, a sure sign that Spring is approaching; though the air has remained sufficiently cold that the melting snow turns to ice overnight. It needs be broken with by men with pickaxes and shovels and cleared from the yard so that soldiers can train and servants can walk between buildings and horses can be led from the stables without the grooms slipping and breaking limbs or bashing their skulls on the ground when they fall. Already two men, one young and one old, wear splints.
The Greatjon heads out into the yard now as they hear the cries of guards and the opening of the gates and the whinnying of horses. Sansa remains in the doorway, as her lord has commanded: the rain is heavy and he wears a cloak over his furs so that he is not soaked through to his skin when he steps out to greet his son and new good-daughter.
"Are they here, Mama? Is Smalljon here…and Lady Lyanna too?" Serena asks as she bounces on her toes in excitement.
"Yes," Sansa replies now, "I see your brother, and your father is helping his bride to dismount," she tells her, though she can clearly see her husband fairly pull the girl off her horse with a shouted greeting before he turns and heads back to the castle now with the girl carried in his great arms. His son runs after them, and after an exchange of words he takes how young bride in his own arms and stalks towards the doorway with a laughing Greatjon behind them. Sansa steps forward as they cross the threshold.
"There're here! There're home!" her husband exults loudly and happily behind them. His son sets the girl down now and she turns to look around.
"Welcome home, Lord John," Sansa says now, "and Lady Lyanna: welcome to your new home," she smiles warmly.
The girl turns to look at her and smiles in return. She is tall, as tall as Sansa, and she remembers now that her eldest sister Dacey is tall as well. She has the same dark hair as Dacey, and appears to have the same lanky frame, though she is wrapped in a heavy, rain-soaked cloak and may well be as stout and bosomy as her mother or sister Alysane, though her face is long and thin. She has a gap between her front teeth, and looks younger than her years with tendrils of dark hair plastered to her pink cheeks and forehead. She giggles happily.
"And these are Lord Jon's younger brother and sister: my children Eddard and Serena," Sansa tells her.
"Welcome to Last Hearth, my lady," young Eddard greets her and Serena smiles and curtseys gracefully.
"Lady Umber," the Mormont girl greets her, then remembers to curtsey, albeit clumsily under the weight of her heavy cloak; and Lord Jon takes her arm to steady her, "and Lord Umber," she says with more dignity. "I am so very happy to be here at last, and I thank you all for your kind welcome." She nods towards the children now.
"We have a great welcome planned for you! We will be feasting you tonight in the Great Hall! Come in and meet everyone: they are waiting to see you!" The Greatjon is smiling as broadly as Sansa has ever seen him do.
"My lord," she ventures gently, "mayhaps the Lady Lyanna would like to rest, and change into dry garb?"
"Hm? Oh yes…of course: you must be shown to your chambers! Where are the servants?" he blusters now.
"They are fetching my lady's things and will bring them to us, and I think that I can help her find our chambers, Father," Lord Jon tells him as his bride smiles up at him with soft eyes.
She loves him, and is happy to be here, Sansa notes, and remembers her own fear and reluctance when she was a bride. Thank goodness for that. I pray that they are both happy.
"My lady," Smalljon offers his arm formally, and his bride takes it eagerly.
He has always hid his emotions, she thinks; and then it occurs to her that he had needed to hide his feelings for her. He turns to her suddenly now. "My lady, my lady wife has no maid with her: might I impose upon you to lend her yours until such time-"
Sansa nods and smiles: "Of course, Lord Jon. I shall send her to you to attend Lady Lyanna."
"Thank you…Lady Umber," Lyanna smiles again.
When they have left, Sansa turns to her husband who is now looking after them. He is still smiling but his brow is furrowed quizzically.
"She seems a sweet girl, and happy…does she not, my lord?" Sansa prompts him.
He smiles fully again with his entire face and his eyes twinkle at her. "That she does, Sansa, that she does: House Umber will be full of sweet and happy and beautiful women and girls…like my Sansa and my Serena!" he enthuses once again and lifts their daughter when she leaps at him with her arms open. "Come now, it's cold in this blasted doorway."
….
"That's it then, Ivy, cross one hank of hair over another…carefully; now the other…very good."
Sansa pauses near the doorway of the large chamber where the wildling girls sleep, listening to her maid teach the dark-haired wildling girl to plait hair for the others. She has showed the most interest in castle living, always asking questions and wanting to be taught how to do everything she saw. Ivy Underfoot, Sansa thinks smilingly, for the girl reminds her more every day of Arya; though Ivy was also interested in fixing her hair and dressing properly, more so than her younger sister had been. She wonders if that had changed now that Arya has married and settled at Karhold; and her heart swells with pride and love and a fierce wish to see her again. Her husband has promised that they will visit in the Spring if not sooner, if they are invited.
"Let her get on her feet again, Sansa," he had counseled her, "she'll need time to recover from the birthing bed, and your mother is there now with her as well as your young brother Rickon."
Sansa had nodded in agreement. She knows that the Greatjon had no love for the Lord of Karhold, Rickard Karstark, but that he will indulge her wish to see her sister, especially now that she has birthed twin boys, named for Lord Rickard and for Robb, their beloved older brother and late King in the North. Sansa had wept both in happiness and sadness when the scroll had arrived from Karhold at Last Hearth. Later she had gone to the godswood, to thank the gods for Arya's children, and to pray desperately for more of her own.
Please, she had begged them, let me give my lord more sons for those he has lost. But they have remained deaf to her pleadings.
Her maid is speaking again now: "That's good, Ivy, now have her hold the end in her hand while you tie the ribbon."
"Now show me how you do Lady Greatjon's hair," the girl fairly commands.
Her old maid laughs. "You will needs learn more than simple plaiting to do a proper lady's hair, girl. There will be much to learn and more if it's a lady's maid you plan to be one day," she admonishes her.
"I won't be a lady's maid…I'll be a lady," Ivy retorts.
This time Sansa's maid does not laugh. "Ladies are born, not made," the older woman berates her firmly. "Lady Umber was born a Stark of Winterfell, and her lady mother was a Tully of Riverrun. She was a princess of the North. Even the Umber line goes back to the First Men-"
"The Free Folk are from the First Men too," the girl replies angrily.
"And what be your family name then, girl? Was your father a lord and a warden, and your brother a king? No. You're a wildling, and lower than commons here though you may live in the castle by the lord's good graces and his lady's…and don't you be forgetting. Why I've never heard such nerve as yours. I-"
There is a resounding smash as something was thrown or knocked over and Sansa moves closer now to the open door.
"You will pick up the hairbrush and ribbons and straighten this table at once," the older woman orders sternly. "You will count yourself fortunate that Lord Umber has forbidden anyone to raise a hand to you, girl…for you are in sore need of strong chastisement if you are ever to learn your manners and your place!"
"Thank you, please remain here," Sansa speaks levelly to her maid and the woman curtseys to her. Sansa enters the chamber and looks at the girl who returns her stare with her old defiance. The other girls are clustered together in a corner, clearly watching and waiting to see Ivy upbraided severely.
"My maid was kind enough to teach you to braid hair, Ivy; and so you will thank her and apologize for your show of temper. Then you will straighten the mess you have made as she has told you." Before the girl can object, Sansa adds a condition: "If you will not, then you will not be permitted to attend the feast in honour of my lord's son and his bride this night. We cannot allow you to misbehave in the presence of my new good-daughter…who will one day be the Lady of Last Hearth."
Ivy pouts briefly and then turns to the maid.
"Thank you. Sorry," she mutters shortly before bending to pick up the hairbrush she has thrown and the ribbons she has knocked to the floor.
"Thank you, Ivy. You and the others may join the women in the spinning room now," Sansa says softly without trace of triumph or disapproval; and the wildling girls file out quickly, though Ivy is clenching her small fists.
"Forgive me, milady but she is a wilful child," the maid says to Sansa.
"She is," Sansa replies, "and she is bright and spirited as well. You are right to correct her manners and her behaviour; and I thank you for taking the time to teach her only…I fear that berating her excessively may discourage her from wanting to learn. The others look to her for example so it would be best for all if she were to remain less sullen and contrary than when she arrived."
"I understand, milady."
"I require that you attend the Lady Lyanna. She has no maid as yet, and I have agreed that you should assist her when she has need. She will doubtless require to have a bath drawn for her after travelling in the rain. That will be all, thank you," she tells her, and the woman curtseys again.
….
The Great Hall is brightly illuminated with fires in hearths and numerous candles lit upon tables and twice as many torches as usual blazing along the walls. Sansa and Uncle Hother have permitted a suspension of rationing and the larder has been plundered for the feast. Bread baskets are piled high and there are several on each table, and there are biscuits and oatcakes as well. There are numerous platters of roasted onions, potatoes, leeks and carrots, pots of barley stew and capons, chickens and whole pigs are being turned on spits in the kitchens. Barrels of ale and wines have been brought up from the cellars; and dried fruits have been soaked and cooked into pies and puddings. In the corner, there are musicians with pipes and drums and fiddles, and Hother's great horn waits for him to join the musicians. The wildlings stare open-mouthed at the hall and the abundance of food and the Greatjon rises to greet them and leads them to their table and bids them enjoy the feast.
The clamour when Smalljon enters with Lyanna on his arm is thunderous, in true Last Hearth fashion; and though she seems momentarily surprised, she is also quickly delighted and smiles and laughs and bobs a quick curtsey to acknowledge the hearty welcome. The Greatjon stands with a tankard of ale in hand.
"Friends, family and guests: let us first offer thanks to the old gods for bringing those of us here tonight safely through Winter and the war against the Others," he intones gravely, and Sansa lowers her head and thinks of Robb and of her husband's lost sons. "And now, let us all welcome a new member to our family: the Lady Lyanna of Bear Island and House Mormont who is now wife to my son and heir, good-daughter to myself and Lady Umber, good-sister to young Eddard and Serena, and one day to be your Lady of Last Hearth as my son will be Lord Umber! I invite you all to drink to their marriage, to their happiness, and join me in wishing them long life and many children! I give you Smalljon and his Lady Lyanna!"
A rousing cheer follows, and Sansa raises her goblet of Arbor Gold and sips daintily as the men drains their tankards of ale and her children gulp from cups of cold cider. Uncle Hother slams his tankard down as Lord Jon and his bride join them at table.
"'Bout time, Smalljon. We were all beginning to look to young Eddard here to carry on the family," he half-jests in his hard and surly manner; but his great-nephew smiles his acknowledgement. "Well, you've brought home a bear to rival your father's wolf," he observes sourly.
Lyanna smiles shyly at Sansa. "I could never hope to rival Lady Umber," she demurs with genuine modesty. "She is known throughout the North for her beauty and kindness; I hope that I may learn from her." Sansa's maid has gathered her hair at the crown and braided and wound it with green ribbon. She is dressed in a green gown with dark braided trim: the colours of House Mormont.
"Well said, good-daughter!" The Greatjon takes her hand and raises it to kiss impulsively. "Blast!" He slams his great fist into the table now. "Smalljon! I forgot your mother's necklace: it belongs by rights to your bride! Forgive me, my lady: my son took so long to marry that I forgot," he laughs hugely, but then slaps his son heartily on the back. "But you are well worth the wait, I can see that! Well done, boy: you've made me a happy man!"
Hother points to his lord. "Listen to him; he acts like he's the bridegroom," he grumbles, and Lyanna giggles.
"I've been a bridegroom for near seven years," the Greatjon crows happily and reaches for Sansa's hand now.
Sansa ducks her head and blushes. "My lord, tonight is about Lord Jon and Lady Lyanna… You will lead the dancing after supper, I hope," she asks them.
"We will," Lyanna replies after glancing to her husband for his agreement.
"I can dance too," Serena says expectantly.
Smalljon smiles at her. "Then you must join the dance, little sister. And you, Eddard: will you dance?"
The boy slumps in his seat. "Do I have to?"
Sansa and the Greatjon exchange glances and smiles. "No, boy, you don't have to dance; though it would be nice of you to take a turn with some of the young girls here…after all, you are the lord's son and I am hosting this feast for your brother and his bride."
He slumps even further into his chair. "Yes, Father," he replies dispiritedly.
"We'll all dance," Sansa announces firmly. "And we should not forget to include the wildlings. Uncle Hother, the children do love to hear you play the horn; I hope so much that you will oblige them."
"I hear you, girl…Lady Umber," he corrects himself.
"You have been good to your word to welcome the wildlings into the castle," Lord Jon observes.
"We train them with swords, Smalljon," Eddard tells him now. "I have been helping Father."
"Then I shall needs do my part as well," Lord Jon replies, and he glances towards the table of wildling women and children. The Greatjon asks Lyanna about her family, including the She-Bear Maege, her mother; and she complies happily, smiling and giggling as he laughs at her stories. As she talks, Lord Jon's eyes stray once again to the table of wildlings. Sansa notices, and when he sees her looking, he smiles faintly and puts his arm across the back of Lyanna's chair, and he returns her gaze levelly until she looks away.