Sansa

She stopped telling them not to bother after a few hours. She didn't remember getting into a bath fully dressed, didn't remember anything from the last day or so, but Sansa felt well enough not to have people fussing over her as if she were made of powder sugar. No, she thought. There were things… A snowy forest with masses of people moving through it. I remember seeing Mother somewhere in the riverlands, left to rot by the men who murdered her. Nightmares only. Reaching for Lady, I may as well reach for Father. She shook her head firmly and shooed away the poor maid. Sansa knew she was only following instructions but she was tired of being looked after as if she were a babe. "Bring me something to wear. I want to see my br-" Bran burst through the door and was at her side before Sansa could blink. He got tall, she thought shakily. Brandon Stark had been dead to the world when she left Winterfell for King's Landing, a boy who could scale sheer stone easily as any spider. The man he'd become wore the fur of a wildling and smelled of dirt and wood. He hasn't got Summer, she noticed. Unless he's waiting outside. "Hello, Bran." she got out. I never expected to see you again. Somehow that felt wrong to say aloud. He hugged her, soaked and steaming as she was, her hair a tangle of red ribbons. Slowly she brought her arms up and wrapped them around Bran. "Wet sleeves feel heavier than a cask full of rocks." she whispered in his ear. He pulled back and took her in. "You're looking better. You look like Mother." he said. No, she thought. Mother's skin is the color of off milk and she has mud on instead of fur, sitting in stagnant water instead of a hot bath. Then she remembered what it had cost to take Winterfell back from Ramsay Snow. "Bran…Rickon's dead." she said quietly. His joy melted away into somber sorrow. "So is Summer." he told her. Another Stark without a wolf. "How did you…well, what happened? I was in King's Landing and heard only what the Lannisters saw fit to tell me, and even then I trusted not a word of it." she asked him. "Theon took Winterfell and Rickon and I escaped, Summer and Shaggydog in tow. We split up, I went beyond the Wall and Rickon went to Last Hearth." So it was the Umbers who gave Rickon to Ramsay. "Why go beyond the Wall? What was out there that you could need? How did you do it? I remember hearing you were crippled…" Sansa said uncertainly. "I was. For a long time, until…well, until I wasn't anymore. I'm still not quite sure how it happened myself." "If you were crippled, how did you get that far? I assume you had Hodor with you…" "Hodor didn't make it either. It wasn't just Hodor though, a brave woman named Osha and…" unexpectedly his face went a perfect Tully red. Oh? Sansa thought.

The door opened again and a woman came through. She was older than Sansa and had the eyes of someone older still, a deep polished grey. Her hair was a black curtain to her shoulders, unbraided or tamed in any way. Sansa's mouth opened slightly and she was lost for words. "Princess Sansa Stark, this is Lady Meera Reed of Greywater Watch. Soon to be Princess Meera Stark of Winterfell." he said bashfully, biting his lip. "We've been introduced already but as you were insensate perhaps a second try was warranted." Meera Reed gave a small bashful smile of her own. Sansa shrugged off the heavy fur coat and felt like she'd lost half her weight. Clambering from the hot water she made her way to the beautiful stranger. "It seems I've you to thank for keeping House Stark alive in the male line." she said, hugging her sister-to-be as well. At once she felt a nimble pair of arms around her in turn. "From what I hear, you should thank yourself. You took the initiative when it came to naming a King in the North." Meera replied. "Jon is…" Sansa paused. "He's not not a Stark, he's something all his own. A white wolf and more." "Quite. Bran doesn't talk of him as his bastard brother, he talks of him as his king. There are giants here and Free Folk, Knights of the Vale and even a few lucky -or unlucky-stormlanders. The Old North died with our last King, we are something new now." Sansa said. "Aye, we are. All the endlings of the North come together." Meera said, eyes misty. "Meera's brother Jojen died beyond the Wall as well." Bran explained to Sansa. "Now House Reed is just my parents and I." she turned to Bran. "By the way, we'll need a different way to get word to them. Ravens cannot find Greywater Watch." Her demeanor, her manner, her face made Sansa's spine tingle. "As you wish. Perhaps a rider can be sent to the edge of the Neck and word passed from there?" she asked. A northern girl, a beauty, a princess tailor-made. When Sansa was younger she'd imagined a princess as someone along the lines of Margaery Tyrell trapped in a tower or in the clutches of a black knight. This Meera Reed would climb out of the tower herself or leave a black knight to drown in the mire of her homeland. She found herself terribly excited. I wonder…if another Stark is among us now.

They left so she could dry off and dress. Sansa made her way to the hall where she was met with a rousing cheer and no shortage of impromptu toasts, Frygga pressign a half-full horn into her hands. Mother would be aghast, a wildling woman talking to her daughter. Sansa smiled, took a long breath and drained the horn, gripping Frygga to make sure she didn't fall over. Thankfully they didn't ply her with more- Sansa suspected that it was only in Jon's absence they dared give her something stronger than water. Bran and Meera weren't at the high table, instead they'd taken the leftmost corner as their place. Sansa nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the…strange person they were talking to. He stood no higher than four feet or so, had skin the color of bark and bright golden eyes. A Child of the Forest, surely. That's why they went beyond the Wall! Sansa thought in shock. Thinking of the Children made her dizzy so she made her way towards them to better take the measure of their mysterious guest. He got more than a few nervous glances from those men sitting closest but the Child paid them no mind. Only when she was close enough that Bran didn't have to shout did he acknowledge her. "Uh, Sansa, this is Branch. Branch, this is my sister Sansa." Branch peered at her with slit catlike pupils. "Well met, Sansa Stark. Even with your southern cast, I think there is little of the south in you…and less each passing day." he said in a high musical voice. His words made Sansa's skin cover in gooseprickles. Whatever does that mean? she thought. She realized she was staring and cleared her throat. "Welcome to Winterfell, Branch of Those Who Sing the Song of Earth." she said. He blinked. So did Bran and Meera. "How did you know what they call themselves?" Bran asked in an amazed hush. "Well, we should hardly call them children. They are not. They are earth-singers and woods-walkers." she said, shrugging. Rylis approached them suddenly, clearing his throat to announce himself. He resolutely avoided looking at the others, focused solely on Sansa. A man who knows to keep his eyes forward and ears closed to all but he is meant to hear. In short, a man who's served House Bolton. "Princess. Regarding the barrows. The ravens have flown and now that you're…making public appearances again, perhaps we should begin with the crypts tomorrow." he said. I haven't told Bran about that yet, she realized. "We'll begin at first light. Make sure the rest of the garrison doesn't drink itself into a stupor, I want them sober on the morrow." she said. He nodded and headed for the table where the other Bolton officers were seated, no doubt to relay her instructions. Perhaps he considers me the one to follow. There aren't any Boltons left so he's worked out I'm the closest thing.

Once Rylis had gone Sansa turned back to Bran. They are not the besotted couple, she observed. At least not when others can see. Something about that made Sansa sad. To hear the hall cheer Bran on with Meera in his lap, to hear them celebrate life not just now but coming, that would bring me the greatest joy. Then she reminded herself that Meera was going to be Lady of Winterfell in the very near future and it was neither Sansa's place nor business to have an opinion on the crannogwoman's relationship with her brother. Another pair might bring with them joy to all, though, she thought. If the gods are good and fate is kind. "I suppose then that there are… a number of you and not just you yourself?" she asked Branch. "Yes." he said in reply. "We brought a number more of giants with us too, and their mammoths." Bran added. Forget Frygga, imagine Mother's reaction if she saw Branch in the Great Hall. "Sansa…we brought someone else as well." Subconsciously she straightened the front of her dress, taught from girlhood to make a good first impression. When not one of the three spoke it was to her to prompt them. "Someone here at Winterfell? Very good, more allies are always better. Jon will be pleased." she said. Bran and Meera looked at each other, so much passing between them in a glance that Sansa's excitement only rose. If they tell me now I may faint. "Not an ally, though." Her giddy feeling cracked in half and sunk to the depths of her stomach. "Who, Bran?" she asked again. "Show her, Meera." The girl dutifully unstrapped a fur bundle from her thigh. "I got his sword too, it's in our room." she said, opening it to show Sansa. The first thing she thought of was the High Septon's crown the day of the riot, but Sansa realized how stupid that was when she saw it was just a dagger. Then she realized how stupid that thought was when the dagger's chill made her breath show even in the heat of the hall, a glittering beautiful thing that made the fat stubs of glass the High Septon wore look the cheap display they were. Slowly Sansa worked out what they were implying. "You couldn't…you didn't bring one here?" she whispered, hands to her mouth. "We did. Meera gave him a hiding and took a few bits off for her throuble, the Singers wrapped him in red vines and we dragged him to Winterfell to show everyone." An Other. After Frygga and Branch…poor Mother, Sansa thought weakly. "Where is he now?"

Now it's my turn to be afraid of going in the crypts, Sansa thought as Bran and Meera led her out of the hall, Branch bringing up the rear. "We found more than singers and Others. Uncle Benjen was out there too, after a fashion. One of the dead men but not a thrall." Bran told her. Sansa remembered Uncle Benjen dimly, wearing well-washed blacks of the Night's Watch and always eager to talk with Father when he passed through. "Magic." she said, feeling dizzy again. "Magic." Bran agreed. "The world's going wild, it seems. It isn't a place of roads and walls any longer." The crypts went from dark and muggy to cold enough that Sansa felt the want of her fur coat in moments. "You put him in where Theon Stark lay." she noticed at once. "Your man Rylis wouldn't tell me but I'm not deaf, either. Burning the Kings of Winter, firing the barrows of the north… it's a good idea, Sansa." Bran's approval was the last thing she expected and she hiccupped in surprise. "Probably didn't think I'd agree. Anyone who's seen what Meera and I have would tell you the only good corpse is a burned one, no matter whose, no matter how old." They stopped a few feet from the crypt in particular. "Take all the furnishings out and they make more than passable cells." Bran said. She saw the black dust on the floor first, appearing almost like a night sky full of stars. It was very cold. When she came to face the Hungry Wolf's crypt proper, it was too dark within to see anything. "We can't set torches." whispered Meera. "He puts them out." Branch stepped forward, staring into the darkness himself. "Show yourself." he said. The bluntness of his words and the lack of fear the two betrothed had somewhat confused Sansa. Eyes like blue stars burned out from the back wall suddenly and Sansa went still as a dead king's statue. No man in the world has eyes like that. She blinked. The eyes were still there. "Will he not come any closer?" she asked, her voice a breathy whisper. "They don't like dragonglass. Doesn't matter what shape it's in. Whole or broken, clump or dust. It's agony for them to touch any which way." Meera said. "Can he not speak?" "Not in a tongue that we'd make head or tail of." Bran said quietly. Sansa turned to Branch. "What about you?" "What about me, Sansa Stark?" "Well, if he says something, can you understand him?" The question made Branch blink. "What would give you that idea?" Meera asked in surprise. "Those Who Sing the Song of Earth speak to each other in the language the world itself uses. Rain pattering down on spring leaves. A brook running across a boulder. When the Others talk, what do they sound like? Is it a strange tongue…or does it sound like a noise of the world?"

Again Bran and Meera looked at each other while Sansa stared into Branch's eyes. "For one who has never gone beyond the Wall, you know more than I would expect, Sansa Stark. Of our enemy as well." he said finally. "I know nothing. I can only figure from what stories Old Nan used to tell, and ones my father would when my mother was out of earshot. "Branch, I've heard the True Tongue plenty of times. Not much else to hear in that cave besides Meera, Hodor, and the Singers talking to each other. When Others talk they sound like cracking ice, like ice on a lake. Is that…is that the True Tongue also, just as they speak and hear it? The Singers learned from sounds they heard in the world. Could not the Others have fashioned a tongue the same way?" The implication that there might be so much as a shared way of developing a tongue between Branch's kind and what stared out from the crypt seemed to deeply disturb their guest. They did not come from nothing, Sansa thought. Nothing does. Perhaps they came about the same way, just in different places. Dragons came from Valyria, but what if they'd come from the Land of Always Winter instead? Surely they'd breathe ice instead of fire.