The Honour Guard
They had been expecting it. Had received word of it via raven a few weeks prior. Yet when the trumpets heralded the return of Sansa Stark they elicited much shock and excitement amongst the small folk of Winterfell.
The iron gates around the premises creaked open sullenly allowing the entrance of the lost princess, accompanied by hundreds of banners, fluttering aimlessly upon the wind. Mainly blue, for House Arryn, traipsing and twirling in an intricate dance. Sansa had grown more beautiful with age and hardship, the youthful roundness of her face had hardened and she sat upright and regal at the head of the vast procession.
Her face held no sign of the thoughts the objective viewers imagined must have been flitting through
her head. To see her home of old so ruined. They wondered whether she compared the burned out wreckage to the beautiful Vale with its cacophonous waterfall and mountain views, or whether she compared it to the Red Keep of King's Landing with the extravagant finery she had been known to adore as a child.
The general liveliness of the small folk had all but vanished and now they stood in mesmerized awe at the sight before them. A day such as this one was usually home to the hopeful hearts of hundreds of Northerners, banding together to rebuild the great castle but the bustle had been replaced with a swollen, impenetrable silence that not even the reckless children dared to break. The procession of knights and young lordlings had quieted too, the usual chatter of a trip such as this had diminished under the gravity of the situation. Sansa herself was the first to break the silence. One horse hoof forward shattered the air around them with a gentle 'clop' and Sansa cleared her throat as she placed an elegant hand on her beast to steady it.
'I am glad to be home.'
She smiled a tight fleeting thing that seemed awkward and timid on her face but it set the crowds surrounding her rejoicing and welcoming her with open arms. Her honour guard followed close behind her trail as she passed the gates of Winterfell. It was a guard worthy of the young woman's childhood dreams but in that moment she made no move to speak to them, or see them. Even as their trumpets harkened and their banners fluttered she remained content gazing at her ruined home.
She had been back for many moons when her brother arrived. He did not return with as much grandeur as Sansa or so much warning. The early morning frost had glistened on the ground and dripped from gargoyles and window panes, Sansa rugged up in her favourite fox fur had been walking the battlements conversing with a Southron knight. She was quiet in her adulthood. More like her father than the people of Winterfell would ever have imagined. Stoic and silent, she governed the North with a grace and clarity of mind that her people admired and responded to. The progress in the rebuilding of her home had increased and more Northerners returned to their rightful places.
There was a deep sadness and hollowness to her eyes and mannerisms that went not unnoticed but unmentioned and she walked with a sinking air of depression and finality. The hopelessness of perceiving herself to be the last Stark.
She was discussing some improvements she was intending on making to some of the inner most apartments of Winterfell when she had heard the lone horn blow in the early morning silence. She peered over the side of the battlements, pale slender hands ghosting over the rough, solid stone, attempting to anchor herself in place using the very walls of Winterfell.
The banners were at least a days ride away and the colour of the very few banners within the company was almost impossible to make out. Fearing battle the people had been called into the town square. Sansa was not one for speeches, had never been. Even as a child she had preferred prose and poetry. Therefore she did not attempt to lift the spirits of her men, she was blind and dumb in this field and the most she could do was warn them of potential danger.
Dusk and silence had settled in the next day when danger finally arrived. He was flanked by Umber men, giants in comparison to his tall yet lithe form. A tiny brigade of them, surrounding the boy, silent with the utmost respect for him. It was an unusual sight to say the least. A hardened woman sat astride a horse next to him, wearing men's attire and a cold expression. She was a sharp wildling with flinty eyes and frazzled hair that Sansa did not recognise. Others around her seemed to though. A few small folk here and there who remembered the captured wildling who had befriended the young sons of Lord Eddard Stark and with that came the recognition of another face.
Now fourteen with a square, stubbled jaw and high-cut cheekbones, a mischievous grin reaching stubborn, Tully blue eyes and an unruly mop of auburn curls being tugged at by a sudden Winter breeze, Rickon Stark could easily have been mistaken for his eldest brother, Robb at the same age. Indeed, Sansa had thought so at first too. Something had tugged at her heart and she had been lurching forward towards this ghost when she had remembered her armour. Her courtesies. She stopped herself from stupidity and walked towards her brother in a way befitting a Lady. Casting a cursory glance at the surrounding crowd and his honour guard of Umbers Rickon leapt from his horse to meet his sister.
'You are so sad, my sister.' He said by way of greeting as they pulled back from a tender embrace and he stared deep within her eyes.
Tears escaped from their matching Tully blue eyes and their youth, chipped away and hardened by the war was made painfully obvious to the crowd of spectators. The children within these tired, broken adults.
Bran, the quiet soul returned to them with an oddly cacophonic, fragmented, patchwork guard of marsh men, watch men and children of the forest. They floated in first, frail and ethereal, they seemed to be carried by the breeze. Rickon who had been practicing sword play in the yard, called out to his sisters and any near-by knights. Crowds upon crowds of Northerners surrounded the children who appeared to see through all around them. An uncomfortable silence pervaded the air and with his sister close behind him Rickon steeped forward tentatively to greet this strange new company.
'Who are you?' was all he could manage.
He was not practiced in conversation making and the skilled courtesy on which his sister so heavily relied. They made no answer, merely continuing to stare in silence. All of Winterfell seemed to wait with bated breath but no more was said and no one moved.
It was the galloping of horses that seemed to awaken the ethereal beings and their gazes turned to the men behind them. A few dishevelled bog people led the procession of men, clearly uncomfortable on a horse, the elegance the small peoples were known for on the ground seemed to have escaped them. Following closely behind was row upon row of men dressed in all black. They appeared to have been carved by the winter wind's themselves, their silent, stoic faces mirroring the expression firmly set on the face of their honourable leader who sat astride his horse in the centre of the pack. The brothers sat next to each other, the face of Stark and Tully together once more and the small folk were harshly reminded of Eddard Stark and his eldest son once more.
'My brothers,' Sansa once more broke the silence with a few quiet words and a fleeting tight-lipped smile, 'I have missed you.'
The sentiments were clear, the crowd rejoiced for two Stark brothers had returned to them. Though not all bore the name all bore the honour and the love of the Northerners. Bran smiled, the boy they once remembered grown into a quiet unerring man as most had expected he would. The two so very much like their honourable father that before she knew it fresh tears had welled in the eyes of Sansa Stark and cascaded down her pale cheeks.
A feast was held and Bran's patchwork guard was celebrated with all the joy the return of two great men could bring.
The blood-curdling howl that carried on the still night air sounded to Jon Snow almost like a battle horn. Or perhaps a trumpet signalling the return of a loved one. He had been convinced to stay for a few moons along with a few chosen men of the Night's Watch. It was with the sincerest love and joy that the Stark siblings spent their time together, rebuilding their beloved home.
It was late and the deadened silence of the moon-less night pervaded the air. He sat in Winterfell's great hall with his lost siblings and their great dire wolves for company. He watched contemplatively as Summer, Shaggydog and Ghost returned the call with unrepentant vigour. The sound elicited boisterous laughter from Rickon, the youngest and still the most troublesome as his mirth filled eyes took in the sight of his 'regal' sister desperately attempting to hush them. She turned to glare icily at her brother and slumped back down on her throne in defeat. They all sat at their usual places on the high table, conversing quietly. Mainly speaking of innocent nothings that had evaded their grasp during their so-called childhood. Leaning back in wooden seats and smiling contentedly as they dreamed of a happier time when these conversations were the norm.
Once more the night was filled with the howling of wolves in the distance. Many of them, Jon could tell. Hundreds he suspected but said nothing that might worry his relations. Sansa sighed as she listened.
'There's got to be hundreds of them,' she muttered, more to herself than anyone else though the boys nodded in resigned agreement, 'I know I should be frightened, but they just remind me of Lady. I miss her.'
Her expression shifted as she thought of her dead wolf, she closed herself off and became once more calm and collected. The others hated to see it so but so it was.
As the night drew on the howling of the wolves drew nearer and louder. Small folk and knights alike woke from peaceful slumbers and ventured out of doors in an attempt to spot the pack that approached. The Lords and Ladies of Winterfell and the Nights Watch remained where they sat, talking in the hush of the hall.
Even as the early morning sun alighted on their pale faces and shouts and howls floated up from below they did not move. The wolves were obviously at the gates but they were shut and there was no point n attacking them. It almost felt like a form of kin-slaying to even try.
With the howls closer than ever none of the Stark children could help but compare the animal's noises with the sounds of a trumpeted signal and their unasked, unanswered prayers finally came to be as a harried, frightened knight rushed into the hall. Trembling he bent the knee while Jon Snow stifled an eye roll and the words 'kneelers…' and 'you know nothing' echoed in his head.
'M-my Lady, my Lords,' the poor man finally stuttered, seemingly unable to wrap his tongue around the syllables. He placed a hand on his chest as if to steady his heart and breathed in deeply, his eyes fluttering briefly closed.
'My Lady, my Lords. I am sorry to disturb you but something most unusual has occurred outside. A giant pack of wolves is just outside the gates-'
"Yes,' interrupted Rickon rudely, leaning forward tiredly in his seat, 'We can hear.'
"Rickon,' Sansa quietly admonished, while Bran placed a gentle hand on his brothers shoulder and gestured for the knight to continue.
'It is most unusual. You see, there is a woman, at the head of the pack. At least I think she is a woman, she is a strange wild creature. A frightening little thing. She does not appear to be scared of her travelling companions, in fact it would seem she is in control of them but that is not possible. Is it? No, no, sorry, the small folk think she is a witch, a warg they are frightened and wish for you to get rid of her… if it pleases you.'
Silence once more pervaded the air around them and the rustlings of the Stark siblings' fabric as they moved seemed muted.
'Brothers. May you help me into my chair so I might see this woman and calm our people down.'
Jon and Rickon leapt from their chairs in order to help them, Sansa following silently and unusually timidly behind them. They proceeded from the castle and into the yard below. The crowds of shrieking small folk parted for them, the silent sternness of the Starks catching them almost immediately off guard. They approached the gate and immediately spotted the woman.
Small in stature with a tangled mass of brown hair and dirt smudged cheek bones cut high. The wolves around her yowled horrifically and scampered back and forth between her and the closed gates of Winterfell. They almost seemed an honour guard, of sorts.
'Good lady,' Sansa began, taking a tentative step towards the gate, 'may I ask the reason for your presence at Winterfell?'
'I came to see my family who have recently returned here themselves.'
There was coldness to her gaze that made Sansa shiver but a familiarity that prevented her from turning away.
'I apologize if my companions frighten you but you must not worry. If you let us in I will prevent them from hurting you.'
'That is not possible,' Sansa's words escaped on a shaky breath and she stepped back, 'I apologize madam but the safety of my people is at stake and I can not endanger them. You must leave this place at once.'
The shadow of a smirk lilted at the corner of the girl's petal lips and Jon couldn't help but notice the slightly impressed gleam in her eyes as she studied Sansa. He let his eyes wander down her thin frame, noticing the lean strength of her muscles and the slight tremble of her hands. She was nervous though she did a very good job of hiding it. His eyes followed the length of her hand until they reached the end of her fingertips where they softly grazed the fur of a massive direwolf. A creature that had remained unnoticed by the crowd due to its stillness and silence. He stared for a long moment into the beasts great yellow eyes and something in his heart lurched uncomfortably.
'Let her in,' he said his eyes flitting from the yellow eyes of the wolf to the wide Stark grey of the woman's.
There was no response.
'I said let her in. Now.'
Neither he nor the girl broke each other's gaze.
"Now!' He barked, the finality in his tone setting his own men into action and the people of Winterfell cowering in fright, awaiting their doom. But the wolves stood at attention by the gate and waited for their mistress to move before they too ventured inside. Ghost, Summer and Shaggydog greeted the pack at the gate and Jon leapt at the mysterious stranger. Enveloping her in a hug and weeping silently.
'Jon,' she finally said, 'Jon. I missed you.'
'I missed you too, little sister. I missed you too.'
His words set the people to rejoicing and Arya's honour guard to yapping but none of the Stark children paid any heed, they remained, content, gazing at their rebuilt home.