The bed is cold. Sansa shivers once and sits up, and spies her clothing folded on a small chair and her dress and cloak hanging from pegs behind the door. She rises and dresses quickly and opens the door to descent to the common room at the inn where she finds her husband listening to the innkeeper and his wife tell him about the Winter and who has survived and who has not. The Greatjon nods gravely but brightens when he sees Sansa sit at a table near the hearth and moves to join her. The innkeeper's wife brings them a platter of boiled eggs and bread and a jug of cold water.
"It always be a great honour to have th'lord at th'inn, milady; but to have Lord Eddard's own daughter and th' king's own sister be right special," she gushes respectfully.
'You are very kind but…we have a queen now," Sansa reminds her gently. "I am sister to Lord Brandon Stark, Warden of the North."
"Aye, beggin' your pardons, m'lady," she offers humbly. "We all canna but remember our King in th'North."
"There is nothing to pardon, good woman; my lady only fears for your safety if you should be overheard," the Greatjon tells her in a hushed voice. "The Spider is back in the service of the Iron Throne…and we would not want talk to reach him, would we?"
The woman gasps and twists her face in distaste. "No, you be right, m'lord. Thank ye, m'lord." She smiles endearingly at Sansa now. "Your lady'd be a right beauty, m'lord; 'tis no wonder ye be so happy," she tells him warmly, and Sansa blushes so that she feels her cheeks grow hot.
"I told you they would hear us, my lord," she whispers to the Greatjon after the woman walks away. They had bathed and drank warm ale after reaching the inn in a hard rain the night before and had felt so much better afterward that they had enjoyed each other in their clean bed despite the creaking of the bedframe and the thin wooden walls of the near-empty inn. Sansa had tried to stifle her own cries of pleasure but her husband had seemed unconcerned with discretion and made no attempt to muffle the sounds of his own enjoyment. His brown eyes twinkle merrily now at her embarrassment.
"And? Should a lord deny himself the pleasures of his own lady, Sansa? Do you think they disrespect me for having enjoyed you? Why, they'd think me a fool if I didn't!" he nearly crows and she blushes harder still, though she reaches to put her hand over his on the table. He raises her hand to kiss it and chuckles softly. "We'll be home before day's end, Sansa; and can enjoy the privacy of our own chambers and our own warm bed."
"…and see the children," she adds happily. "I have enjoyed travelling with you and meeting the people that you know so well, my lord; but I confess that I have felt an empty place in my heart for the children. I miss them terribly, as I am certain do you."
"It will be good to be home again, Sansa," is all he says and all he needs say. "Let's finish up eating; the soldiers have already eaten and are seeing about the horses. The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll reach Last Hearth," he smiles and squeezes her hand again.
The sun shines faintly through the many clouds overhead but they are fluffy and white rather than the dull grey clouds of the previous day and so they hope to ride without rain. Still, Sansa keeps the fur-lined cloak of her hood up and rides behind her husband and the older soldier while the younger red-haired soldier keeps pace beside her. After some time, the older soldier drops back and the Greatjon turns and so Sansa spurs her mare to catch up to ride alongside him.
"My lord, do you truly believe that Lord Varys has his spies in the North? That poor innkeeper's wife, I believe you quite frightened her," she asks now.
His expression grows stern. "I believe that Spider and the Lannister Imp will do anything to tighten their grubby grasps on power in King's Landing: they, and too familiar with it once, and have been too long without it to relinquish it again. If the young dragon queen should finally take a husband from among the nobles of the South, well doubtless his family will want to take their place by her side and in her Small Council. The Imp and the eunuch needs make themselves indispensable to our queen if they are not to be cast aside: the best way to do that is by bringing her reports of disloyalty and even treason, and they will look for it everywhere but most certainly in the North which so recently had its independence, Sansa."
"Are- are we in danger, my lord, at Last Hearth or at Winterfell?" she asks cautiously.
"Your brother swore his fealty as a Stark, Sansa: you know as well as I that is a pledge of unquestionable honour, and my loyalty is to House Stark. Still…I declared your brother King in the North, and I wed his sister so they may suspect that I might seek to do it again. Those Southron dolts don't understand us, Sansa: they never have. They see conspiracy in our bonds of family, threat in our strength and defiance in our frankness and our honesty." He turns his head to her now. "The North rose against both House Targaryen and then House Lannister once…and it matters little to them that they gave us cause: they will not wait around idly for us to do it again."
Sansa thinks quietly on what he has said as they ride along in the forest approaching the castle when all at once his spirits lift and he turns to the soldiers.
"Almost there: shall we all break for it? HA!" he kicks his mount and they all follow and take off through the wooded path a gallop. "Woooooo!" The Greatjon exults as the walls come into view and Sansa laughs at his delight and enthusiasm.
"LAST HEAAAAAAAAARTH!" the soldiers cry behind them and Sansa and her lord join in: "LAST HEAAAAARTH!"
….
"Mama-Mama-Mama-Mama," Serena cries as she runs to Sansa as soon as she is helped down from her mare. The great wooden gates of the castle groan shut behind them and servants and soldiers mill about the yard.
"Serena," Sansa embraces her daughter tightly. "You have no cloak; and where are your gloves?"
"Wanna to see you, Mama!"
"Well, now, what about your Da, Serena?" the Greatjon asks her; and, with a happy shriek, his daughter launches herself at his open arms and he lifts her into a furry bear-hug. "Oof, my girl is getting bigger all the time," he teases and swings her from his arms as she giggles.
"My lord, she must go inside before she takes a chill. Come Serena," Sansa tells her.
"Go with you mother while I help see to the horses and packs, girl. Go on," he prompts and then turns when he sees young Eddard running to them from across the yard. "Eddard! Come greet your mother, boy. Where is Smalljon?"
"Hello Mother," he greets Sansa as she bends to kiss his cheek and smooth down his hair. "Lady Lyanna went to the kitchens earlier; Smalljon," he pauses awkwardly, "is in the stable."
"Well, come find him with me and we'll see to the horses together," his father tells him.
Eddard squirms and averts his eyes. "Can…can I go with Mother, please?"
The Greatjon looks disappointed but agrees nevertheless. "Of course you can go with your mother, Eddard. Hurry now before your sister catches chill." Serena has wrapped herself inside the bottom of Sansa's cloak but is beginning to shiver. "I'll catch up with you inside," he tells Sansa who nods and smiles for him.
As they walk towards the entrance to the castle, Sansa looks down at her son who stares straight ahead.
"Is there something amiss, Eddard? Why do you not want to go with your father?"
"I don't want to go in the stables, Mother: Smalljon…" he ducks his head and furrows his brow in distress and stops talking.
"Serena," Sansa tells her daughter once they are inside, "run to the hearth and get warm again. I needs speak to your brother." When the girl runs off, she kneels before her son and puts her hands gently on his shoulders so that he is facing her. "Look at me, Eddard. What troubles you? Tell me the truth now," she instructs him.
He looks at her with big brown eyes full of sadness. "Mother, Smalljon is in the stables with…with a wildling woman and they…they do things: things you're supposed to do when you're married," he tells her in a hushed voice. "Don't tell Lady Lyanna, please Mother," he adds fervently.
Sansa bites her lip and cups her son's cheek softly with her gloved hand. "You know this would hurt her feelings very much, don't you?" she questions him and he nods with his eyes cast down now. "You're a good boy," she kisses his forehead. "I won't tell, I promise. Run along and we will gather in the solar before supper and tell you all about the trip to the New Gift."
Reassured, Eddard runs into the hall. Sansa stands with a sigh and glances out into the yard towards the stables but cannot see either her husband or his eldest son. She takes the stairs to her chamber where her maid is waiting for her.
"Will you be wanting a bath milady?" she asks Sansa.
"I thank you, but I had a bath only last night at the inn," she blushes smilingly to remember. "Mayhaps simply a basin of hot water to wash? And then I should like to brush to hair and change my dress for the hall for supper."
"Very well, milady."
After she has washed and changed, Sansa goes looking for her family. When she reaches the solar, only Hother sits alone with a large tankard of ale, looking forlorn.
"They went to the maester's…to look over accounts, I expect," he tells her disinterestedly.
"I thank you," Sansa replies, and she once again feels guilty for the death of his brother and companion. He is old and unhappy and now he is all alone, she thinks sadly. Oh, why did Mors think that my death and the end of the wildlings would end all of his unhappiness or his wrath? When has revenge or war ever brought anything but sadness and loss, even in the North?
As she approaches the accounting room of the maester's chambers, she overhears her husband and Lord Jon speaking heatedly. She stops and thinks to leave them but their words reach her ears and she is transfixed.
"…been so careless, boy? A wildling woman…and you newly wed: what if the Mormonts or even the wildlings should take offense? What if you got a bastard on her? Gods be good Smalljon, we don't need bad blood so soon when we are just learning to get along with the wildlings after so many years of war with them."
"I'm not careless," Lord Jon snaps impatiently. "No one knows-"
"Eddard knew! Your own brother wouldn't come into the stables to look for you. If a young boy knows then surely anyone else could…anyone who might tell your lady wife!"
"Well, what of it? I am not the first or last man to stray from his wife, and I am certainly not the first Umber to do so," his son challenges him.
A long and heavy pause follows. "So that's it, is it? Well… I probably deserve that; but I don't know that Lady Lyanna deserves it."
"Did my mother deserve it?" Smalljon counters.
"Blast it, boy," the Greatjon thunders and then relents. "No, she didn't deserve it; but my father made me wed her and so I did, for duty…but that was all. That is why I never asked that of you-"
"You didn't expect me to marry a Northern lady from an old house? That is all you expected of me, it seems," his son answers bitterly.
"Is it, then? I didn't teach you to fight? I didn't sit you beside me in the Great Hall when I received noble lords and ladies and our commons? I didn't sit in on your lessons with the master as you studied to be lord own day? I taught you hunting and fishing and riding. I gave you your first sword, boy; and your first ale and took you to the village for your first woman. I saw that you were raised a man and an Umber…and I've been proud of you, Smalljon," he tells him sincerely. "But I never commanded you to marry. I didn't want that for you. I didn't want it because I hadn't wanted it: it wasn't good for me, and it wasn't good for your mother. I guess it wasn't any good for you either. You and your brothers and sisters were our only happiness together. What was done can't be undone…but tell me why something you think is so damned wrong is something you would turn around and do yourself?" he demands. "Why did you marry that girl if you didn't want her?"
"I had to marry someone, some lady…what matter which one when I didn't get the one I wanted?"
Sansa's heart stops dead. No. Oh, no. Do not let him say it. Do not let him know. He can't know.
She hears the Greatjon's treading across the wooden floor now."Smalljon," he sighs, "I know we hoped our King would betroth you to his own sister, but blast it, boy, you also know why that could not happen. You know what they were saying about her, how she must have been ruined; gods be good, you were one of the king's guards and they were the worst to talk. House Umber is a proud, old house and we could not risk it. Did you want the whole North to think the Umber heir was a bastard fathered by that Joffrey or Renly or some Southron knight or soldier? It might have caused challenges to the legitimacy of your heir and family in-fighting for inheritance of the lordship for generations after. It could have ruined House Umber in time!"
"But it wasn't true," he tells his father. "Not a word of it was true. It was Greyjoy-"
"Aye, we know that now…but we could not have known it then; and others still believe it to be true. Well, what matter now, boy: the King in the North is no more," he tells his son sadly. "But he bid me do this favour for him, for the sake of his sister's honour…and I did. I did my duty and again married where I was told, though I once swore to myself that I would never marry again. But this time I was lucky: gods be good, I could not believe my luck and I still cannot believe it at times. I never expected a second chance at happiness in marriage, and at my age. I never thought I would love the girl… and I certainly never thought that she would come to care for me."
Sansa shudders and puts her fingertips to her lips to stop from drawing in a deep breath, so moved is she by her husband's words.
"You love her…your wife," Lord Jon says now. It is not a question.
"I do."
A thoughtful pause follows before Lord Jon speaks again. "Then, I am…happy for you, Father."
"I want the same for you, Smalljon," the Greatjon tells his son, "I want you to have the kind of happiness that I have found with Sansa, and not what I had with your mother: don't do that to yourself or to your young wife. I know you think I have no right to say so; but I promise that you will be happy if you love and are loved. Not a lot of men are lucky enough to have that; and you may not get a second chance as I did."
There is the screeching sound of a chair scraping along the floorboards and an audible sigh; Sansa does not know from which man. But it is her husband who speaks again now:
"I will leave you to think on that. And I will advise you not to consort with that wildling woman…or any of the others. If you must look elsewhere than to your wife then do so outside the castle walls. I like Lyanna, Smalljon, and so does Sansa. We would not want to see her hurt. I hope that you do not either."
Sansa hears the slap of a hand on leather and she knows instinctively that the Greatjon has given his son a hearty and heartfelt pat on the shoulder or back: his usual means of showing his sons his deep affection. Realizing that he may come out into the hallway, she reaches down to swiftly remove her shoes and raise her skirts and then pads quickly and silently away.