Sansa lies perfectly still and stares up at the ceiling. The furs are pulled up to her chin and the fire blazes in the hearth but she has never felt so cold. She has never felt so…nothing; not even when she lost Lady, or when her father was beheaded. She is empty, numb, stunned, and feels that she has been sleepwalking through a nightmare from which she cannot awaken: a nightmare in which everyone she knows is solicitous and sympathetic but is it somehow still wrong. She feels as though all the people who look to her and speak to her are the wrong person. None of them is the person she wants; none of the things they say are the words that she wants to hear. Her children are sad. Her daughter cries; her son does not. Sansa does not know which is worse.
She cannot understand. Two nights ago she lay next to her husband, curled into his enormous strong body with his massive arms holding her close. Last night she stood vigil over his dead body in the Great Hall with hundreds of other people. This morning she followed his coffin to the crypt where his son and brothers and the soldiers lifted the great pine box into the hollowed-out granite tomb and lay a heavy stone slab over top and shut him away from the world forever. Pain tore through her like sharp talons raking at her insides but she stood perfectly still. Her drawn-out, agonizing wail reverberated inside her head where only she could hear it. As the heavy stone grinded into place, Serena clutched at Sansa's legs and buried her face in her skirts and cried until she very nearly choked on her own tears, and Sansa could only pat her head absently. It was Lord Jon carried Serena back up into the daylight. Sansa thinks if one of her massive good-brothers had not offered her his arm, she would still be standing dumbly at the foot of the tomb in the crypt.
She watches the firelight cast shadows upon the ceiling. She refuses to turn towards the hearth where they had sometimes lain and slept and loved on piles of soft furs. She cannot look to his side of the bed where he snored and his body gave off warmth and his very presence made her feel safe, even as he slumbered naked with a great hairy arm thrown across his closed eyes.
There is a creak now and she remembers how the bed creaked when he sat or lay down or turned over or rolled onto her; but then she sees the light from the doorway cast by the torch in the hall make a wide band on the ceiling. Someone has entered her chambers. She catches her breath.
"Mama?" her daughter calls uncertainly.
Sansa sits up suddenly. "Serena? My little bird, what are you-"
Serena rushes to her bedside quickly in bare feet and a linen bedgown trimmed with ribbons and pauses only long enough for Sansa to see her two big sad and frightened eyes before her daughter clambers up onto the furs beside her.
"I don't want to be alone; I want you to be with you, Mama," she tells her.
Sansa smiles sadly and strokes her daughter's thick, soft hair that swirls around her shoulders. "Very well, Serena, you may stay here with me. Come and lie down." She takes her daughter in her arms and curls up so they are close together and she feels warm again and not so very lost or numb.
"I want Da," her daughter whispers.
"So do I," Sansa whispers longingly.
After a short pause, a small sob escapes her daughter's lips. "I want to fly away, Mama," Serena whispers tearfully.
Sansa breathes a heavy sigh and feels her own tears gather behind her eyes. "So do I, little bird…so do I."
They hold each other tighter now as they both cry themselves to sleep.
….
"...and Lady Mormont arrived only last night. She came with Alysane and her children, the ones she claims were fathered by a bear…I know how you always laugh at that… Lyanna was already abed; but Lord Jon welcomed them properly and so they will be here for the lying-in. The women had such kind things to say about you, my lord; you are so very well regarded here in the North, and throughout Westeros…so many high lords from the Riverlands and the Eyrie who fought alongside you in wars have sent ravens expressing their condolences."
Sansa runs her hand upon the cold, dark slab and sits gingerly on the edge. Jon Umber – Lord of House Umber had been chiseled into the stone along with the years of his birth and death on the very day of his burial, and Sansa has brought wildflowers from the godswood every day since. She does not know what else to do with herself and her time. Her son has his training and his lessons; and Serena has shut herself in her chamber and refuses to study or sew or play, even with Gretel.
"Eddard would make you so very proud, my lord: he has been keeping company with all the Umber men and only this morning Lord Jon told him how well he is behaving. And Serena…" Sansa sighs with a heavy heart. "Serena is heartbroken, my love: pray do not judge her too harshly. She loved you so much and she is very like you: unreserved and willful but big-hearted; nothing of the Stark nature at all..." She raises her hands to her face and sobs now. "Oh gods, she is so very young to have lost you…however am I to manage without you?"
Suddenly there is a loud clanking thump behind her and Sansa jumps up and yelps in surprise. When she turns she sees Whoresbane Umber has set a pewter tankard down on the stone behind her. He has another tankard in his hand, and both Lady Mormont and Lady Alysane, in breeches and mail, stand behind him with tankards of their own.
"Oh…f-forgive me," Sansa wipes her eyes and nods her head to their guests. "I did not hear you approach-"
"You would not have heard an army approach above that caterwauling, girl. What are you doing spending waking hours down here? You're not dead," he snaps.
"No," Sansa answers despondently. "No, I am not."
"Wishing you were, is it? Meaning to spend your life pining over a corpse?" he retorts harshly. "Pull yourself together, girl: d'you think he'd want this for you?" he demands, nodding to the stone slab beneath her hand.
"I- no-" she stammers.
"Men or gods'll take your life quick enough, girl…we who've fought in wars all seen and know that," he gestures to the women behind him. "Don't you be throwin' it away now. You'll grow bitter…an' old afore your time…like Mors did," he waves a hand towards his brother's grave now; and Sansa gasps at the comparison.
"But I- I only- I miss him," she says feelingly and drops her eyes as her tears come again.
"Miss him but don't live for him; Mors let his grieving pull him down into darkness 'til he was as dead inside as them he mourned before he was even in the crypt. I like you, girl: you made the lord happy, but you're a fool if you think this'd make him happy, to see you down here in the darkness mewling like a stray cat."
"Alright, old man, that's enough upbraiding the lady for one day," Lady Mormont scolds him mildly. "Go talk with old Crowfoot. I've not yet had a word with Lady Sansa."
Her husband's uncle walks off the short distance grumbling and muttering as Lady Mormont and her daughter come towards her. The She-Bear sets her tankard down on the stone and Sansa can smell the strong dark ale her husband favoured.
"I wanted one last cup with the Greatjon," she tells Sansa firmly. "We shared enough of them after battles, so it seemed fitting."
"I- I am certain that he would agree, my lady," Sansa replies. "Please forgive me-"
"Oh, none of that now, for I'm not so hard as old Hother. But he is right," she adds with a shrewd eye on Sansa, "you can't be spending your days down here…no matter how you might miss him. You've a life to lead…and children to see to. The gods only know how such a big and loud, blustering man would take up space in your life and your bed, so the world must seem very empty without him in it. But it will pass, girl…Lady Sansa," she corrects herself, "or do you want to be known as the Dowager Lady Umber?" she asks archly.
Sansa shakes her head now. "Sansa…you may call me Sansa…if it please you, my lady…"
"Then we are Maege and Alysane to you, Sansa," she replies.
"Dacey fought with both Smalljon and the Greatjon, Sansa. She will have been sorry to hear that he passed. We sent a raven when we heard, but we did not hear until we reached the inn near the Kingsroad," Alysane tells her now.
"You are kind to come for Lyanna's lying-in. My own mother came for my first, and it was a comfort. The maester, the midwife and I have done all we can for her-"
"Aye, and she's said so. She's very fond of you, Sansa, and concerned for you now. She says you are gentle and kind-hearted, and that loved him truly; you are young still too, and so all this is hard for you."
Sansa nods and tries to still her quivering chin. "He…he was so good to me, and to the children. I know that he was big and rough and loud but he was gentle too, and generous, and…and good-hearted as well-"
Maege Mormont tilts her head. "Well, you had it better than the first one then," she states flatly. "There was no tender-hearted affection 'twixt those two. And it seems you made him happy; and he made you happy. Well, good. But he's gone now, and though it's right that you mourn it's also right that you go on and live your life. You're too young to end it pining away, as Hother says. Will you not visit your family, Sansa? Might do you good to put leagues between yourself and this place," she nods as she casts her eyes about the crypt.
"L-leave Last Hearth?" Sansa asks with a glance down at the tomb. "I- I do not think-"
"Not today, not tomorrow but mayhaps after Lyanna is on her feet again. Send ravens, make plans, give yourself something to look forward to."
"You would be very welcome at Bear Island, Sansa; and we can stop to visit the mountain clans on the journey home. They loved your lord father and King Robb: they'd be honoured to have you," Alysane offers.
"You are very generous," Sansa replies, "but…it is much to think about-"
"Well, do think on it; we'll be here at least a moon's turn. Now…if we can have some time with this one," Maege Mormont indicates the Greatjon's grave, "we'd like to raise a cup to him once more," she says sincerely.
Sansa nods now, and tries to smile bravely. "I will leave you to it then." She looks desolately at the stone again and touches it reverently with her fingertips before looking back at the Mormonts. "I- I thank you for your kindness."
….
As Sansa comes out of the crypts, she sees Eddard running to her from across the yard. He wears his swordbelt, as he has every day since his father died, and removes it only in the evenings when his brother and uncles and cousins do the same.
"Smalljon is asking for you Mother. He is waiting in the solar for you."
Sansa's throat tightens. Though he has been everything kind towards her and her children since his father left them, she is nevertheless wary. She may be his father's widow, but she is not due the same deference as a dowager lady the likes of Lady Olenna of House Tyrell or her Aunt Lysa in the Vale or even her own lady mother. Her son is not the heir, and she is no longer the lady of the castle. She knows that Lord Jon would not be so cruel as to turn out his late father's young widow and children for such an action would condemn him as cruel and heartless in the eyes of both nobles and commons; but by rights he can send her children away as wards and reduce her circumstances to penury so that she must pander to his good will, or worse, be at the mercy of his desires. Though he has seemed content with Lyanna since his father counselled him to seek happiness in marriage, Sansa is fearful that he may still resent her for having loved his father after him.
"Very well, Eddard. I will go now, thank you."
"I'm to be there as well, Mother…I think it must be about Father. The uncles and cousins are with him." He takes her hand and walks with her to the castle and up the stairs.
When they arrive, she sees that Eddard is right: they are all waiting for her. She clasps her hands together and bows her head and curtseys. "My lords," she greets them formally.
"My lady," Lord Jon greets her, "will you please be seated. There is business of my late father's that needs be attended, and I wished to do so while all the Lords Umber are present. Maester, if you would begin," he prompts him.
"My lords, my lady, as you well know, Lord Jon is heir to his father and is so Lord of Last Hearth and all its lands and so is by rights entitled to our fealty and loyalty and -"
"We all know this, maester," the Greatjon's youngest brother interrupts him, "is it to have us swear to our new lord that we are gathered here?"
"Is that necessary?" Lord Jon asks him lightly but with a challenge in his dark eyes.
"I know my place, and my duty, my lord," the man insists firmly, "but if it is vows and oaths you need, then only say so plainly."
"Thank you, Uncle; however I do not doubt your fealty or any of those gathered here. But there is a particular bequest of my father's that I wish made known so that there should be no challenge to it after this day…so if you would let the maester continue?"
The maester harrumphs and brings a scroll from his sleeve. "Lord Umber…the late Lord Umber requested that the gold stores that were his spoils from the Westerlands during the War of Five Kings should, upon his death, become the sole property of the Lady Sansa Umber. He felt it due to her for all that she suffered at the hands of House Lannister during her captivity in King's Landing."
There is a heavy silence in the solar, and Sansa realizes that once again all eyes on her expectantly, and once again she is in a confused state of shock. "I- I do not understand, I am afraid: spoils? Gold?" she begins.
"My lady, surely you know that Lord Umber captured Lannister gold mines in Castamere and Nunn's Deep and the Pendric Hills during the wars?" the maester speaks to her as though she were a slow-witted child.
"Yes, of course, but were the mines not returned to the crown of Westeros when King Renly made terms with King Robb?"
Lord Jon smiles faintly now. "They were, my lady; but the gold stores captured from the mines had already been used to pay ransoms for Northern lords held prisoner, and given to Lord Edmure to help relieve hunger and poverty in the Riverlands caused by the Mountain's brutal campaigns. Fields and grain stores and even livestock were burned, and just as winter was coming. But King Robb was grateful to my father for his victories, and so permitted him to keep a share of the spoils. My father shared some with his own men of course, but he kept, well, the lion's share, as he termed it, and brought it back to Last Hearth where it has remained ever since," he explains. "But now it would seem he means for the Lannisters to hold to their reputation to always pay their debts, in this case to pay their debt to you."
"Lord Umber made this stipulation upon his return to the Wall, my lady, when…when he was ill. The scroll is written in the hand of your half-brother, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and witnessed by the sworn brother Samwell Tarly, Prince Oberyn of Dorne and bears the mark of the wildling Tormund Giantsbane," the maester goes on to tell her.
"It would seem that you are now a rich young widow, my lady," one Umber lord tells her, not without a touch of resentment.
"That is not quite so, my lord," the maester continues. "The gold is not simply Lady Sansa's to do with as she wills. You are to receive a reasonable stipend, my lady, until you die or wed again; in either case the gold will then pass to your children by Lord Umber. The gold is also meant to provide a dowry for the Lady Serena and for Lord Eddard to establish his own household when he is of age. You have been well-provided for but there are no riches to be squandered," he pronounces loftily to all present.
"My lady, the chambers you shared with my father are yours for as long as you wish…or, if you prefer, you may take other rooms in the castle," Lord Jon adds. "Please know that Last Hearth is your home, and your children's home." He reaches to pat young Eddard on the shoulder.
"I thank you," Sansa whispers hoarsely. "Forgive me, I- I am…quite overwhelmed."
Eddard comes to stand next to her now. "Father still takes care of us, Mother," he tells her.
"Yes," she nods and dabs at her eye. "Yes, Eddard, he does. And so does your brother. We are grateful, Lord Jon." Then she remembers something important that she must ask. "If…if I may ask, m-my lords: my lord husband intended to invite nobles boys to ward at Last Hearth so that my son should not be sent to join another household at the crown's command-"
Lord Jon nods now. "He did speak of it to me and to the maester on his last day, my lady; and letters have already been sent to the Lords Willas and Garlan Tyrell of Highgarden and Brightwater Keep regarding their young sons, and to Lord Royce of Runestone in the Vale with regard to his grandsons. Lady Alysane has brought her natural son and will leave him with us to ward. We thought is best not to wait, and to let it be known that House Umber would honour all pledges regardless of who is Lord of Last Hearth."
"Aye, that's wise," one of his uncles agrees heartily. "That little queen is sending noble children far from home to families without kin or cause in common. She means to break old alliances and forge new ones beholden only to the crown, and she has turned her eyes to the North. She and that Imp mean to bring the North securely back into the Seven Kingdoms. Best that all be done to protect the Greatjon's boy."
The men of House Umber all nods and mutter their agreement heartily.
"And…and what of my daughter, my lords?" she asks tentatively.
The men all exchange glances before Lord Jon looks to her again.
"We all hope that such a royal command should never come, my lady," he tells her somberly.