The courtyard of Winterfell was silent. Sansa stood on the balcony walkway, staring down at Bran as he sat lost in a trance, a thousand miles away. Ever since he had told of the horrors in King's Landing she had stood there with bated breath, desperate for any news.

She had never trusted Daenerys Targaryen, not from the moment she had first met her. There was a person too in love with her own power, Sansa had thought. She'd seen it all before. Jon, equally in love with the dragon queen, hadn't listened to her misgivings. And now he was in the capital as Daenerys razed it to the ground. Arya was there too, Sansa suspected, as she had disappeared shortly after Jon. She could only hope they weren't caught in the crosshairs of Daenerys's show of force. Sansa hadn't wanted to be right. Not if it meant this.

She fiddled with the obsidian blade Arya had given her before the battle of Winterfell. She had kept it in a pocket in the folds of her skirt, an unpleasant reminder of how useless she had been when it really mattered. "Stick them with the pointy end," Arya had said, but she hadn't even done that. When the time had come, she had frozen, and probably wouldn't even have found the courage to escape with her life had Tyrion not been beside her. Even with all she had been through, she had never felt as helpless as she had down in those crypts.

She felt that way now, watching her brother, his eyes weirdly glazed over, his face unreadable. She wondered for the hundredth time what was going on, what he could see.

Bran blinked. It was the tiniest of movements but she was down the stairs and across the courtyard in time to see his eyes return to their usual brown.

"What's happening?" she demanded.

It was a moment before he answered. "The city is falling."

Her breath caught. "Jon? Arya?"

"They're alive. For now. Daenerys's soldiers are fighting Jon's."

This was a surprise. "Fighting each other?"

"Yes."

"This shouldn't be happening. None of this should be happening." Sansa's words sounded desperate, even to her. "They need to stop."

His voice was distant. "They'll never stop. And neither will she. Daenerys."

"But they did stop," Sansa insisted. "Before. In the war against the dead. Everyone put aside their differences, even her. They can do so again."

"Yes." His voice was bemused, but suddenly he stared straight at her. "They can."