"Milady."

Berena smiles a wearyily forced smile as she hands Sansa a clean linen, but the fondness and pride in her eyes is genuine.

"You did well, milady," she continues, "as did Lady Lyanna."

Sansa blushes slightly and ducks her head as she wipes her cleaned hands dry. "Thank you, Berena. Surely you must know that I could not have done it without you…and the maester," she adds respectfully.

"You have proven yourself passing able, my lady," the maester replies somewhat condescendingly. "Will you inform the Lord Jon or…"

"If I might accompany you to the solar, Maester; I should also like to see my lord's reaction to the happy news."

"Indeed, he stands to be very well pleased, my lady," he replies as he steps back to allow her to pass. But once they reach the solar, Sansa steps aside to let the maester speak first. The Greatjon catches her eyes immediately though, and knows the news before anyone tells him.

"Lady Lyanna is delivered of a son, Lord Jon," the maester tells Smalljon who then lets out a withheld breath and nods and smiles satisfactorily. The Greatjon howls with delight and slaps his son and heir on the back with a hearty whack.

"Well done, boy! Another Lord Umber to follow us both, thank the old gods!"

"Yes, thank the gods; and thank you, Maester, for attending my lady," Smalljon addresses the older man.

"It was Lady Umber brought your son from his mother," Lord Jon, "with my guidance and that of the midwife, of course. Her studies have not been for naught, you will be pleased to hear…I'm sure, my lords."

Lord Jon steps towards Sansa and bows his head. "Then I thank you sincerely, my lady. If you will all excuse me," he smiles, "I should like to meet my son."

It is the Greatjon's turn to step towards Sansa now. "I am proud of you, Sansa. I know that Lyanna wanted you with her when her time came, especially since the She-Bear could not be here," he pats her shoulder gently and recalls Lady Mormont's recent fall from her horse. "Though gods be good, I'm surprised she didn't try to crawl here," he adds jestingly.

"The raven's scroll did say that she would spend nigh on two moons with her leg and shoulder in splints, my lord: I suspect even crawling is out of the question, even for such a formidable lady. Once Lord Jon has seen Lyanna, shall we remind him to send a raven to Bear Island?"

Her husband sniffs and thinks. "No, I'll send it by my own hand," he decides, "I'm still Lord Umber, though there be two in line behind me now," he laughs with pride and delight. "Maester, prepare a raven for Bear Island, if you would."

"Very well, my lord," the maester bows and leaves the solar.

The Greatjon turns back to Sansa and smiles contentedly.

"I am so very happy for you, my lord," she tells him, "and for House Umber."

"I'm always happy with you, Sansa: today I am happier," he replies and embraces her warmly.

Sansa clings to him and shuts her eyes tightly. I helped to bring his son into the world, and my lord's grandson and heir: please, may the gods forgive me now. But she smiles again for her husband when he lets her go and turns to follow the maester.

"What will they name him, Father?" Eddard asks now, and his father turns back to look at him.

"Your brother will decide, Eddard. I'm sure he will tell us soon."

"He's the heir…so he's important," Eddard says now and tries to smile for his father.

Sansa understands his meaning and turns to her husband for reassurance but he has already stepped back into the solar.

"All Umbers are important, Eddard: no lord can rule on his own without family. Does not Smalljon help me to train you? Did not all your brothers teach and help you? We are a noble House of the North, all of us together. I will need you to help your nephew as Smalljon helped you: you will be his most important bannerman one day and so he will needs count on you as I have counted on my uncles and brothers. Can you do that for us?" he asks firmly.

"Yes, Father," Eddard nods. "I won't disappoint you."

The Greatjon looks down proudly on him now. "I know you won't, Eddard, because you never have. Gods, but your mother and I are proud of you."

Sansa's heart swells to see her son smile shyly and lift his head.

"Thank you, Father…Mother. I promise to make you proud."

"Good lad. Come help me write this scroll, will you: you will know better words from all the poems your mother reads to you," he motions for Eddard to follow. With his hand on his son's auburn head, the Greatjon pauses a moment to wink at Sansa. Then Sansa watches them leave together, and moves to the hearth to sit down in her husband's chair and stares wistfully into the fire.

….

Serena runs to her just as she steps out of the castle into the weak sunlight of the castle yard. It had rained in the early hours of the morning, and the Spring air was still damp.

"Look, Mama!" Serena exclaims as she holds forth a straggly bouquet of wildflowers. "From the godswood, Mama!"

Sansa smiles down at her, her little bird who has grown so lovely despite the mud on her boots and skirts. Behind her little Gretel wears a crown of flowers in her pale hair.

"Did you make a flower crown for Gretel, Serena?" she asks.

Serena nods. "Yes, Mama. She likes the flowers, and the godswood…I think," she whispers as she leans closer.

Sansa smiles at the little wildling girl now, who has still yet to speak in all the time that she has been at Last Hearth: "You look very pretty, Gretel," she tells her.

Gretel ducks her head but blinks and smiles. She has been Serena's playmate and shadow since the wildlings returned to the Gift once the Spring thaw had set in early the previous year. As the women and boys and girls had climbed into the horse-drawn wagons, Sansa had helped Ivy and Myrtle to search for Gretel. They had found her hiding under a table in the maester's library.

"Come out, Gretel," Ivy had said. "We needs go back North."

But Gretel only shook her head and covered her tightly closed eyes with her small hands.

Sansa understood. What Gretel had seen in the far North beyond the Wall had frightened her, and she did not want to return.

"Lord Umber decreed that any wildlings who would stay with us at Last Hearth were welcome to do so," she reminds the others gently. "Is that what you want, Gretel?"

Without taking her hands from her face, the little girl nods vigorously.

"Very well then," Sansa soothes her. "You will remain here with us."

"But she's a wildling, Lady Greatjon," Ivy had protested.

Sansa closes her eyes and for a moment she sees the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor, Joffrey's cruel smile and hears the crowd screaming for her father's head. "Sometimes…some places are too painful to revisit, Ivy," she tells her hoarsely. "We will keep Gretel safe here with us, I promise you."

Now whenever wagon-loads of goods travelled to the Gift from castles in the North to help supply the wildlings, Sansa always included word of Gretel for Ivy and even once sent a strip of cloth that Gretel had woven from spun wool to use for a hair ribbon.

"Serena, it is almost the hour for your lessons," she tells her daughter now. "Run ahead to the maester and I will send Eddard. Gretel, you may join the women in the spinning room. They tell me that you work very hard and do good work," she praises her. The eldest woman had in fact told Sansa that the girl seemed to have singular patience for spinning and weaving for a child and had a gift for working colours.

"Yes, Mama. Come on, Gretel!" Her daughter runs into the keep with her friend hurrying after.

Sansa walks in the direction of the armoury now, and she can hear the clank of clashing swords before she can see her husband and son practice-sparring.

"Good!" the Greatjon enthuses loudly. "Thrust! Again! Now parry…parry, Eddard," he tells his son as Eddard wields his sword against his father. The boy needs take two steps for every one of his father's and hold his sword high to block his father's cuts. Even from where she has stopped to stand and watch, Sansa can see that her husband needs not use his full strength against his son.

"Hold your sword higher, Eddard," Lord Jon advises his young brother as he watches. He holds his own son in his arms and the babe watches curiously. A true Umber, Sansa thinks; and she knows that he will have his own wooden sword soon after he is able to walk.

Eddard furrows his brow in concentration but retorts to his brother's advice: "I would needs stand in the back of a wagon to reach father's sword properly…Ugh!" Eddard thrusts his blade powerfully but the Greatjon blocks and turns it away easily. Nevertheless, Sansa sees that her husband is winded.

"Forgive me, my lords," Sansa calls gently, "but it is time for Eddard's lessons with the maester."

"Alright, boy, that's enough for one day. Don't slouch like that, boy: you're improving all the time. You'll needs grow much bigger before you can best your old man of a father," the Greatjon laughs and coughs. "Put your sword back in the armoury and get to your lessons. You heard your mother." He tousles his son's head affectionately and shoves him headlong towards waiting master-at-arms. He nods to his older son now. "We'll talk later," he murmurs and pats his grandson's head. "Your turn is coming, Little Jon: you'll train with your father and me and your uncle Eddard!"

Little Jon looks up at his grandfather and waves his chubby arms. "A-hee," he finally gushes.

"My lady," Lord Jon bows his head to Sansa even as he jostles his son in his arms. "How fares my lady?"

"Lyanna is resting now, Lord Jon. Berena and I will see to her later," she tells him. "She tires as her time draws nearer but she is well."

He nods and slips away with his son when the Greatjon steps up to Sansa with a great warm smile.

"My lord," she greets him finally, "Eddard mayhaps cannot best you as yet, but he is growing so much bigger." At nearly nine years, their son is as big and tall as other boys who are already ten-and-two.

"He's an Umber," her husband states simply and firmly, "and he is growing: he is nigh at the age most boys are warded."

Sansa looks and fixes her stare on her son who speaks with the master-at-arms. My sweet boy. But Sansa knows her duty. "As you say, my lord," she replies softly without looking away.

But the Greatjon comes to stand before her with his brow furrowed and shakes his head at her. "Don't do that, Sansa. Don't shut me out. Talk to me. This is our son-"

"Our only son," she says without thinking.

"Yes, Sansa: he is our only son," She feels him take her fingers in his hand which is cold from the crisp Northern Spring air. "Tell me your thoughts on the matter. The Dragon queen is strongly encouraging the exchange of wards throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and more children from noble houses are being brought to court. It may be that we will have no choice in the matter if we do not act soon on our own. Well, I'm a Northern lord, and so I'll make my own decisions about my son, our son."

Sansa looks up to him now, and swallows her pain. "My- my father was warded to the Eyrie-" she begins.

"I know that, Sansa," he tells her gently.

"But Robb was kept home at Winterfell. I expect it was because we had Theon, or mayhaps because my mother feared my father would become more attached to Jon without Robb." An idea forms in her head as she speaks. "Mayhaps…mayhaps, my lord, if we should invite boys to be warded at Last Hearth then that would satisfy the queen. Booth you and Lord Jon are renowned warriors, known throughout Westeros: no lord would deny that their son would learn well what it is to be a man, and…"

The Greatjon smiles and puts both his hands on her shoulders and leans closer to her. "We are of a mind, Sansa. I mean to bring it up with Smalljon this night, to discuss which houses to approach…but you know the South and Southroners better than we do," he reminds her quietly.

Sansa pauses slightly, and then nods resolutely. "I shall be pleased to advise you, my lord."

He smiles again and offers his arm to her, and Sansa takes it gratefully. "We'll have a word with the gods about it then? Serena says there are wildflowers in bloom."

As they walk Sansa asks about his knowledge of Kings Landing. "How have you heard about the wards at court, my lord?"

"Hm? Oh, the last train of wagons to the Gift from House Manderly brought me a scroll from old Wyman when they stopped here," he tells her and looks around carefully. "His master was born a Lannister, and so he does not send to me by raven. He fears Maester Theomore spies on him and all of us for the Imp and the Spider. Lord Too-fat knows how Umbers and Starks would balk at sending their offspring South, and so how it could make it more likely that we should be commanded to do so; and so he warned me."

Sansa shudders to think of sending her children to court in Kings Landing. "And- and what of Serena, my lord-" she begins.

"My daughter goes nowhere without her mother; and my lady goes nowhere without her lord. If they want my daughter, they will have us both, and the little wilding chit besides. Smalljon and Lyanna can mind Last Hearth for us; I will go and protect my women. Let them try and stop me," he fumes. He stops before the heart tree and turns to Sansa. "No harm will ever come to you or our children: not as long as I am alive, Sansa."

She sees his resolution and places a gentle hand on the side of his bearded face. His hair has gone white, she notices suddenly, when did that happen? But she knows that it must have been gradually, over time. She smiles tenderly. "I am grateful for your assurances, my love," she murmurs and he leans to kiss her forehead.

"Besides," he adds," I don't want the queen thinking to wed my daughter to the Imp," he scoffs.

"Lord Tyrion?" Sansa exclaims. "But why-"

"He is the last male of his line. He is trying to bring back Cersei's children to the Rock by promising they will never marry...though who he thinks would marry bastards of incest is a mystery of his own twisted little mind. But unless the dwarf weds and fathers heirs, Casterly Rock will pass to some distant Lannister blood from another house; or the queen could even bestow the castle on another."

"Tommen and Myrcella were exiled by King…by Lord Renly," she remembers. "He charged Sandor Clegane to be their sworn shield."

The Greatjon snorts. "She is not like to welcome a Clegane back to the Seven Kingdoms; not unless he takes the Black. That is another line that will be extinguished."

"Oh," is all Sansa replies.

The Greatjon tilts his head at her. "The Hound helped you, didn't he? I recall that you spoke for him, Sansa."

"He- he liked to have saved my life the night of the Battle of the Blackwater, my lord," she tells him. "The- the Lannisters wanted me dead."

The Greatjon nods. "I remember: you told me this. Well, if he should return, that is enough for me to offer him a place in service here…if you agree, Sansa. Though he may spit on an offer from the man who killed his brother," he adds.

"I- I think not, my lord. The Mountain was never a brother to him," she remembers now. "And I think the North would suit him: Sandor Clegane never cared for knights or…or ceremony or notions of gallantry." Or songs. He warned me, but I learned too late. "Of course, I soon learned the feel the same," she adds sadly.

"Hm," the Greatjon remarks absently and rubs his arm.

"My lord," Sansa inquires, "are you injured?"

"Hm? Just sore. Eddard cannot best me as yet but it seems he can wear me out," he jests.

Sansa puts her hand on his arm. "Mayhaps you should rest, my lord. I needs see to Lyanna before the evening meal."

He smiles at her; then bends over her. "Shall we take our meal in our chambers, Sansa?" he murmurs.

Sansa drops her eyes and blushes. He had taken her just last night when they had retired to their chamber. He had gazed tenderly and longingly at her in the solar as she sang for the children, and when they came together her own passion had matched his. They had slid to the floor and coupled atop a bearskin rug without first undressing, and she had been in a comically telling disarray when her maid had knocked to assist her in preparing for bed.

"If it please you…my lord," she replies softly and stretches to kiss him. She savors the warmth of his tongue against hers and pulls away slowly but he grasps and pulls her closely for a moment. Sansa wraps her slender arms around him and lets him hold her, feeling his love and her own. She closes her eyes.

"Run along and see to Lyanna and my next grandchild, Sansa. We'll speak later," he tells her.

She smiles warmly at him and bows her head, then she turns from him and the heart tree to return to the keep.

….

After examining Lyanna with Berena, Sansa walks towards her chamber. As she passes the solar, she sees her husband in his chair by the hearth fire and so she smiles and enters to join him, thinking that they might retire to their chambers early.

"Lyanna will to the great hall for supper with Lord Jon, my lord, and so the children are less like to miss us," she begins and then stumbles when her foot strikes a drinking horn on the wood floor and it goes scattering across the room. When she looks down in surprise, she sees that it has rolled and emptied itself from where he sits. He has fallen asleep, she realizes, and yet the noise did not wake him. She steps closer and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder to rouse him.

"My lord?"

His great bearded head lolls to one side and now she sees that his eyes are open, but he does not see her. Sansa's heart stops.

"Oh," she breathes in sudden realization, "oh, no…"

.