Ned

"Nothing good has ever come from a letter," he said softly. People joked that he always spoke softly. It is how he had earned his title of The Quiet Wolf. So many of his father's bannermen had commented on it in surprise and the ladies had thought it cute when he was young. Where other child constantly screamed to be heard he had always chosen his words carefully and quietly. He'd been told that even as a baby he was a solemn thing. The rest of his family was… had… was… loud. Even Benjen, at least as he remembered, but that was because Ned mostly remembered his brother's youth as him being a mewling babe who screamed his little head off and kept them all awake. It had only been recently, the last year or so, that Ned had found it within his Wolf's Blood to bellow… mostly while ordering commands to root out the Lannister bastards as he led the Northern army in a charge. And even then it didn't last; when it came time to slit the throats of the blond bastards that had taken Sansa from him he was silent, letting them only know he'd arrived when his sword began to sing.

He was sitting in his solar. His father's solar. The solar of Stark lords since the founding of Winterfell. It had once been the solar of Kings and now he finds that it is again and that startled him greatly because even with the crown and the title he really hadn't felt the weight of being the King In The North until he'd returned to Winterfell. The solar looked the same, Robb having done little to alter it while it had been his, and yet to Ned it feels so very different. Like walking into a foreign city that was shaped like a Westerosi one but filled with shops he'd never seen, scented with smells he'd never encountered before, and the tongue of some bedeviling language he didn't understand.

Maester Luwin was standing there with the messages and Cat was seating across from him but neither of them said a word despite the need for him to return to the matters of governing the kingdom. Instead they allowed him to focus on what he wanted to, allowing him to sink into the past.

"I was at the Karhold when I received the raven that my mother had died. I can't even remember why I'd been sent there… I think there was a birthday or something. Brandon had become ill and father was dealing with some minor lords having a dispute about a stream so I was sent to be his representative. I think I made for poor company… Brandon was always better at feasts and parties." His lips twitched though, a ghost of a smile. "Or maybe that's why my father did send me. With Brandon…"

He stopped himself when he remembered who he was talking to; he doubted that Catelyn would appreciate him reminding her that Brandon had sired bastards. None of them lived… Ned had early on after the Rebellion tried to find them and bring them to Winterfell, thinking it would make things easier for Jon if he was surrounded by family who were also tainted by stigma of being a bastard. A foolish notion he realized now, for if she had hated Jon for being his son and feared him taking Robb's birthright she would have screamed to al the Seven kingdoms about bringing Brandon's. It didn't matter though for they were all died; some of childhood illness, some from accidents. It seemed the Starks didn't have much luck at times when it came to increasing their numbers. It was part of the reason why he'd briefly considered wedding one of the children to the Karstarks, to merge the families back together.

"Then there was the letter from Jon Arryn, stating that I would be fostered in the Vale. I see now that was a very good letter but at the time…" He shook his head. "I was a boy. I remember being upset because Brandon had promised to take me on my first hunt without father there and I thought that meant it wouldn't happen, even though I was supposed to leave in a month and Brandon planned for us to go the next day. And I didn't want to leave Lyanna because I knew she would get into trouble without me there. Brandon could never rein her in and Benjen was just a babe… but her smiles and rages never worked on me.

"The Eyrie," he tells them, reaching out and taking a small knife and tapping it against the surface of his desk. He needs to do something with his hands. "I got plenty of letters there. They were… bittersweet. A reminder of a life that I wasn't a part of. It was easy for me to forget about Winterfell when I was with Robert but those letters reminded me that my family was still out there and I was no longer a part of it. Sometimes Brandon would talk of something and I wouldn't understand because I wasn't there for some key event. A piece of home, those letters… but also a reminder that it wasn't my home anymore. I knew that when I was done with my fostering my father would marry me off to someone in the South, a lord who had only a daughter and needed a male to rule. I would never call Winterfell home again." His features turned stony. "And then the avalanche of ravens messages. Harrenhall. Lyanna taken and Brandon going to find her. My father going to try and get Brandon. Benjen asking if I could come back, because he didn't know how to be the Stark in Winterfell. I told him that he would do fine, that Father would return and that it would be better for Benjen to rule so he'd be ready when he was given a keep of his own…"

Ned just shook his head, Luwin and Catelyn not saying a word.

"Then… the order. Jon Arryn tried to hide it but Robert demanded to see it with his own eyes. Aerys calling for our deaths." He shut his eyes. "And that Brandon and Father were dead. Its funny how Robert and Jon forgot about that, focused so much on Aerys wanting us dead. Lyanna… Aerys didn't know or care. It didn't matter. Robert had to die. I had to die. And then Jon was to march on Winterfell and bring Aerys on a platter made of gold Benjen's head and heart. Had to be both… he wanted to make sure that Benjen was dead and he thought in his madness a man could live with at least one of those remaining. "

"Dark wings, dark wods," Catelyn finally said and Ned nodded in agreement.

"The Greyjoy Rebellion. Jon Arryn dying." He almost mentioned Catelyn's letter announcing that Bran had nearly been killed but he didn't want to remind her of that moment. Not now. "Nothing good has come of letters." He finally reached over and picked up the stack of parchment that Luwin had given him two weeks ago. "Nothing."

Their arrival Winterfell had, at first, been one of relief. Ned had been prepared for the worst. The flags of the Iron Kraken flying over his ancestral home. Winterfell burned to the ground, the smoke visible from a league away. The keep and castle completely empty save for Robb's head placed on a spike above the gate.

Finding life continuing on as it always had, like nothing had changed, had been a grave relief. Ned had smiled as he'd ridden into the main courtyard and Catelyn had emerged from the small covered wagon he'd gotten for her comfort with the tension bleeding from her knowing that all was well. All had bowed and he'd suddenly understood why Robert had hated all constantly bending the knee to him. He'd been home. And it had survived. The Iron Born hadn't taken it or destroyed it. All was fine.

'All wasn't fine,' he thought to himself.

"My l-" Luwin caught himself. "Your grace."

"Its fine, Luwin. I have been a lord for far longer than I have been a king… and these walls haven't heard that title for far longer. I won't be horrified if someone forgets. I often don't remember myself."

The maester smiled at that. "Thank you. I will learn, of course, but…" he trailed off, smiling falling.

"I don't suppose, as King, I can order you to be a bit happier in my presence?"

Luwin smiled again at that but he shook his head all the same. "You can't, your grace."

"Ned, we have to discuss things," Catelyn began. There was no judgment in her words. No scolding as he might have expected. There had been a few times in their marriage, mostly during the middle years, before Arya had been born, when she had taken him to task for his attitude, scolding him for not acting as a lord should. It hadn't been often but it had happened and Ned had allowed it because honestly it had shown that she was comfortable in his presence. At the start of their marriage, when he'd returned from the Rebellion, she had been so awkward around him. She had been expecting to be married to Brandon, had been prepared for how he behaved, so- "Ned?"

He blinked and realized that he'd been lost in his thoughts yet again. He sighed and rubbing his chin. He needed to shave again, or at least get the bristled mess on his face trimmed down. He wouldn't be like Robert, growing out a messy beard to hide a fat face. He refused to be like that. It was why he trained every day once more, acting like he was a youth needing to learn his swings-

The King In the North shut his eyes. "I don't know if this is a good time for me to focus on such things. I can't seem to get my mind to stop racing."

"We have put things off for far too long, Ned," Catelyn stated. "We must deal with these matters."

"You're right. Of course you are right." He looked at Luwin. "Any reports from the riders?"

"None, your grace. At least nothing new from what we have last heard." He pulled from his sleeves some raven scrolls, reading through them. "Lord Gregor Forrester reports that he will be providing riders himself."

"Which means Ludd Whitehill will be sending some himself once he received word," Ned said; the feud between the Forresters and the Whitehills was nearly as bad as that of the Brackens and Blackwoods had been before Theon had returned Jonos Bracken's bones.

"Perhaps not, my lord. I was saving such news for later but Lord Whitehill has written asking for help."

"Help? Whatever with?"

"It seems that while he and his sons were in the south his daughter, Gywn, escaped into the night."

"Escaped?" Catelyn whispered. "Whatever for?"

"Lord Whitehill believes she made her way to White Harbor… he has sent ravens and ask if we might send riders to assist. He fears she has chartered a ship to Essos to find Aster Forrester, a man she had become besotted with."

Visions of Lyanna's abduction filled his mind but Ned forced himself to shove those nightmares aside.

"Send a raven to White Harbor. The Manderlys will know if Gwyn left for Essos."

"That is assuming they will tell us," Catelyn stated. "It is possible they helped the girl." Ned shot her a look and Catelyn smiled. "People talk of different things. Men don't like to claim they gossip but they do. It is only of different things. You will discuss what this man is doing with his lands, the lies he tells about his latest hunt and the fish he claims to have caught. Women speak of softer things. Love chief among them. And ladies North and South care deeply for love stories. Especially sad ones with hints of a joyful end."

Ned motioned for her to continue, knowing she was leading to something.

"Aster Forrester was the kind of man I feared Robb would have become had we not raised him well, so that he ignored many of Theon's… activities."

"Theon has done better," Ned said gently.

Catelyn smiled. "That is true. But the point reminds that he enjoyed drinking, whoring, and gambling. The same was true with Aster Forrester. He was someone that made friends quick and enemies nearly as fast. And Gwyn Whitehill… her family is proud and greedy and she was known to be cold and determined. She is not one to put up with foolishness. Her and Aster… they should not have fallen for one another. And yet… they did. And the singers will declare decades from now that they were curing each other of their faults until the hatreds of their fathers caused them to be torn apart." She smiled slightly. "Many heard the tale… though I'm surprised you hadn't. I imagine it made it to White Harbor. And with so many of the Manderly men in the South… who now rules the town?"

"Wynafryd Manderly," Luwin said.

"You believe she helped Gwyn?" Ned asked.

"I believe that even she would understand that some women will choose love over duty."

Ned sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Something to deal with later. We have enough issues with our own children fleeing from home." He saw Catelyn flinch and while he hated hurting her he was too frustrated to care. "Luwin, there has been no sightings of Robb?"

"None, your grace, as I stated. The Karstarks state they will keep an eye out but their forces are spread thin."

"Everything is spread thin," Ned grunted. The war was making it hard to get men to search for Robb and Roslyn. And the fact that the North was already rather large and sparsely populated made it all the harder. A smart man could disappear for decades and never be found. For every deserter of the Night's Watch Ned was forced to behead there were a dozen that were never seen again that he knew in his bones were alive and well. They lived as the First Men had once, surviving off the land. It was very likely many lords could find a deserter in their family tree, lying about who he was and marrying in some small village that didn't have a name. Robb was smart; if he didn't want to be found in order to go about this mad mission of his…

He looked at the letter that had been waiting for him in the solar, one that Luwin stated had been written in the presence of himself and Ser Rodrik.

'Father. You won't believe what I have written down. You'll believe this to be some trick, crafted by our enemies. It is why I have asked Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin to serve as witness, and for the others to provide their own letters, so you might know that this is all true. There is so much to explain but I will start with the last and the most important: The Others have returned…'

Ned pushed the letter aside. Of course calling it a letter was a joke. It was a collection of writings, a short story that would have left Old Nan breathless if she tried to tell it to them.

"Maester Luwin," Catelyn said, drawing him from his thoughts, "this… tale about the man-"

The Maester cut her off. "It is Rickon."

Catelyn pressed her lips together. She had been asking about that ever since they'd read Robb's letter where he revealed that their youngest child, their 'little baby' as Catelyn had said of Rickon even though the child was far too old to be called such, was now a man grown who was closer to Ned's age than his brothers. She had been trying to find some way to prove that it was a trick, a con, a scheme set up by their enemies. She inspected the crypts that everyone stated were the site of Rickon's return, trying to find a hidden passage. She talked to servants and pressed them time and again to tell their story, trying to find something they might have missed that would prove the man was actually a vile monster who was using the disappearance of her child to try and get something out of them. It was outlandish but not the first time someone had tried to claim to be a family member; the tale of Ser Duncan the Tall uncovering the false Stark during his visit to Winterfell was a famous one, after all.

It was a tale that many enjoyed. Ned had enjoyed it… when he'd been young and didn't see the insult it was to House Stark. How Ser Duncan and Egg had uncovered a mummur posing as a member of House Stark and ensured the man didn't desecrate the crypts of the Kings of Winter in a search for hidden gold. It was a story full of romance and drama and Old Nan had always seemed so YOUNG when she spoke of Ser Duncan and the newly arrived servant girl who caught his eye… but it also made his ancestor look like a fool that he'd been so easily tricked.

"But how can you be so sure?" Catelyn pressed. "Magic… it isn't real." Catelyn must have felt his hot glare on her because she turned and narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"We saw a man fly," he reminded her.

"The Iron Man is different." She didn't say WHY he was different and Ned could only guess that if she were pressed his lady wife would find some excuse to leave so she didn't have to explain just what it was that made him different. "Not like this. Rickon-"

"Is this man," Luwin said politely but there was an undercurrent of weariness in his voice, it clear he was growing tired of the repeated questions. "I looked him over myself when he first arrived, to make sure he was fit and well. He bore marks that Rickon had."

"Scars can be faked," Catelyn reminded him, clearly thinking of one Rickon had received when he'd just begun to walk and taken a tumble that had cut open his leg. Ned couldn't help but smile as he remembered that as while Catelyn had been reduced to a fit Rickon had been enraged he couldn't run around more and fussed so much while Luwin tried to stitch him up he was forced to douse him with Milk of the Poppy just to keep him still. And the Maester's robes had still ended up covered in blood thanks to the thrashing. Honestly the Wolf's Blood seemed to run stronger the younger his children got.

"But other marks can not," Luwin assures her. "Every person has identifiers on their body. Maesters learn to notice these things."

"Whatever for?" Catelyn asks.

Luwin smiles sadly. "Because sometimes the Gods are cruel and death can come to many people at once. And it is a kindness to be able to tell who a person was in life."

Catelyn blanched at that but Ned merely nodded his head; he wasn't surprised by the comment at all. He'd seen the Silent Sisters gather up the dead from the battlefield and those trained in the healing arts, designated by them to speak for them, would ask if there was a way to identify a person. He at first had described faces, hair color… but eventually he'd learned that sometimes it was better to describe something else. Something a sword or a mace wouldn't leave in a gory ruin.

"Young Rickon had two moles upon his backside. I remember them from my examination."

"I remember as well,"Catelyn stated. While servants were used to deal with the messier aspects of babies Catelyn had demanded she bathe their children. Ned had even watched her sometimes, bemused at how she'd sing to them. Robb would wiggle a bit but otherwise allow her to wash him without fuss. Sansa was a perfect doll. Arya, Bran, and Rickon always splashed her and squealed their delight. "And this man-"

"The same moles. He is Rickon."

"Raised by my father," Ned said softly, eyes turning to the other letters.

Catelyn had doubted the entire mad story Robb had told in his letter. She'd claimed he must have been drugged. Or sick. Suggested briefly that Roslyn had done something to him and this was a plot by the Freys. She couldn't deny it was his handwriting but she couldn't believe what their child had told them. Even with Luwin and Ser Rodrik confirming every word, telling her that it was all true. Walking trees. Talking raccoons. The dead returning to life only they'd never been dead but whisked away to a world so they might merge with the Children of the Forest. It was all too much for her.

But Ned believed.

The letters, whose handwriting he hadn't seen in decades yet remembered crisply and clearly, were proof of that.

Brandon's letter, or Drax as he had informed him. Just like his older brother's messages. Grumbling about needing to leave as there were things he wanted to do only to get sidetracked in his sentences. Though Ned could have done without Brandon asking him if he'd 'stuck his cock in Catelyn's ass because I do believe despite her claims otherwise she would rather enjoy it and motherhood must have given her a more plush rear to make feel better on his fertile balls'.

Father's letter, or Yondu has he stated his new name was. Somehow, even without the man being there, he managed to make Ned feel like a small child once again. He laid out what was happening and how it was important to prepare for the war that truly mattered: the War for the Dawn. And despite the fact that the letter was rather gruff and to the point, laying out what Ned had to do (and, to his annoyance and displeasure, what he needed NOT do and in fact shouldn't even consider) his father had managed to sprinkle throughout it his annoyance at so many of Ned's choices.

Lyanna's letter. Gamora's. Short but so filled with meaning.

'Summon Jon from Iron Pointe. Bring me my son. Promise me Ned.'

Those words haunted him. He knew that Lyanna hadn't chosen those three little words at random. His sister knew just what she was doing. She was angry at him but not enough to spit venom or scream or hit him with something. That's what she'd done when she'd been a little girl; honestly Arya was so much like her that he wondered what it would be like when she-

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart aching.

'If we can find her,' he thought to himself. According to Luwin and Ser Rodrik Ned's father had proclaimed that Arya was alive but that she was across the Narrow Sea. He hadn't told them much else but somehow Arya had ended up in Essos. 'Better than the rest.' Sansa's soul was in a direwolf (Ned couldn't wrap his mind around that) and Bran was traveling with Jaime Fucking Lannister! Not as a captive either! Apparently they were traveling to the Wall together! And needed to be LEFT ALONE! Because Bran was SAFE with Jaime Fucking Lannister!

Ned rubbed his forehead, wondering if the madness that had suddenly come over his life would ever make sense.

There was a knock on the door and after a moment he wearily waved to Luwin to receive the new arrival.

"You are looking well, your grace," Ned's Master of Whispers, Nikolas Fury, said with a slight smile. Fury was a tall man, with the dark skin of the Summer Isles, who preferred to wear black leathers. His left eye was covered with an eyepatch and there were scars upon it that spoke of quite a story. One that Fury refused to tell, much to Ned's annoyance.

"I am… surviving," Ned muttered. "What news do you bring me?"

"This and that," Fury said. He didn't titter and laugh like Varys but there was something about how he spoke that made Ned's hackles rise up. The man dealt with secrets but he also kept secrets and Ned hated that. He knew lords and kings kept secrets… and he had no right to judge anyone considering the secret he kept concerning Jon… but that didn't me he enjoyed the double speak and smiling lies so many told. The North was too hard and cold to waste one's time speaking falsehoods. "Concerning your family."

Catelyn at once sat up. "Robb?"

Fury shook his head. "Nothing about him or Rickon. But your brother Benjen sends a note."

"Benjen," Ned said with a groan. "Damn it all." He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "I haven't sent a raven to him. He doesn't know anything. I… I can't remember if he even knows about Sansa. Or my crown. Or the Others, if our father is to believed and there is the knowledge that our father is alive-!"

Fury cut him off. "He… might know more than you think."

The Master of Whispers passed Ned the letter, Benjen's scrawl recognizable.

'Others attack… saved by first Lord Captain… Wildlings allowed through the Wall… the Dead march…'

Nothing… nothing good ever came from a letter.

~MC~MC~MC~

Sansa

Old Nan had once told her a story about a Princess so beautiful that none wished to harm her… save her father's wicked and cruel second wife, who was jealous of the Princess' looks and wanted her gone. The queen had thought that by killing the Princess she would ensure that none would ever think anyone but herself to be the most fair and lovely in the land. When the Princess had been but a babe in her crib the Queen had placed a deadly Dornish viper amongst her blankets, counting on the child's wiggling to aggravate the serpent and cause it to kill her with its venom. But the snake had looked upon the child and allowed her to use its tail like a rattle for her amusement.

When the Princess had been three the Queen had taken the two of them on a boat ride. When the child had peered over the edge to try and see what lay in the water the Queen had shoved her over, thinking the child would drown. But the fish within the lake had caught the child and raised her up, taking her back to shore while the lake itself had suddenly begun to churn like the Narrow Sea during a fierce storm, not allowing the Queen to row back and thus forcing her to dive in and swim to shore.

On the Princess' 8th nameday the Queen had abandoned her in the woods, fresh meat left in her basket, raw and dripping. She had heard the howl of wolves and known the child was as good as dead. But the beasts of the forests had looked upon the young princess and heard her voice and fallen so in love with her they taught her the secret language of the animals; all creatures knew how to speak they just didn't reveal it to anyone. They taught her though and led her home in a grand parade that made all the people clap and cheer.

Eventually the Queen was defeated, as was the case in the best tales, and the Princess married a king from a far off land and brought prosperity and happiness to all she ruled over.

Sansa had loved that story greatly, often envisioning herself as the Princess. Whenever she spotted a bunny or a squirrel she'd try and coax it to her, dreaming of what it would be like for the animals to come and whisper their secrets to her and warm her in the cold.

In the middle of the forest, under a great oak sentinel, Sansa lowered her jaw and tore into the rabbit she had killed, bones crunching as she chewed, swallowing a hunk of raw meat. Her muzzle was covered in blood and she idly rubbed it against the bark of the tree, knowing she'd need to find some water to drink and perhaps wash herself before she continued on.

'I must be close to the Neck,' she thought to herself, licking her lips before she buried her snout into the carcass once more. The rabbit was a large one and most likely would have frightened her as a child due to the size, but now it was only something that added a bit of meat to her belly. She'd have preferred a deer but it was mid day and she knew that there were humans about and she didn't want to run into any of them. 'Humans don't understand,' she thought. 'They will see me and-'

She blinked before scowling, or as best she could with her features.

'You are human,' she reminded herself. 'You didn't understand either.'

When this had first begun, her becoming Lady, merging with her direwolf to escape King's Landing and the Night's Queen, she'd been frightened and horrified by what she'd been forced to become in order to secure her freedom. Not enough to wish to go back, of course. But enough that after the third day, when she'd believed herself finally far enough away that whatever hunters the Night's Queen sent after her had been left league and leagues away with no hope of catching up to her, she'd sat down and cried. It had been so strange to be this creature and she'd hated it so but she understood that being Lady was her only way to be free.

It was a week in that she had begun to have… wolfish thoughts about humans. That's when she'd begun her list. It reminded her of who she was and that, somehow, she would be her again. Sansa didn't know how she would do it but magic had allowed her to become a wolf and magic would make her human again. And every morning she recited the list.

Then she began to do so in the evening.

And now she was doing it after every meal.

'Joffrey,' she thought to herself even as she rutted around to get the last bit of meat from the rabbit's corpse. 'Cersei. Tywin. The Night's Queen-'

She heard a 'huhhuhhuh' sound and froze.

Rising up, body tense, Sansa watched as dark shapes began to break away from the trees that surrounded her, spreading out on all side. They were smaller than her, much smaller. When she'd taken over Lady she'd been the size of a large dog but with their shared rebirth the two of them had made up for time lost and while it was hard to gauge at times Sansa reasoned she was the size of a small pony and still growing. Certainly bigger than the beasts that were coming to investigate her.

Wolves.

Normal wolves. Gray coated. But wolves all the same. Sansa stood her ground as first one, then three, then seven emerged. She slowly turned her head, knowing that any sudden movements might send them into and attack, and saw that there was a dozen behind her now, staring at her. And when she turned back there was two score more! It was the largest wolf pack that had ever existed, she was certain of that!

'At least fifty of them,' Sansa thought to herself as she slowly moved to stand over the last remains of the rabbit. 'And that is just the main hunters.' She knew that somewhere there was either a den or a glen or some protected place where the pups and the mothers too heavy with their young to hunt were kept safe. And there would be younger wolves, too little to hunt but old enough to learn, who waited beyond the main pack that surrounds her.

They made no move, merely staring at her.

'This isn't about my kill,' she thought to herself. Plenty of times after she'd caught some prey other creatures would come and try to steal it away. Coyotes and foxes darting by to attempt to carry it off; that taught Sansa that you never rest after you make a kill. You fill your belly and only then do you move on. Larger beasts too… a few normal wolves, much like the ones before her, but always on their own and easy enough to deal with. Once a small bear, a male out on his own, thought he could claim a fawn Sansa had spent three hours hunting only to become her actual dinner when she slayed him and found that their battle had destroyed the fawn completely.

But this was different. There were far too many wolves for such a small rabbit. It had barely filled her stomach up and the pack wouldn't concern itself with the bones and bits of fur she'd left behind.

'They want me,' she realized. 'I can't fight them. If it were a few I'd have a chance. I could battle them and kill them.' She was well larger than them and growing bigger each day; it felt so odd to look at the trees and know that every morning she was a bit bigger. It made her feel like the Lady Mydge, who had been cursed to become a giantess and was said to be the ancestor of the Umber Clan. 'But I'm not give enough to take on fifty. They will swarm me and they will kill me before I have a chance to get my teeth around enough of their throats.'

She held her ground, refusing to duck her head. Maester Luwin had taught them that animals responded to signs of weakness and when they'd gotten the direwolf pups he'd warned her and her siblings that they had to show that they were the alphas. Even little Rickon, when Shaggydog had tried to bowl him over once, had yelled that the wolf was 'bad!' and actually ran at his pup; after that day Shaggydog might have snapped at most people but was as gentle as Lady had been to her when it came to little Rickon. So now Sansa didn't back down. Didn't dip her head in submission. Because she knew if she did she'd die. Instead she merely curled back her lips, letting them see her teeth. She didn't growl just yet but she did silently warn them that she wouldn't allow them to threaten her.

Suddenly the wolves to her right parted. Just a small bit. Most wouldn't have even noticed it, as the pack has been shifting and moving as they take her in. it doesn't matter though as Sansa saw her chance. She sprung forward, mouth open ready to tear into any that get in her way. The only way she would get out of this was to beat them in a run and she knew she could do that. She just needed to-

A shadow broke away from the forest and Sansa came to a stop.

She looked up.

And up.

And up.

She understood what brought all the wolves together to form the giant pack.

'She's as big as a war horse!' Sansa thought in shock as she stared at the truly massive wolf. She had thought she was big but this beast, the leader of the pack, made her feel like a baby. From head to forepaw she was 6 feet tall. As long as a horse but far more muscular. For a moment Sansa was sure that she has stumbled not upon a creature of Westeros but one of the Old Gods, taking the form of the Queen of Wolves. The beast looked at her and cocked her head slightly, staring at her with intense eyes.

Sansa pushed back her terror. She knew she'd die if she tried to fight this beast. So she thought, trying to think of how she could escape. She looked for a weakness… only for her to truly take in the wolf. See her for what she was.

Who she was.

"Nymeria."

Sansa didn't say the word, of course. She can't. It comes out as a growl and a yip. But she knew who this Queen was. Her sister's beloved direwolf, released to spare her punishment because of Joffrey's cruelty and Sansa's lies. She had survived… thrived honestly… and was now the mistress of the woods and all that dwelled there.

But more than that… she was a piece of home.

Nymeria slowly padded towards her and Sansa dipped her head in submission. She watched the ground, feeling the hot breath of the larger direwolf on her, saw her paws come into view…

…and felt the large rough tongue begin to lick the blood from her fur.

Sansa slowly looked up and locked eyes with Nymeria as she pulled away.

"Sister?"

Old Nan told of a Princess who learned the language of the animals, for they protected her. Sansa didn't know if she could speak to all of them but in that moment she understood Nymeria all the same.

"Sister," she confirmed in the Language of the Wolf. For she is Sansa. She is Lady. She is the Red Wolf of Winterfell.

Nymeria began to nuzzle her and Sansa did the same, her heart soaring as Arya's direwolf greeted her. The other wolves suddenly close in on them and Sansa basked in the feeling of them rubbing up against her. They created a giant mob of fur and Sansa closed her eyes and soaked in the protection and safety they brought her. For the first time in ages… she wasn't alone. She wasn't scared.

"Where?' Nymeria asked her.

There was only one response.

Sansa turned North, towards the Neck. Towards Winterfell.

"Home."

Nymeria rumbled and throws back her head, Sansa joining her as the entire pack howled before, as one, they turned and began to run.

Towards home.