Sansa I

Just like every other member of her family, Jon disappeared in front of her eyes.

Had this been her first time running from the Boltons, she might have taken it for a vision, a sign that her last brother, her only hope, was dead.

He was, of course, but that didn't explain the apparition.

She had nearly broken down when she had awoken slumped against a tree, Brienne standing watch not to far away and Podrick slumbering by the remnants of the campfire. It hadn't taken her too long to realize that no, this was not a nightmare. It was real.

Ramsey was still alive, Baelish was still alive, Cersei was still alive.

She realized this, and despaired.

Had everything she and her family had gone through been for nothing? Winterfell was once again in the hands of the Boltons, Bran beyond the Wall, Rickon a prisoner, Arya somewhere in the Riverlands, and Jon…

With her family scattered and broken after the War for Dawn, Jon was the one she missed the most, not to her surprise. He had been the one to hold her, comfort her when she first arrived at Castle Black. Despite her treatment of him during their shared childhood in Winterfell, he embraced her with no hesitation. Not guile, no deceit, no ulterior motives.

Just unconditional love for a sister that had never loved him back.

But, as she felt the warmth of a true embrace for the first time in years, she found that she wanted to make up for that lost time.

And now it was all for naught.

Or so she had thought, after contemplating her circumstances.

Was this her punishment?

She had broken a sacred vow, she knew. She had sworn to Jon in front of the Heart Tree, in the eyes of the Old Gods. Regardless of whether or not it was to protect him, he had asked, she had sworn, and she had broken her promise.

Surely, this was her punishment for breaking such a vow. Forced to relive the events that left her empty and alone, that alone was bad enough. But forced to live with the memories of what happened? The deaths, the betrayals, what came after…

Sansa had honestly considered just killing herself. It would be far less painful.

Then Jon appeared before her, in front of the weirwood, and reached out for her, and suddenly she found she did not want to die.

She managed to get a few more hours of precious sleep before the sun began to rise, and with it her sworn protectors rose as well.

Brienne, noticing the bags under her eyes, frowned. "Lady Sansa, did you sleep well? You look rather tired."

Sansa shook her head. "I slept rather well," she lied, "I'm just very anxious to get to my c- brother at Castle Black."

"Well," Brienne said, looking upwards. "Should it not snow too heavily, we should be able to reach Castle Black just after noon." Sansa nodded, and returned to helping Podrick pack what little they had on the horses. "Well then, let's be off."

Behind her, Brienne hesitated. "...Lady Sansa, are you sure that Jon Snow is trustworthy? Surely we could head someplace else? Perhaps I could escort you to Tarth?"

"Jon," Sansa said stiffly, "is the person I trust most in the world. He will protect us." Me. He will protect me.

Brienne nodded, and the they were off within the hour.

Jon I

"I fought. I lost. Now I rest. But you, Lord Snow… you'll be fighting their battles forever."

Jon said nothing, simply opting to stare at Ser Alliser Thorne in contemplation. A part of him want to gloat in his face that he was the true heir to the Iron Throne (even if he had no desire for it) but in the end he decided to keep that secret to himself a while longer. It's not time to reveal that yet. I need to bide my time.

I need to play the Game.

It irked him that he would have to stoop to the level of his adversaries, covered in the grime of lies and schemes, but he had little choice, he knew.

Slow learner as he may, he learned. And his time with both Sansa and Daenerys had taught him to play the Game well. If he was to get the North to survive the coming Long Night, he would have to use all he learned.

Uncle is surely rolling in his crypt.

If he ever saw Eddard Stark again, he would have many words for him. But foremost of all would be his thanks. His reputation of Ned Stark's bastard shielded him from the worst, and gave him the reputation of a man of his word.

He would be sure to exploit that.

Ignoring Olly, he swung Longclaw and watched the mutineers hang.

He watched, somewhat bored as they took down the bodies of the mutineers, and Ed strode up to him. "What now?" The other Brothers stopped, waiting for Jon to give the order to torch the bodies.

Jon thought about it for a moment, then had an idea. "Burn the others, but tie a rope around Thorne and throw him over the Wall."

Ed blinked. "...What? Why in the Seven Hells do we need to do that?" He walked besides Jon as they made their way to the Lord Commander's solar. "You know he's going to get Raised again, so why?"

"That, Ed, is exactly why." As they entered the solar, Jon placed Longclaw to the side and sat down at the desk. Ghost, who had been confined in the room for the executions immediately placed his head of Jon's lap, and he grinned and rubbed it. Pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill, he began to write, before continuing. "If I am to convince the realm of the threat of the White Walkers I need evidence. A Wight is plenty of evidence."

Ed nodded in understanding, then stopped. "Wait, convince the- Jon, you're not planning on leaving, are you?" When Jon nodded, Ed's face turned aghast. "Why? You know what's coming! You can't just-"

"I can, and I will." Jon stopped writing and looked up at his friend. "To hold the Wall, we need men. To get men, we need the North. We need Winterfell."

Ed gaped at him. "Are you fucking mad? You're going to take Winterfell? You don't even have an army!"

"I have the Free Folk," Jon corrected. "And I'll appeal to the Mormonts, the Hornwoods, the Mazins. The North remembers, Ed. They will rally to the Direwolf when the time comes." Come to think of it, I never asked the Mountain Clans to join. I doubt they would readily accept Bolton rule...

"And what about us?" Ed raged. "Who's going to lead us?"

Jon stood up, seat scraping at the the wooden flow. Ed watched curiously as Jon undid his cloak, then gaped as it was handed to him. "You can't be serious."

Placing the cloak in Ed's hands, Jon returned to the desk. "I'm serious, Ed. You'll do the Night's Watch some good." Finishing the letter, Jon searched the desk drawers filled with stamps with all sorts of sigils from the various Lord Commanders of the centuries. Finding one to his liking, he poured a bit of wax on the rolled of parchment and pressed the stamp into it, and gave a grunt of satisfaction as the snarling direwolf stared back. Pocketing the letter, he sighed, standing up again and again turning to his friend. "Ed, I-"

A horn blew, and Jon was instantly on his feet, words forgotten.

"What in the Seven Hell..?" Ed muttered, but Jon paid no heed.

The Red Wolf had arrived.