Her children are sitting in the solar when she returns: Eddard sits near Uncle Hother by the hearth fire where her husband and Lord Jon will doubtless join them when they come down from the maester's rooms. Beneath a shuttered window, Serena sits perched on a footstool before Lyanna, smiling and listening to her tales of Bear Island.

"Oh, Sansa, I am so pleased that you have returned," Lyanna tells her as she looks up.

"As I am pleased to be home," Sansa smiles in return. "Did you get warm again, Serena?' she asks her daughter now as she gently places a soft hand against the girl's forehead. "I would not want my little bird to take sick."

Her daughter sighs in mock exasperation as her mother's attention and then giggles. "Da!" she then exclaims as her father enters the solar.

"Serena! Come sit with Da: you can drink ale and tell me how you have missed me!" The Greatjon picks her up easily and turns her upside down.

"No," she shrieks laughingly from beneath a tangle of braided hair and dangling lithe limbs and layers of clothing. "No ale! No upsy-down!"

"My lord…her dress," Sansa murmurs reproachfully. Serena's skirts have fallen to reveal her smallclothes and wool stocking.

"Down you go then, little lady," he sets her upright on her feet and Serena smooths her hair and skirts as her father admires her girlish ways. "And a proper pretty lady you are now, just like your mother," he boasts.

"Mother doesn't climb trees in the godswood and throw rocks," Eddard grumps.

"Serena, did you throw a rock at your brother?"

"Yes," she tells her father, "but he threw first and missed!"

"Ah, so you hit him? Good!" her father exults when she nods. "You can fight up on the walls if we are attacked! Mind now Eddard if you throw rocks at your sister, she will throw them back…so you best duck, boy."

Sansa and Lyanna laugh to watch the rest of the family together as both their husbands sit near the hearth with ales and Serena and Eddard come to stand by their father to talk and listen to him.

"I hope they did not trouble you too much while we were riding North with the Thenns," Sansa tells her good-daughter now.

"Oh, no: they were wonderful, Sansa! I know that Smalljon loves his little brother and sister, especially now…" she looks sad, "now they are the only siblings he has at Last Hearth. And I do love having so much family as well, I-" she stops and blinks and wrings her hands together. "Sansa, I know that you have been studying to be a midwife with Berena and I thought…that is…"

Sansa leans forward now. "What is it you would like to ask, Lyanna: do you wish to study as well?"

The girl gives a slight laugh and blushes before lifting her eyes to Sansa's again, and when Sansa sees the happiness in Lyanna's eyes, she immediately understands her interest in midwifery. She reaches over to put her hand over the girls and squeezes it gently.

"Oh, Lyanna…."

….

"Why do you smile like that, Sansa?" her husband asks as she sits at her dressing table while her maid brushes her hair for her. "You look as though you have a secret. Where did you and Lyanna disappear to after supper in the hall?"

Sansa nods to her maid now. "I thank you. Good night."

"G'night then, m'lady," the older woman groans as she picks up Sansa's clothing and puts it over her arm before she leaves their chamber.

Sansa stands and walks over to the bed where the Greatjon sits as he takes off his boots. He tosses one carelessly aside, and then removes the other and does the same. He has already removed his furs and sits now his heavy woolen shirt and breeches and knit socks. His big toe sticks out the end of one sock.

"Oh dear," Sansa notices, "I must needs darn that one."

"Hm? Oh…darn them both!" he pulls his socks off impatiently and throws them aside as he did his boots and then holds his hand out to her. "Come sit with me," he commands.

Sansa smiles and sits beside him, taking his hand in hers as she does. The Greatjon turns to her and looks her over appraisingly before lifting his free hand to brush her hair aside and over her shoulder before resting his palm on her cheek.

"More beautiful all the time," he murmurs gently. "I like to see you smile, but tell me, Sansa: are you truly happy?"

She looks back at him and sighs sadly. "I am very happy, my lord; but sad that I must not show it sufficiently for you to have faith in me. Please tell me what I must do so that you should not doubt me?"

"Sansa…" He gazes at her lovingly and raises her hand to kiss now. "It is not you that I doubt; it is myself," he tells her as he squeezes her hand tightly. "I- You know that I was married once before; but you do not know that I was not a very good husband- No, let me continue," he insists when he sees that she would speak. "I married at my father's command, to a girl I did not care for…I treated her indifferently, and was not true to her. She in turn became bitter towards me, and a scold; and so we were not happy." He looks at her now to see what effect his confession is having on her, and Sansa drops her eyes penitently.

"You are right to think less of me-" he begins sadly.

"No," she interrupts. How could I think less of you when I have done far worse? "No, my lord: I- I know. I know about-" she tells him haltingly.

"Ah," he remarks as he understands her meaning. "Berena, was it? Though I imagine anyone who lived here then could have told you tales: I did not trouble myself to hide my…behaviour," he admits morosely. "I married for duty, that is all; but other than fathering sons and daughters, I was not very dutiful. And now my son…" he trails off unhappily.

"What troubles you, my lord? Why do you tell me this now?" Sansa questions him gently.

"It would seem that my son and heir learned from my example," he says bitterly. "I found him with another woman…in the stables. That is why Eddard would not follow me to find him: he knew, poor boy. Gods, do not let him do the same as well," he frets now.

"I know this as well, my lord, for Eddard told me. He knows what his brother was doing was hurtful to his lady wife, and so he bid me keep his confidence."

The Greatjon shakes his great head. "I don't want this for them. I never made my sons marry, nor my daughters if they did not wish to though it is their duty as it was mine. Smalljon knows how I treated his mother…why would he then do the same to Lyanna? I thought he had married for love…love: listen to me," he mocks himself now, "We both know well that is not why nobles marry; but I thought that having chosen her himself he at least cared for her. She's a good girl; I like her. You like her too, don't you, Sansa?"

"I like her very much, my lord: she is spirited and pretty and I wish her happiness but…mayhaps, in time, Lord Jon will see her worth, and appreciate her." As I, in time, came to love you, she thinks. "Not all men care to be loved, nor all women, my lord."

He looks at her oddly. "Now why would you say that? Everyone wants to be loved, Sansa."

Her heart fills at his words, and she squeezes his hand tighter and leans in to gaze at him lovingly. "Do you truly believe so, my lord? I said those very words once to…to Queen Cersei and she called me a fool. She said that love is poison, a sweet poison…but that it would kill me all the same," she drops her eyes as she repeats the words that have haunted her these last years: since she loved his son, lost her child and failed to conceive time and again. Barren: that is the death I must suffer from the fever that poisoned my womb.

"She would think such a thing," he says with a sneer in his voice. "If any woman was poison to love, it was Cersei Lannister: incest, murder, treason…She chose her path and she paid for it Well, I guess I chose mine and paid for it as well; but I was hoping to spare my sons the same."

"How…how have you paid for it, my lord? " Sansa ventures timidly.

"Hm? I hurt a good woman; I may not have loved her but she did not deserve to be so disregarded. And I set a bad example to my children, my eldest son especially, it seems: they may have thought love and marriage are poison too. Well, things will be different for our children, Sansa: they will see what it is to be happy, and to be loved," he finishes encouragingly and then he turns to her again. "I fretted for you when I agreed to marry you, Sansa: I wasn't certain that I could be a good husband but…I have tried. I have tried to be good to you so that you would be happy, and that you would come to love me," he tells her with open humility.

Sansa is touched that such a proud man would make such sincere confession to her. She looks up to him and speaks from her heart: "You have been good to me; and I do love you very much…my great Jon," she whispers closely.

He arches his brows at her and glances down to his breeches. "Would you care to see how great, Sansa?"

She gives a gasping little laugh of surprise. "I know well how great you are: you let me know at the inn near the Kings Road…and everyone else there as well," she teases.

"I would be happy to remind you again, my Sansa," he offers, "and to show you how wrong Cersei was to tell you love would kill you: love makes you even more beautiful," he tells her as he takes her face in his hands caressingly, "and it makes me feel even more alive," he cannot help jesting.

Sansa laughs softly again. She loves that he makes her laugh, even as he makes her feel wanted.

"Did I not promise you that we could make all the noise we want in the privacy or our chambers?" he jests again.

I'll have a song from you, she hears in her mind: a distant memory made suddenly vivid. "Do…do you mean to have a song from me?" she whispers huskily.

"You do make the sweetest music when we…" he murmurs, and then his warm brown eyes twinkle merrily. "That would seem better than having you scream by turning you upside down," he counters and plucks at her bedgown. "Have you girl's stockings and smallclothes under there?"

"You should know very well what I have under my bedgown…my lord," she says languidly as she rises to stand slowly. "Mayhaps you need reminding as well?' With those words, Sansa draws on the braided cord that holds the neck of her bedgown closed and lets it open to slide off her shoulders and over the curves of her tall body before it pools at her feet.

As her husband's eyes look her over lustfully, she turns and walks slowly to her side of their great bed and sets one knee down on it and then the other and crawls and stretches across the thick furs until she is lying on her side with her rich auburn hair flowing loose around her head.

The Greatjon turns to admire her, and lifts his great long legs onto the bed and huffs and slides and moves closer until he is lying on his side facing her, propped up on one elbow. He gazes down the length of her and his free hand follows with his fingertips just grazing the skin of her neck and shoulders and her arm to where her hand rests on her hip. There he trails around to her bottom to make soft swirls before trailing back up her back. Sansa lifts her hand to put a fingertip to his lips and he kisses it sweetly before she brushes her hand over his beard and around into the thick hair at the back of his head and leans in to kiss him.

As he kisses her back he draws her closer and slips a big hand between her thighs and strokes her skin lightly. Sansa breathes heavier into his mouth as his fingers reach her swollen folds and feel the wetness that has gathered there.

"Yes," she whispers, breaking their kiss for only an instant.

With a grunt of want, he rolls onto her slowly and puts her on her back. She feels the deep soft furs beneath her and the light softness of his worn wool shirt and the scratchy rough wool of his breeches against her skin. Sansa reaches her hands beneath his shirt and lifts it to pull over his head. He struggles and mutters oaths until he can settle on her again and rains kisses on her face and neck. She strokes her hands up his back, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the hardness of his body: honed strong and solid by decades of training. She thinks fleetingly that he is as solid as a great pillar, and nearly giggles at the thought when she feels his hard member press against her thigh through is breeches. He is not a pillar: the marble pillars in the Red Keep were cold and still while he husband was warm and alive and full of hot breath and coursing blood and vigorous strength. And love. Sansa draws her hands down his back and slips them into his breeches over his firm rounded behind.

"Oof," he breathes out a great gust of air and raises himself off her with one hand so as to fumble at his lacings with the other. Sansa begins to help him and then they both begin to sputter and laugh when their fingers tangle together with the laces. When he is finally freed, he settles on her again and gazes at her tenderly.

"Gods but you make me happy, Sansa."

She smiles softly for him and runs a caressing hand on the side of his breaded face. 'Kiss me again," she nearly pleads.

The Greatjon kisses her mouth, her fluttering eyelids and even the tip of her nose which makes her laugh. He buries his face in her hair behind her ear when he angles himself to thrust into her slowly. Sansa tilts her hips up to take him in with a sharp gasp and then a long sigh of pleasure. He is so strong and hard that she feels herself stretch around him as he fills her, and she raises her knees and shifts her bottom to take in more of him. She arches her back, pressing her breasts into the matt of hair on his chest, and so he runs a warm hand up from her hip to one of her breasts and squeezes gently before rubbing his thumb over her nipple. His warm caress and his movement inside her make her heart drum and her body feel languid and flushed. She closes her eyes and leans her head back, surrendering herself to him and to her own pleasure as he rocks and churns over her, sliding in and out slowly until his breathing becomes heavier and finally hitches. He stops caressing her to gather her in his great arms and begins moving quickly, thrusting in short hard strokes that make her clutch at his back and shoulder and wraps her long legs around his middle. She bucks her hips in time with his rhythm and begins to gasp and keen.

"That's it…that's it, my Sansa. Peak with me now, I'm so close…Gods!" he cries through clenched teeth as his entire body tenses and he drives himself as deeply as he can inside her and holds himself there as she shudders and arches further and cries out sharply.

Then he is running his hands through her hair and murmuring to her soothingly. "It's good, isn't it, Sansa? You like it when we lie together."

"Yes," she whispers back to him and opens her eyes, "I have for some time, please know that; and now…more and more."

He laughs softly, indulgently. "I knew it would only take time; and now we have time, Sansa."

Later when they are together under the furs of their great bed, Sansa curls up to his side as he lies on his back, and drapes one arms across his massive chest and one leg slipped between his. He holds her closely in his arms.

"You see: love doesn't make us weak or foolish or poison us. It makes us happy and want others to be happy; and so it makes us better people. Someday I hope my son learns that too…" he murmurs in his deep voice.

Sansa presses herself closer to him still, but she lowers her eyes before speaking.

"I- I never told you why I was smiling when you asked, my love: you may take heart: Berena and I have confirmed that Lyanna is with child-"

"Lyanna pregnant?" He stirs and look down at her head nestled in the crook of his arm and shoulder. "Gods be good: this could be the next heir," he enthuses, "another Lord Umber in the making."

"She will tell Lord Jon tonight and mayhaps…mayhaps that will be enough to make him happy," she tells him. Please gods, let him be happy: he deserves that much, as does she.

"I hope so, Sansa, for both their sakes," he replies. "Smalljon a father," he wonders aloud, "I can only hope that I have set a better example to him as a father."

"You have," Sansa replies unhesitatingly, and looks up to him now. "You are a wonderful father to our children, and I have seen how much your eldest son respects and admires you," she manages to say though her heart is heavy with her knowledge of their betrayal of the man she now loves. "He will be a good father, and he will have you to guide him still for many years."