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When King Robb and his wife, Queen Wynafryd, finally had a baby after years of tragic miscarriages, the North celebrated the joyous occasion for weeks afterwards. Princess Arya’s birth was something everyone had been waiting for and though silently, they had hoped the King and Queen would have a son, any baby was instantly loved, and upon her birth, Arya had the loyalty of every banner-man in the North and would have it for the rest of her life.
The King’s sister, Lady Sansa, and her husband, Lord Jon, lived in Queenscrown of the Gift, the Gift being the lands of House Snow, and they had five sons. Everyone knew that sons were preferred – it was the woman’s duty in life to give her husband healthy sons – and for Lady Sansa to give her husband five sons, she had gone well above and beyond what a wife was to do.
But everyone in the Gift knew that even if Sansa had given birth to five daughters, Lord Jon would love them all fiercely and he would still love his Lady wife above all others. And when Lady Sansa would not come out of their chamber for the third day in a row, Lord Jon tried to think of what he could to make her better but was coming up short, he realized.
Dorren had been a wedding present when they married thirteen years earlier and Sansa had loved her little lamb the instant her soon-to-be husband presented him to her, having picked the animal himself from the countless herds of sheep that made Gift wool some of the finest in all of Westeros.
From that moment on, Dorren was a constant companion to his Lady. Sansa was the only one who he permitted to rub his horns – when they came in and grew – and he spent many evenings at her feet, sleeping as she sewed. He had loved all of her sons, allowed them to climb all over him and ride him as if he was a pony and he even listened to Jon when the man told him to get off his side of the bed when he wanted to lay down next to his wife at night.
As he neared his thirteenth year, and all of the sheep were sheared after a long winter, a large lump was discovered growing on Dorren’s side. Sansa had thought she had felt something anytime she gave him rubs but his wool coat had been too thick for her to be certain. But no. It was definitely something. With Sansa’s immediate permission, Harmund, their Stable Master, performed surgery on the ram to try and remove the lump. But whatever it was, it wasn’t just one lump. There were several throughout his body and Harmund could only do so much.
Sansa was Lady of the Gift but she slept in the stables after Dorren’s surgery, curled on the hay with her beloved animal recovering next to her.
There wasn’t much time for him after that. When he was able to be moved, Sansa gave the order. Dorren was carted into the Keep and everyone who wanted to be there was sure they were so they could say goodbye to him as he was rolled past. He was the pride of the Gift. He was the very inspiration for their sigil. Everyone who lived in Queenscrown knew of Dorren; their Lady’s beloved and loyal ram.
His weight was over two-hundred pounds and with Jon and other men, they carried him up the stairs as gently as they could.
Dorren would spend his last days – or hours – in his Lady and Lord’s bedchamber, in front of the fire. Their five sons – ranging in age from twelve to one – stayed with him. As the oldest, Ethan did his best to keep from crying because boys his age did not cry but even his father had wet eyes, not able to control them, so Ethan knew he could cry, too. And he did.
On the second day of him in there, Sansa gently checked his gums as Harmund had taught her to and she saw they were nearly white. He was bleeding internally and the blood in his gums had left to go to the spot in his body where all of the other blood was. She began to cry when she saw and once that started, she couldn’t stop. Jon ushered the boys out of the chamber so Sansa could be alone with her ram. He wanted to stay and be with her but he felt she should have her privacy and this last little bit of time with Dorren – just the pair.
Less than a half hour passed before the door opened again and Sansa stood in the frame. Her face was red and soaked with tears but none were falling from her eyes.
“He needs to be taken away,” she told Jon and Harmund, who were both waiting in the hallway for her.
That was three days ago and Sansa still had not emerged from the bedchamber.
Garrick, their youngest, was still a babe who drank from her breast and the nurse would bring him in so Sansa could feed him – wishing no other to do it. Jon would make sure meals were brought to her and he wished he could stay in their room with her but his duties as Lord couldn’t be shirked. He hoped that Sansa knew how badly he wished to do just that but he also knew that Sansa would understand.
Dorren’s meat was too precious though Jon had offered to Sansa that he bury the ram. Perhaps he would have a special resting place in their hedge maze. He knew that their people would understand burying the animal instead of butchering him for the meat but Jon couldn’t stomach even imagining it. He also knew that Sansa would understand no matter what he decided.
The ram’s body was to be taken away and once butchered, he would be equally distributed to the other villages, besides Queenscrown, in the Gift - a symbolic gesture since he had been so sick internally. His head would remain though and it would be buried in the hedge maze, which was one of Sansa’s favorite places to be. This way, she could go and be with him and her thoughts whenever she wished. Jon would also have a statue erected.
Jon woke on the fourth morning to sense that was Sansa awake next to him. She was rolled on her side, away from him, facing the windows in their chamber, and he saw the slight shake of her body as she tried to be quiet. He didn’t hesitate in rolling towards her and as soon as his arms were around her, holding her back against his chest, she began crying in earnest. Jon closed his eyes, pressing his nose to the back of her head.
He hated that she was going through this. When he gifted her with the lamb before their marriage, it was because he hadn’t known what else to get her. She was the King’s sister and no matter what he gave her, he was aware that it wouldn’t be nearly good enough. But Sansa had taken one look at the little animal and had been so happy. She had loved it immediately and Jon had been relieved that he had done something right – straight away – for this stranger who was going to be his wife.
He hadn’t even thought and he knew that Sansa hadn’t thought of it either. Dorren getting older and dying had never crossed their minds because Dorren had been such a part of their life and he had almost seemed invincible in a way.
“Would you like another?” He asked her in a whisper. “Any shepherd in the Gift would see it as the highest honor if you were to choose one of their lambs for your next pet.”
“No,” Sansa whispered and sniffled. “Not yet. I can’t…”
“You never have to.” He tightened his arms around her and Sansa exhaled a trembling breath. “I just thought it might help. I don’t know what will help.”
“This,” she said as she breathed again as she shifted her body closer against his. She was quiet a moment. “I think I shall go down to the Hall for breakfast in a little bit’s time.”
“The boys will be excited to see you. So will everyone.”
He couldn’t see her face but he could still hear her smile and he kissed the back of her head. It was a small smile but a smile nonetheless – the first smile on her face in nearly a week – and Jon was grateful for it. He loved her more than anything and anything he could do to ever make – and keep – her happy, he would do it. Maybe she would never be able to have a lamb again but perhaps something else. Maybe he could ask Tormund if he had seen any Direwolf pups on the other side of the Wall.
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