In the courtyard, a guard removed his helm.
"My Lady Winterfell," he said. "Ser Jaime Lannister is here at the gates, to see the King."
"Send him away," Sansa instructed him. "He will not find entry or quarter here."
"Yes, my lady."
The guard bowed his head in acknowledgement, ready to return to his post with the message, and Sansa's eyes turned to Bran in sadness.
"Please!" They all heard Ser Jaime call out. "I have come to offer my help in the coming war."
"Sansa," Jon intervened, taking her gently aside where they could speak more privately. "Should we not at least hear him out."
She sighed; Sansa had learned well that allies in a common cause might not be those whom one would ordinarily choose, or even like. She reluctantly agreed. But she could never forget.
"There's the seventh." His partner whispered, when the guard returned.
"What are you on about now." He heaved a sigh in annoyance. Their watch had been long and tiring and cold, he was hungry, and he wanted to return to his quarters and get some rest.
"The Seven. 'From the cardinal directions will come The Seven.' The Seven warriors of the legend."