Sansa
She could recall perfectly the last time she had stepped foot on Bear Island perfectly, despite it being only the one time during the first year into her decade-long reign.
Sansa recalled, that day, that when she had first seen Bear Island alongside Jon, she had thought it simple and quaint, in a Northern way that violently contrasted with the pomp of the South, and she had loved it immediately.
Of course, never could she return to any one place without cause, and never was that cause good, or untainted by bad memories, and this was one such case.
She had brought home Lyanna's ashes.
House Mormont had gone extinct with the death of Lyanna 'Giantsbane' Mormont (that was something she actually needed to talk to Jon about; wasn't Tormund always boasting about rutting with a bear?) and Sansa had no choice but to find a suitable replacement for what had been House Stark's most loyal House, and she did not hesitate when she said most loyal.
Lady Mormont, even knowing that the Stark army was outnumbered, had given her meagre amount of men to the cause out that loyalty, while the other "loyal" Houses (half the Houses of the North would have been stripped of their Lordships if Sansa had her way and if the North could take such an upheaval) had done nothing but watch as the Boltons drove the North into the ground at the behest of southern Kings, and Sansa did not forget that.
She was aware that holding grudges like that would weaken the North in the long run due to its current state, so Sansa was willing to let the matter go, but never again would she trust the Houses of the North as much as she would the Mormonts, and for good reason.
"Sansa? Are you well?"
Jon's concerned voice snapped the former Queen in the North out of her increasingly morose thoughts, and she shook her head. "Sorry, it's just… it's been a while since I've been here, on Bear Island."
Jon grunted in acknowledgment. "Aye, I suppose I should say the same." Then he gave a wistful smile. "I've not seen Lady Mormont in some time either. Her brashness will be a welcome change."
Sansa giggled lightly. "I hope so."
The two Northerners and their fell silent when a guard emerged from Lyanna's solar.
"The Lady Mormont will see you now."
With a reassuring nod to each other, the two wolves strode forward, and, whilst reminiscing upon her memories of her first entrance to the Lady Mormont's solar, Sansa's thoughts trailed back to the aftermath of her visit to Mole's Town.
As soon as Sansa and Brienne had returned from Mole's Town after burning Littlefinger's corpse and buying materials for Jon's wolf-pelt cloak, the former Lord Commander had called for everyone of import to meet him in the Lord Commander's solar. After they had all sat, Jon apprised them that he had sent Davos east to claim the ships Stannis had left anchored by Eastwatch, something that had mildly surprised Sansa, but also pleased her that Jon was putting her knowledge to good use.
And then he turned to Tormund and the Free Folk chieftains. "How many of your best climbers are left? Who can fight, that is?"
"I could count two hundred climbers that could fight well," one of the surviving elders from Hardhome, Dim Dalba, supplied, and Jon nodded before addressing them again, focusing on two points on the map lying between them..
"As it would turn out, the traitor Lords Karstark and Umber have taken all their fighting men to Winterfell, the fools."
Immediately, Sansa understood what Jon meant to do, and grinned in anticipation.
Seeing her catch on, Jon shared the wolfish smile, and forged on.
"Tell me, Tormund; how well do you think your men can scale a castle's walls?"
...Gods, she loved it when he thought with his head like that.
Sansa didn't know why Jon thought himself unsuited for rule when he was obviously good at it; at least when he wasn't focusing on making sure the Dragon Queen didn't burn Winterfell to the ground.
Shaking her head, she brought her attention back to the present, taking comfort in Jon's reassuring presence beside her.
Just like last time, Jon and Sansa strode forward, steps in-sync, before halting at a respectable distance. There was a stillness that emanated for a moment before the door behind them shut with a clack, and all three were jarred into action.
"Lady Mormont," Sansa greeted, face showing nothing, and the Stark was amused to find the same stern look on Lyanna's face, who finally deigned to greet them.
"Welcome to Bear Island. Our swords are yours."
"Thank you, Lady Mormont. We've come... to..."
Jon's words gradually faltered to a stop when he finished processing exactly what Lyanna had said, then blinked.
Wait, what?
Even the girl's advisors that were present seemed shocked at the girl's immediate acknowledgment of fealty to them, and they were in their rights to do so.
Sansa herself stared at the Mormont girl in mild shock, before breaking the silence that had befallen them. "...You would swear your men to us so easily? Why? Surely we've done nothing to earn your trust, however much we wish for it." She studied the younger, who suddenly seemed a bit… wary(?) for some reason, but Lyanna spoke nonetheless.
"I have been having… No, I shan't speak of it, not here," Lady Mormont divulged reluctantly, and her hesitance immediately raised concern in Sansa. This is Lyanna Mormont, who spoke down the Northern Lords, all of which had seen more battles than she had seen namedays. What has frightened her so? What has she borne witness to?
Evidently, someone else had a similar train of thought, as another query was posed. "What did you see, my Lady?" Ser Davos spoke up from behind them, and though several of Lady Mormont's guards scowled at him, she did not seem insulted at his question, only more cautious. Lyanna thought on her words carefully, before asking a question of her own.
"Jon Snow."
"Aye?"
"You were Lord Commander, and you let the Wildlings through the wall. What made you do so? What frightened them so much that they would accept the word of a Crow?"
At that, Sansa's eyes widened by a fraction, and she shared a subtle look with Jon, who seemed to be scrutinizing Lyanna as much as she was him. The former King in the North thought over his answer for a moment, before finally replying with two morose words Old Tongue.
"Na mairbh."
The dead.
At his words, the Northmen in the roomed reared back and immediately made signs for warding off evil, and Sansa was mildly surprised that she had automatically done so as well, though she was glad she had.
It is good to see I've not forgotten the lessens the Skagosi taught me.
Her attention was brought back to Lyanna, who had mimicked the sign but had not flinched like her advisors had; rather, she had stood up, and marched over to the weapon hanging on the wall behind her desk, and drew the axe from its cradle, before rounding her desk and coming to a stop in front of them. "Who do I swear to?"
The two wolves blinked.
"What?" Jon asked in confusion, and Lyanna snorted. "I assume one of you intends to crown the other, and House Mormont knows no King, or Queen, than the one in the North whose name is Stark. He," she pointed to Jon, "has the blood of Eddard Stark in his veins, and my Uncle gave you his sword for a reason, and I trust that reason, whatever it may be." Before Jon could even respond to that, Lyanna turned to Sansa and continued. "And you are the eldest surviving Trueborn Stark, since the last King in the North died at the Red Wedding. The Boltons have your youngest brother, you sister hasn't been seen by Northern eyes in years, and you other brother disappeared after the Sacking of Winterfell. You are the rightful heir to Winterfell, and I would follow you."
"Even if I was married to a Lannister and a Bolton?" Sansa questioned somewhat bitterly, but to her astonishment, Lyanna shook her head.
"I've learned that not all women are like us Bear Islanders," the Lady Mormont admitted somewhat ashamedly. "While, Old Gods willing, I will never experience what you have, the dreams have made it clear to me the despair and hopelessness one feels when surrounded by enemies you can do nothing to fight, and I do not hold your marriages against you."
Sansa stared.
This… hadn't happened last time.
Seemingly growing impatient with their lack of response, Lyanna growled. "I do not have all day, Lord Commander, Lady Sansa. Who do I swear to?"
The two wolves exchanged another quick glance before turning back to the Mormont girl, and just before Sansa opened her mouth to tell Lyanna to direct her fealty to Jon, said man unsheathed his sword and knelt at her feet.
"The fealty of House Mormont belongs to the Lord of Lady of Winterfell, Lady Mormont, and that title falls to Sansa. The North is hers, by right."
Jon's declaration was met with silent shock from the former Queen in the North, who had not even the time to glare at his impromptu swearing of fealty before Lyanna shrugged and knelt, laying her axe at Sansa's feet alongside Longclaw. "Then it is to you I swear, my Queen."
With that, she bowed her head, and spoke.
"To Winterfell I pledge the faith of Bear Island. Hearth and harvest and we yield unto you, my lady. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you."
I swear it by earth and water.
I swear it by bronze and iron.
I swear it by ice and fire."
There was silence again, as Sansa took in the pledge that had been laid before her, before she nodded, and bade both the Lady Mormont and Jon rise. "I, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Magnar of the Mountain, Chieftess of the Skagosi, Àrd Bhanrigh of Winter and Queen in the North, do hereby accept House Mormont's pledge of fealty. Forever will you and yours have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods of the Forest, Earth, Sea, and Sky. Rise, Lady Mormont."
Lyanna stood first, followed by Jon, who had a small smile on his face, and Sansa felt her chest warm.
...
One House down.
Several more to go.
Jon
Honestly, he just wanted to get this over with.
Sansa had wanted to bypass Lord Glover altogether (and strip him of his lands and titles, and Gods, Jon wished he could let her,) due to the fact that he would most likely refuse to offer aid, like last time, but Jon shook his head.
"We shan't stay long, but we must try, Sansa. If we bypass him, he can claim that we never asked for aid from him, and therefore broke no vows."
She had huffed in annoyance then, but acquiesced reluctantly. "If we must," she grumbled, and Jon could only hide a smile.
After returning to Castle Black with Lady Lyanna and her sixty-two men, the two wolves isolated themselves front he others to speak of what was to come, and Jon was not surprised to find that Sansa had sent Brienne south to convince her uncle, the Blackfish, to come north, though he was slightly confused. "Why would you send her on a fool's errand? He didn't accept last time, why would he know?"
Sansa had only smiled mysteriously, so Jon shrugged and let it go.
Women were odd, sometimes.
Once that had been done, the two ridden down to Deepwood Motte to meet with Lord Glover, bringing with them a sealed box large enough to hold a man, and upon entering the keep, Jon had one of the Mormont men bring it over.
Before Robett Glover could even begin to refuse them, Jon gestured to the box, and spoke. "No doubt you've heard of my opening of the gate to let the Free Folk through, and no doubt you hate me for it, among other things."
The Lord Glover did not reply, only glaring at him, but Jon continued, ignoring the baleful stare. "My reason for doing so lies in there. Take a look, Lord Glover."
With that, he stepped back, putting space between them, and Robett held his gaze for a moment longer before striding over to the box, unlatching it, and opening it, only to pale in horror and immediately slam it shut.
Reeling away from the chest, Lord Glover stared at Jon, horrified. "Dè an draoidheachd a tha seo?!" he hissed in the Old Tongue, before switching back to Common. "What darkness have you brought into my home?!"
"Evidence of the threat mounting beyond the Wall," Jon declared, to the murmurs of Glover's men present in the courtyard. "A threat that, if the North is not united to face, will trample our lands underfoot and clog the causeway south with the living dead."
To his side, Sansa was watching him with an expression Jon couldn't quite place, but it made his chest blossom with heat. He reveled in it before tamping it down furiously. Now is not the time, Snow.
Lord Glover, now having recovered from the revelation of the army of the dead, seemed to reluctantly muse on what Jon had implied, before letting himself be heard. "And you think that the Starks can face this threat?"
Here, Sansa stepped forward, a determined look overtaking her. "We've done so once before, during the Age of Heroes, and we will do it again. Our House words are "Winter is Coming" for a reason, Lord Glover." Having said her piece, she shifted over to Jon, and together the two wolves stood in solidarity, glaring defiantly at the Northern Lord.
Robert Glover closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, and the rage against them was- well, not gone, no- but lessened. "Your brother, Robb, he left my people for dead… But the North will never unite behind the Boltons, especially not with the Flayed Man's Bastard in command- and if what you say is true, death will be a mercy for me and mine." He sighed, then, turning away from them to march back into his keep.
Just before he re-entered his home, Robert turned back to them. "You will have our swords Now get out of my keep and take the evil with you." With that, he left them be.
The two former monarchs stood there for a moment, Jon turned to Sansa with a smirk. "Told you we were right to not pass him."
Sansa let out a small laugh, and Jon's smirk twisted into a genuine grin.
Gods, he loved her.
...
...oh.
I love her.
Tormund
Usually, when the Crows spoke of a giant wolf, they spoke of Ghost.
Which was probably why the Gianstbane was racing down the courtyard to the front gate, because several men had already told him that there was another, accompanied by a woman.
King Crow said he had two sisters, and both had wolves. If this is her, he'd skin me alive like a Bolton man if I didn't see her safely to his room.
Rooms. Bah. Why sleep indoors when you could lie down in furs and watch the Northern night lights go by?
Fuckin' kneelers, honestly.
Finally reaching the gate, he nodded to the men manning it (the Free Folk and the Black Brothers, the ones that remained, got along decently thanks to King Crow and the new Lord Commander) and made his way outside the walls to check upon this new visitor and her wolf, only to stop abruptly when he caught sight of her.
He stared at her, and she stared back, before breaking out into a grin. "Tormund fuckin' Giantsbane, as I live and breathe! Took you long enough to get passed the damn Wall."
He was silent for a moment, before snorting, then laughing. "Hah! Haven't changed, I see!" Tormund chortled, before gesturing towards Castle Black. "Now, get in here and tell me how you've been, Osha, and how you got one of those giant wolves!"
"Dè an draoidheachd a tha seo?!" (What sorcery is this?!)