Prologue: Her Father's Voice
"My husband is dead, Lord Baelish. And, having never provided him with a son, the Eyrie will pass to some obscure Arryn, and my tenuous place here will be stripped from me," Sansa gazed at the clouds as she leaned over the stone windowsill.
Petyr Baelish sat solemnly at a table across the room, eyeing her wearily. "Yet, what would you have me do, my lady?"
"I want to go home," She turned to him with a steely gaze, "I never wanted run of the Eyrie. That is not to say I'm not grateful for what you did, bringing me here and ensuring my safety." She crossed the room and sat down at the table, opposite Baelish. When she began again her voice was low. "There is something my father used to tell my brothers, There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, he would say. Those words haunt me still. There has been no Stark in Winterfell for nigh on ten years, and as each year passes with no news of my brothers, or of Arya, I fear that I am the only Stark left. If that is so, I must return to Winterfell, no matter the cost."
Petyr narrowed his eyes at Sansa, studying her. Long ago, she had given up the ruse of their kinship and stopped dying her hair. She sat in front of him now, twenty-two years old, and more determined than she had ever been before. Her copper hair fell in waves over her shoulders, reaching down to the low neckline of her light blue gown. She has her mother's body, he mused but she speaks with her father's voice.
"Sansa, the North is in shambles. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms will have nothing to do with the hell the Boltons have created. I've heard tell that wildlings, and even the Others have been living south of the Wall. The Night's Watch…well, what's left of the Night's Watch does all they can."
Sansa closed her eyes, pursing her lips. "It will not be easy. But tell me honestly, is it possible?"
"There are houses in the North still loyal to the Starks, though they will not admit it outright given the current circumstance. And others are no friend of the Boltons, and might rally against them, should the true heir to the Winterfell arise."
"Bran is the true heir to Winterfell."
"Bran has not been seen since the Turncloak took your castle. Legally, he is dead until we are shown proof to the contrary. The same can be said for Rickon and for Arya. You are the true heir to Winterfell. You are the only heir."
Sansa slammed her hands on the table and stood up, "Then help me take what is mine." She paced around the room a few times, then stopped in her tracks. For a second she had let Cersei Lannister's influence creep into her actions, and she hated herself for it. She sat back down and took Petyr's hands in hers.
"I'm sorry. Now that I have no ties to the Eyrie, I fear my conscience will not let me rest until I am back home. I spent my childhood wishing for nothing more than to go south and to marry a lord and have his children. I have done two of those things and in doing so, I have seen enough of the South that I should never want to set foot here again. It may be that the northern blood is stronger in me than I once believed."
Baelish sighed and leaned his head down to kiss one of her hands. "If you feel that strongly about it, my lady, I will do what I can to fulfill you wish." He dropped her hands and stood, sliding into a low bow before he left.
Once the door shut behind him Sansa placed her head in her hands, just before the warm tears started to fall. She had spent years hardening her heart against thoughts of her family, but she had always had something else to hold onto. Now she was alone, and she felt the weight of her burden. She was all that was left of House Stark.
She got up and crossed back over to the window, her gown scratching against the rough floor behind her. She knelt at the window and dried her tears. Closing her eyes, she prayed to each of her gods in turn.
"Mother, I have no children to protect. I am the last Stark, but it must not always be so. Somehow, I ask that you'd grant me an heir to continue my father's blood.
Father, it is for your sake I undertake this fool's errand. Protect me and those who risk themselves in aiding me as I seek justice for all wrongs.
Maiden, remind me of who I used to be so long ago, when things were better.
Crone, guide me, for this path will be long and painful in so many ways.
Smith, guide Petyr's hand. I know he will not truly consent to helping me unless a plan is forged that carries minimal risk.
Warrior, sweet warrior, you protected Robb in his battles, and my father in his, and though I am a woman, I ask you'd grant me the same, if only for their sakes.
Stranger, I know I call to you on the rarest of occasions, and yet today I ask the most of you. It has been long since the North remembered, and I may not have as many friends there as I believe. In my heart, there remains a chance that I might see my family again. Rickon, Bran, and Arya may not be dead, but if they still live, it is only you that can guide them back to me. Even my bastard brother across the Wall, if he still lives, seeing him would bring me great joy.
Old gods of the North, my father's gods, hear me now. Give me strength to do what must be done. In my veins runs the blood of the First Men, the blood of the Kings of Winter, of the direwolf, and of your loyal Eddard Stark. I am his heir, and I will take back my home."