As the rising sun streamed through the curtains, Sansa pried the muscular arm from her, sat up and stretched. While it had been warm when they went to bed, the chambers had chilled through the night. Only now did she notice. It is finally winter and has us in its grasp. The Lady of the Vale stood up, her sensitive feet ticklish against the bear-skin rug that covered the stone floor that felt as cold as ice. Sansa Arryn slipped into a soft woollen gown, threw her hair back and straightened her belt so her garments wouldn't fall off.

"Up already?" came a grouchy voice beside her.

Harry was half buried beneath a pile of covers and furs. More often than not, he slept as deeply as a tired babe. His body was muscled and bruised from his bouts in the training yard, getting more regular as he handed evermore powers to Littlefinger. Instead of ruling like her lord father, Harrold instead spent his time practising his sword arm against other young knights. Despite Sansa insisting he govern, for that was his duty after all, Harry had simply laughed. "My lady, we have a war to fight. I need not waste my time with burdensome duties like counting coppers when I should practise for this war of yours. Littlefinger was in the King's small council and served you aunt faithfully. I'm sure he can handle my bannermen, he did as regent. But me, oh, I can't get sloppy and I don't wish to fall in the field of battle." She didn't like his words but was forced to follow his desires.

"The fire is out, my lord."

"I'm sure a servant will relight it," he said dismissively, rolling onto his back. "They'll just throw some more logs and the room will be as warm as the night before." He shuffled and pulled the blankets up to his chin.

Sansa shook his head and padded barefoot across the room to the balcony. Their chambers were cold, but outside it was much more so. It woke her up and Sansa inhaled a deep breath that went down her throat, spreading icy tendrils throughout her body. It reminded her of her childhood in Winterfell, which seemed so long ago. A peaceful time, when the world seemed so innocent.

A fierce wind blew snow down the mountain. Sansa shivered and tightened her robes, wishing for something thicker. Despite the cold, it was a beautiful sight, especially the mountains, and most of all, the Eyrie that reigned high above the rest. The mountaintop castle was white as the mountain, a cluster of seven slim, white towers tightly bunched together. It looks like it'll disappear under the snow. In the distance, the Eyrie looked like the castle she had dreamed about when she was little and still a maiden. The castle I would reign as queen as my prince ruled, with knights and lady's to serve me. It was a childish thought and Sansa Arryn was no longer a child.

The sound of muffled shouts and curses caused Sansa to look down at where the army marshalled outside the Gates of the Moon.

Smoke rose from hundreds of campfires, filling the Vale with a pale grey haze. There was untold thousands of coloured pavilions, belonging to the knights of the Vale, with many more sleeping underneath bushes or linen sheets that were the only thing separating them from the elements. Many wearnt knights. Others were retainers and levies and household troops. Near twelve-thousand, Lord Yohn Royce had declared, enough to bring to the Riverlands to heel. The only force Sansa had seen that was larger were the Tyrells after the battle of the Blackwater.

Just outside the camp was a line of scorpions mounted atop wheeled carts. Those machines had been fashioned by Braavosi engineers brought in by Littlefinger, for he declared no craftsmanship in Westeros would be sufficient. To further sell that idea, Lord Baelish told her the story of when the slaves that formed Braavos escaped from the Freehold, they used those exact machines to protect their lost city from dragons. They were never used of course, for dragons never visited Braavos, so Sansa was wary. She could only hope and like he knew her thoughts, Lord Petyr added further assurance in his solar, speaking privately over a cup of wine while her husband sparred. "Never underestimate the power of technology and centuries of fear. These are enough to bring down a dragon, or three. History has proven that scorpions are the bane of dragons, my dear. During the Dance of Dragons, two dragons fell during the Battle of the Gullet, falling to crossbow and scorpion bolts. During the Conquest, Queen Rhaenys learned that at her peril and Meraxes was much larger. The so-called Mother of Dragons has a dragon of a similar name. Wouldn't it be fitting if she suffered the same fate should she try and go against the both of us?"

Still, Sansa doubted it would be enough. She had seen them fire, showing off before lords. They were reloaded quickly with complex mechanisms she couldn't begin to fathom. Many of the Vale lords looked at those machines with scorn. Once upon a time, Sansa would have said that a true knight could have slain a dragon, armoured only in his faith and with a lance in hand, but Sansa was no longer a child, she was the Lady of the Vale.

Below the walls, the morning sun caught the steel ends of pikes that flamed red in the sunrise. It was like they were already bloodied. Smiths and carpenters added more to the racks as they walked among knights, lords in silk and padded armour, men with steel caps and mail shirts, camp followers who lazily left the various tents, archers fletching arrows, pages running messages and grooms leading a dozen breeds of horses. Above the camp flew hundreds of banners of differing colours. The moon-and-falcon of House Arryn was everywhere, but flying alongside that was broken wheels on fields of green, red castles, winged chalices and so much more. Not all were familiar to her, some belonged to minor knight houses that only few would know, and the minor lords who were bannermen to bannermen. Others were hedge knights and freeriders who had swarmed in for the hope of profit and a full belly. The second most common banner she had to see was banner of House Royce. It was like all the Vale knights had rose for their call . . . but it was only half. The houses of the coast were still marshalling their forces, Lord Petyr had said, telling everyone they still needed time. Harry nor the lords in attendance wanted that, instead wishing to head straight off with the Riverlands in disrepair.

"Like what you see, my dear?" asked Harry was he walked out to the balcony in only his trousers, his fair blond-hair tousled. He grinned and rubbed his eyes before they trailed at the army outside the walls. "This is it."

"Your army."

"Our army." He took her hands in his. They were warm and calloused. "This will return what is rightfully yours, my love. The falcons of the Vale will soar as they've done hundreds of times before, but this time they'll liberate the Trident on those who have wronged your family, Sansa. Then they'll move north. You'll be the Lady of Winterfell as is your right."

"I know." Sansa turned away from his gaze and instead to the snow on the stone walls. She wanted to go home, she really did. But at the same time, she didn't. The Boltons had sacked Winterfell, destroying much of it. She feared going back after what happened. It won't be my home, but an empty shell of it. It wouldn't have her father, nor mother, nor brothers, nor even Arya and Jon. There wouldn't be Jeyne or Beth, or any of the servants who had served her growing up. That was made Winterfell her home, more than the structures itself.

"Hey," he cupped her cheek and made her look at him. "We'll do this. Sansa, if you wish – and it's something I encourage – you can stay here, in the Vale. Let me lead the men and take back your family's holdings." His voice was gentle and genuine.

He leaned in closer, for a kiss. His breath tasted stale and of wine. Sansa leaned back and looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I need to go, Harrold. My uncle Edmure is held prisoner by the Lannisters. The Frey's are fighting over the Riverlands. If Lady Brienne is correct, my mother . . ." She sighed and turned back to him. "It's my blood that holds claim to Riverrun—"

"That's why you should stay here, Sansa. You're too important. War is no place for a lady."

"Harry . . ." She cupped his cheek and felt the hairs sprouting forth. She preferred it when it was clean-shaven, but her husband got it into his head that a beard would make him look older and more lordly. Sansa leaned against his strong chest. "I need to go. Those are my family's houses, the Tully's of Riverrun. I may be a Stark, but I hold the Tully blood in my veins, like the very waters of the Trident. They need to see me and will turn their swords to our cause. If not, they may just see you as another invader. They've been broken enough already." With more conflict yet to follow, right in the beginning of winter.

Her husband looked ready to argue but released a sigh. "Sometimes I wonder why I try to reason with a wolf. You lot are stubborn when you want to be."

"Starks tend to be," she agreed. She looked like a Tully and now had the Arryn name, but she was a Stark.

His lips curled into a grin. "Stark or Stone, both unmoving."

He was still upset about that, she knew. It had made him seem like a fool before the court. Lord Baelish claimed that while the young lord was favoured, some of his bannermen mocked him for not seeing it sooner, though they too called her Littlefinger's bastard. Many of those same lords were also in Lord Baelish's pockets as well, she noted. Now it seemed her lord husband wanted to loss their disrespect and would do so at the head of an army, leading the charge just like her brother had done.

"And strong and resilient," the Lady of the Vale added. Traits she needed in her new role. Sansa needed to be as just as her father, as strong as her mother. I am the last Stark and need to act the part.

Harry chuckled and ran a hand through his sandy hair. "That you are, my dear." He chuckled and cupped her cheek. His touch was warm and despite herself, she leaned into it. "You will do wonderfully, as a lady and a mother." He looked down at her belly. "Do you think it'll quicken?"

Of that, Sansa was unsure. It was known that Harry was fertile, that was one of the first things she knew about him, and she didn't want to think about it. The Lady of the Vale turned to the army below her and changed the subject. "On the morrow you move out, will you be talking with your lords?"

"Aye, my lady. We'll be discussing our operations in the Riverlands and how to achieve it. Your grand-uncle desires to move quickly and break through the Freys and their allies. It'll be frightfully dull."

Dull but necessary. "Will Lord Baelish be there?"

"Of course he will. He's our advisor. Why wouldn't he?" He cocked his head. "Why do you ask, my love? Having doubts on him being beside me?" His lips curled and that dimple reappeared. When she didn't respond as quickly as he wanted, Lord Arryn laughed and brought her close to his chest, a strong arm around her midriff. "Jealous of him hogging me to himself? Never took you for being that sort of woman, my lady!"

His laughter was usually infectious but Sansa couldn't bring herself to join in. Of recently, Lord Baelish had been speaking to him, and her less. It could be expected. Littlefinger was an advisor and made himself in charge of all the financial matters with the Lord Paramount heading off to war in beginning of winter. But she feared what words he was saying to her husband.

"I'm not jealous, husband. Simple annoyed you're spending more time with him then me." She smiled sweetly at him. In truth, Sansa took advantage of Littlefinger's absence and made friends among the various wives and daughters of the Vale nobility. As the Lady of the Vale, she needed allies and King's Landing taught her a lot, Littlefinger more so. She never trusted any of her handmaidens with anything sensitive, but they had their uses and some brought some information to her ears.

One piece she heard about was as unexpected as it was dangerous. In the search for Lady Lysa's body from where she fell, Lord Nestor Royce's men had scoured the countryside, finding it a bloody ruin. As she was the wife of the Lord Jon Arryn and the mother of Sweetrobin, they were required to collect it all. Two shoes of her aunt were found, and one more. Looking back, Sansa knew it had to be hers. One of her shoes had to have fallen out the moon door. That piece of information, should it be discovered, would break Littlefinger and herself. They'll know I'm involved. They'll know I lied under oath and they'll believe we pushed her. She had to be cautious. It was made even worse with Lord Nestor being a schemer. While he acted humble, claiming the Gates of the Moon were a worthy prize, Lord Baelish was quick to point out that he wanted the Eerie and had planned to get it by marrying Myranda to Harry. But that can't happen now, not while I'm married to him. But should Nestor find a way to remove her . . . she didn't want to think about it.

"Then I'll make sure we'll have more time together then," Harry declared. He wiggled his eyebrows and Sansa couldn't help but laugh.

"Later. I'm sure you can wait until then, husband."

He looked ready to kiss her, but when he leaned in, another gust of wind blew at them. Sansa leaned back shivering and was about to head back inside. She barely caught Harry smirk before he lifted her up bridal style, laughing. Sansa yelped in surprise and felt his hands trail up her leg as he carried her inside, and deposited atop the furs of the bed.

Despite herself, Sansa laughed with him and Harry climbed atop her, planting kisses down her body as opened up her robes.

Sansa shuffled underneath him. "Please, don't," she said, eyes closed momentarily. "Not yet."

"Why, my lady," he asked with a boyish smile. "Am I not skilled enough? Don't you desire your lordly husband?"

"No, not that . . . it's just that we have duties. While I would love to stay with you, we need to get dressed and go. I'm sure your lords want to have you listening to their concerns."

Harrold Arryn groaned and glanced at the open door leading to the balcony. "Can't they do it themselves? I never had much appetite for that stuff. Counting coppers isn't important, despite what Lord Baelish says. There was a reason I put him in that position."

"You are the Lord Paramount. They are the lords who serve you. You need to be there to lead them."

"I am. But that doesn't mean I like talking to stuffed shirted nobles who prattle on about this or that." He turned back to his wife, smiled and ran a finger down her neck gently. "But this I would much prefer."

Sansa pushed him off and sat up. "You can wait, dear husband. I know patience is not your thing, but you'll be better for it."

Once more, the young lord groaned. "Even when we're married, you still act like Alayne."

"I know, I'm evil for not giving my husband what he wants," was her response. "But my mother always said that having too much of something spoils it."

"Or I could take you as a wildling. You're a northern girl after all," his voice was lightened with humour. "I'll take you as my rights and you'll scream just like last night."

She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Then you'll regret it, Young Falcon. I'm a wolf." Though he was right, she did scream the night before. Thinking back on it, she blushed. "I'll fight you all the way."

Harry laughed. "Dear wife, I believe you overvalue your own strength. I could take you now and I know you won't resist."

"I won't," she agreed, before giving him a kiss on his nose. "But you do need to meet your lords. You need them to respect you, don't you? Giving it to Lord Baelish won't do that. They need to know you are their lord, not him."

Her husband sighed and looked frustrated. "By the grace of the Seven, fine. I'll try, my love." He kissed her once more on the lips then dressed himself.

As her husband made a move to dress himself, there was a knock on the door, it opened and Lyanna Ryger walked in and curtsied. The girl's eyes were unable to leave her lord who noticed her, shot a smile and put on a loose tunic. Sansa frowned at the handmaiden. The girl noticed and apologised. "Lyanna, the fire is out. Could you put some more logs on it? When you've done that, I want a bath. Make sure the water is hot."

"As my lady wishes," the girl curtsied again and hurried off.

"My lady is bossy," Harry said, turning around to her, chuckling.

"My handmaidens should be less nosy," was Sansa's response. They had large eyes, larger ears and even bigger mouths. It reminded Sansa of King's Landing, but now she didn't know who her own handmaidens served. Littlefinger most likely, but there are others. The lords of the Vale may claim honour, but they were just like those in the king's court.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say, women love me. It's not my fault if they can't resist."

They don't resist, and neither do you. It was going to be a long day.