"Shouldn't we have heard something by now?" asked Arya.
Sansa suppressed a smile and turned to face her sister. They were in the grass gardens, and Arya was gloomily sniffing at a blue winter rose.
"We only heard about Jon Arryn after we got the dire wolves," she pointed out. "There's still time."
"It'll be soon, though, won't it?" asked Arya. "I feel like I'm going mad. We've come back and we've spent all these months doing nothing."
"It hasn't been nothing," said Sansa. They had organised for increased shipments of wheat to come in from all of the keeps across the North. Already, Sansa knew that they would have far more food come winter than they had had last time, even everything else stayed the same. Arya and Robb had taken to organising the rebuilding of the Broken Tower. When the day came, it would be able to house more refugees from throughout the North when they took shelter in Winterfell – and it would be too busy when – if, she supposed – the King came for Bran to stumble on Cersei and Jaime Lannister risking a tryst there. Letters had gone to Lord Commander Mormont, asking if he had any odd reports. Sansa and Arya had sent an anonymous letter to Jon Arryn, warning him to always test his food. There wasn't much that they could do to influence southron politics from Winterfell.
Arya huffed. "I know, I know. But Gods, I feel like there's so much more we could be doing. I could have killed Ramsay Snow by now, or ridden south and slit the throats of some Freys and Lannisters."
They had already had this conversation a hundred times over. Sansa knew that Arya didn't truly desire to ride out and assassinate anyone who might be a problem for them, only that the inactivity and lack of news was driving her mad. It didn't stop Sansa's anxiety from racketing up every time Arya mentioned riding to the Dreadfort and taking Ramsay Snow out herself.
"Soon," soothed Sansa. "It can't be long now." The moon had waxed and waned twice since Sansa and Arya had woken up, children again. They had passed into the next year. The Ranger from the Night's Watch had to be riding south from the Wall any day now.
"Sansa! Arya!" Sansa looked over at the sound of Bran calling their names. He was waving them over urgently. "Mother said that I needed to get you both," said Bran. Sansa exchanged a look with Arya. They had finished with the Septa for the morning, and weren't expected anywhere until the afternoon.
"What's wrong?" asked Sansa, hurrying over to Bran with Arya on her heels.
Bran shrugged. "There was a lady at the gates who wanted to see you."
"A lady?" repeated Sansa.
"A lady all in armour!" exclaimed Bran.
"Brienne," realised Arya, and took off running.
"Are they in the Great Hall?" Sansa checked, and when Bran nodded, she picked up her skirts and ran after Arya. Bran kept pace with her as they ran – he might have been shorter, but he didn't have any skirts to get in his way. Arya, who after several weeks of stubborn refusal to wear anything else had won the right to wear leggings for day-to-day tasks, streaked ahead of both of them. As they ran into the courtyard, Sansa saw Theon, polishing a sword for Ser Rodrik. He looked up, startled, as Sansa sprinted past.
"Theon, come on!" she shouted. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the sword in his hands, before putting it aside and running after her.
"What's going on?" he asked, as he drew level with her.
"Brienne is here," she panted out. "It isn't just us, Theon!"
Arya was holding the door for them when they arrived. She pointedly ignored Theon, but when Sansa stepped through the doorway, Arya went with her. Their parents were seated at the High Table. Brienne was standing in the centre of the room, and at the sound of them entering, she turned to look.
"Lady Sansa, Lady Arya," she said. "I know that this will seem strange to you -"
Sansa burst into a beaming smile, running the last few steps and throwing her arms around Brienne. Brienne caught her, tentatively accepting her hug.
"I should have known," said Sansa. "I should have known there was no where we'd go where you wouldn't follow."
"My lady?" said Brienne.
"We came back, too, Brienne," said Arya, coming to stand next to Sansa when Sansa let Brienne go.
"Theon, too," added Sansa, because she knew Arya wouldn't.
"Lady Brienne," said Ned, standing, "with my daughters' decidedly warm reaction to you, I will be honoured to accept you into my household as my daughter's sword shields. I hope that you will be able to protect them as well as you did in their last lives."
Arya let out a delighted whoop, and Sansa knew that she couldn't suppress her smile if she tried.
"They know everything," said Sansa. Almost everything, anyway, she thought to herself, but didn't say – she still didn't know how to tell their mother about Littlefinger.
"Then – if you don't mind, my lord – it should be Ser Brienne," said Brienne. Her voice started out quiet, but it grew in strength as she spoke.
"You were knighted!" gasped Sansa.
"Just before the battle, my lady," confirmed Brienne. "Any knight of the Seven Kingdoms may anoint another, so Ser Jaime knighted me."
There were a thousand things that Sansa could hold against the Kingslayer, starting with Bran being thrown from the Broken Tower and ending with him serving as the Lord Commander of Cersei's Queen's Guard, but knighting Brienne was not something she could fault him for. If there was anyone in Westeros who lived up to the ideals of a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, it was Brienne of Tarth.
"He may have been an Oathbreaker, but it was the right and honourable thing to do," said Sansa. "If anyone is a true knight, it is you, Ser Brienne." A slow, shy smile spread across Brienne's face at Sansa's words.
At the High Table, Ned nodded slowly. "Aye, Ser Brienne it is," he said.
Beside him, Catelyn stood. "Although I am grateful for all that you have done for my daughters, Ser Brienne," she started. Brienne ducked her head at Catelyn's words, and Sansa could see her smile widen. "… All knights have been dubbed by another Knight, and I doubt that the Jaime Lannister of this time will back your knighthood." Brienne's smile dropped off her face, and Sansa shot a glare at her mother. "You are a Knight, Ser Brienne," added Catelyn, her voice more gentle. "No one can take that from you. But here in Winterfell, we have agreed to keep the girls' situation – quiet, as it were, so that Lord Varys and the Lannisters cannot use it unscrupulously. The decision is yours, Ser, but it will look unusual."
"That isn't fair," protested Arya. "Brienne's a knight. She's more than earned it."
Sansa grimaced and stepped backwards, away from Brienne. "But Mother's right," said Sansa. "At best, people will think you a liar or mad. At worst, it will bring attention to us that we don't need, Arya. Even as it is, if Varys finds reason to look into the North, he'll be able to tell we're preparing for war. We need to prevent any attention."
"The Wildlings are gathering to march on the Wall," countered Arya. "Robert loves Father; if we tell him that we're preparing for the Wildlings, he'll believe us."
"Lady Sansa and Lady Catelyn are right," said Brienne, her voice flat. "It is my duty to protect you both. If not acknowledging my knighthood publicly is needed to keep you both safe, then that is what I will do."
"I'm sorry, Brienne," said Sansa. "I wish…"
"People might not have believed me even if we had lived past the battle, and Ser Jaime and the others were there to say that it happened," said Brienne, dully.
"Brienne," whispered Sansa, stricken. She shouldn't have said anything. People would have thought Brienne a bit mad or presumptuous, but what did that matter?
No. They needed to remain inconspicuous where possible. That would be difficult enough as it was, as daughters of Ned and Catelyn Stark, fourth and fifth in line for Winterfell, and having Brienne in their household would cause a stir even without her going by Ser.
Catelyn left the High Table, approaching Brienne in the centre in the room. "I am told that it was because of an oath you made to me that you protected my daughters."
Brienne nodded. "I was your sworn shield first, my lady. You sent me to retrieve your daughters with Jaime Lannister, in exchange for his release."
Sansa exchanged a quick glance with Arya. They hadn't mentioned that part of Brienne's story before. Beyond blinking, though, Catelyn didn't falter. She reached out and took Brienne's hand in hers. "Thank you," said Catelyn, gratitude flowing through her voice. "I don't know exactly what it would have been to be the Catelyn of your time, separated from all but one of my children, but I can imagine. You searched for them when all else had given them up, and you rescued Sansa from a monster. Although most people, today, would not believe it, you have proven yourself a true knight."
Brienne's eyes filled with tears and she blinked them back. "Lady Catelyn, it was my honour to serve you and your daughters. I only wish I could have done more to protect you."
Catelyn's jaw tightened slightly at the reminder of her brother's wedding, but she said, "From what I've been told, there was not much you could have done. Better that you survived to serve and protect Sansa and Arya." She patted Brienne's hand gently before releasing it and stepping back.
"That isn't all," said Ned, drawing Sansa's attention back to the High Table. "I received a raven from Jeor Mormont. One of his rangers seems to have deserted immediately after arriving back from a long ranging. I have sent word out to keep an eye out for him."
Sansa turned to look at Arya and Theon. "It's beginning."
Arya stood on the battlements of Winterfell, the breeze rushing through her hair. It was a little chilly, standing in the breeze, but Arya barely registered it.
Sansa was still inside the castle. She had whipped herself into a frenzy over the past two weeks, writing down every piece of information that she could think of and making sure that their parents, Robb and Jon memorised them. Arya knew why she was so anxious – if Jon Arryn hadn't heeded their warning, the letter about his death would arrive in a matter of days, at most. Sansa wasn't just preparing for the future; she was preparing for Joffrey, trying to build up every defence she could against him.
Well, all except one. Sansa still hadn't told anyone the truth about her treatment in King's Landing. Arya hadn't told anyone the entirety of what had happened to her, either, so she couldn't really argue with Sansa on that front.
Still, Arya had no doubt Sansa would be out soon. Ned and their brothers had ridden out to collect the Night's Watch deserter, and that meant one thing: the dire wolves. Nymeria was so, so close.
A horn sounded in the distance and Arya looked up. She could see them, riding back towards Winterfell, one member all in black and the others carrying something they hadn't set out with. Arya grinned and ran for the stairs.
The gates were opening and the party clattered through. Arya darted from her spot as they dismounted. "Nymeria!" she called. In Jon's arms, the grey direwolf cub started to wriggle. With a yelp, Jon dropped her, shaking his hand. Nymeria charged across the courtyard and Arya scooped her up into her arms.
"Oh, girl, I've missed you," she whispered into Nymeria's fur. Nymeria burrowed further into Arya's arms. "You know your name, don't you? You came back with me. Of course you did." As soon as she realised, it felt obvious. Of course Lady and Nymeria had come back with Sansa and Arya – anything else would have been wrong.
Sansa appeared at the door of the Library Tower. She darted over to Robb and very gently took the small, grey cub from his arms and cuddled the pup close to her chest. As Arya watched, Lady stretched up to lick Sansa's chin repeatedly. Sansa giggled, clutching Lady closer.
"So those two are yours, then," said Jon. He had Ghost still in his arms, while Bran and Robb had Summer and Grey Wind, respectively. Theon held Shaggydog in his arms. Arya couldn't help a moment of spiteful glee at the sight; Shaggydog was as wild now as he had ever been, and Theon was struggling to keep him contained.
"This is Lady," said Sansa, her voice quavering. Lady rested her head on Sansa's shoulder, and Sansa brushed her cheek against her. Tears were leaking down her cheeks, but Sansa was smiling so wide that Arya almost worried her face was going to split in two.
"And that little monster?" asked Jon, humour in his voice.
"This little monster is Nymeria," said Arya proudly. "Once, last time round, she bit Joffrey and made him bleed." Sansa tried to shush Arya, but it was lost amongst the loud, boisterous laughter of Robb and Jon. "You were such a good girl," crooned Arya, shifting Nymeria so that she could look the direwolf in the eyes.
"Any word from the Red Keep?" asked Ned, more seriously.
Sansa shook her head. "It'll be any day now, Father."
"If it comes at all," said Arya, cuddling Nymeria back to her chest. "He might have listened to us, you know."
Sansa bit her lip. "We need to consider what we'll do if Robert never comes North. The Lannisters, Stannis and Renly will go to war, no matter what Jon Arryn does."
"Inside," said Ned, gesturing towards the Great Keep. Arya couldn't help but clutch Nymeria a little closer, unwilling to put her down so soon. Sansa did the same with Lady. Ned half-rolled his eyes and added, "You can bring the direwolves."
"Excuse me, Lord Stark," said Theon. "I should take this direwolf to Lord Rickon." Theon had taken to being exceedingly polite to all of the Starks, aside from Sansa, who had rolled her eyes at him the first time he tried to call her 'Lady Sansa', and Arya, who had told him not to talk to her at all.
"I'll go with him," said Jon, immediately, with an edge to his voice.
Sansa stepped closer to Arya and murmured, "Maybe we should ask Brienne to stay with Bran and Rickon for now. At least then Jon and Robb won't spend every other second hovering over Theon's shoulder."
"But then they won't talk to him at all," said Arya, with exaggerated disappointment. Sansa shot her a look, and Arya dropped the act. "Honestly, Sansa. I don't know what you expect."
Sansa sighed. "I expect nothing, but he's not that man anymore, Arya. You'd all see that if you gave him space to be anything."
Arya shrugged. "I'm not best known for my forgiveness," she said. "If you want Robb and Jon to treat him differently, you'll have to take it up with them."
Sansa pursed her lips and turned to Ned. He was finishing giving instructions to Ser Rodrik as they turned to look. Ser Rodrik took the Night's Watch deserter by the arm and led him towards the Guard's Hall. "Come on," she said, leading Arya into the Great Keep.
Catelyn was waiting for them at the entrance to Ned's solar. She eyed the direwolves in their arms nervously. "I thought your lord father was retrieving the deserter," she said.
"He did," said Arya glibly. "He also found our direwolves. This is Nymeria, and that's Lady." Nymeria shifted slightly in Arya's arms at the sound of her name, and lifted her head to butt against Arya's jaw. "Nymeria!" exclaimed Arya, although the scolding was made immediately ineffectual by Arya's giggling.
"We had them last time," said Sansa. "Grey Wind used to ride into battle beside Robb, you know, and Summer sacrificed himself for Bran." She heaved Lady up higher and brushed the top of Lady's head against her chin. Lady leaned into the touch, her tail wagging. "You couldn't ask for better protectors for us, except for maybe Brienne."
Robb came up behind them, Grey Wind trotting at his heels. Ned walked beside him. "I've told Ser Rodrik to place Gared into the holding cells," said Ned. "We will question him tomorrow. Hopefully, a night in a safe place and a good meal will return some of his wits to him and we'll get more information on the Others soon enough."
Arya nodded, her heart beating fast. It hadn't been long ago that she had been complaining to Sansa that things were moving too slowly, but now the deserter had arrived and Nymeria was in her arms, she could see the future before her again, each date between now and the Long Night standing clear in her memories. It wasn't far away, now. It had never been far away, but she had let herself get carried away in the blissful dream that was the Winterfell of her youth.
At least we'll know, she thought to herself. We'll know how far south the White Walkers are by now.
"Did he not say anything?" asked Catelyn.
"He said that he knew he should have warned the Night's Watch, but that he had to warn his family," said Ned, grimly, as he let them into his solar.
"Write to Jeor Mormont," said Sansa. "Perhaps if you are taking this seriously, he will, too."
"If we can convince the Night's Watch – or at least Lord Commander Mormont – it'll be easier to start treating with the Wildlings, too," said Robb.
"Send Jon," said Sansa. "When the time comes to treat with the Wildlings, send Jon. They respected him, last time. They knelt to him. If anyone can help to treat with the Free Folk, it will be Jon."
Catelyn pursed her lips, but did not say anything.
"When I get something out of the deserter, I will summon Mormont to Winterfell," said Ned. "We will discuss the matter when he arrives."
"Why not go to the Wall to discuss it?" asked Robb. "We may be able to treat with the Wildlings while we're there."
"We may yet have the King riding for Winterfell soon," said Ned, his eyes shifting to Arya and Sansa. "He will be more likely to believe me than you, Robb, or your mother. When Mormont returns the Wall, I will send representatives with him to treat with Mance Rayder on my behalf. Jon will be one of them, though perhaps there will be more."
Catelyn cleared her throat. "We need to discuss what we'll do if Robert doesn't come North."
"We need to expose Joffrey as a bastard," said Arya. "Stannis will go to war if Joffrey is crowned king. He thinks that he is the rightful king."
"He will be the rightful king," corrected Ned. "You are right, although I would prefer to find some way to keep the children safe when the truth comes out."
"Cersei will murder you if you give them any warning," said Arya.
Sansa held Lady tightly and said, "You need to send me south."
"What?" demanded Arya, rounding on her sister. "You're not going south alone!"
"I won't be alone. I'll have Brienne," replied Sansa. She turned back to Ned and Catelyn. "I am not a tactician or a warrior or a general. I can do little about the Others that you cannot. I am a lady, though, and I know how to play the game of thrones. I can climb the ladder – and not a single person in the Red Keep knows that. Send me south."
"We can't send you into danger," said Catelyn, her voice tight. "This isn't a discussion."
"If you go south, I'm going with you," said Arya.
"Absolutely not," hissed Catelyn.
"You might be the politician, but I'm Arya Underfoot," continued Arya, as if Catelyn hadn't interrupted. "You'll work the lords and ladies, while I'll spy and keep you safe. You're not going south alone."
"Can you do it?" asked Sansa. "Can you stand beside Cersei and Joffrey and not do anything?"
"Can you?" asked Arya. "Robert will want you betrothed to Joffrey. Are you sure you can endure being betrothed to him?"
"We'll out him as a bastard soon enough," said Sansa, but there was a hint of nerves in her voice. She joined her hands together. Arya watched them closely, noticing the almost-controlled shivers racing through them.
"You'll still be betrothed to him for a time," persisted Arya. "And once Robert knows what Cersei has been up to, he'll need a new queen. Who's to say he won't be looking for a second Lyanna?"
"Arya!" exclaimed Ned, horrified.
Sansa stared at her, her breathing heavy. She opened her mouth then closed it again. After another moment, a slow smile stole across her face. Arya tilted her head in confusion at the sight as Sansa said, "I might be able to do something about that."
Sansa found Theon in the armoury, like she usually did, these days. He was cleaning the swords, running the polish along the blade in slow, careful movements. She leant against the doorframe, watching him, watching his hands and the fingers he hadn't had only months ago. She needed time to find the right words.
"I need your help," she said at last.
Theon looked up. He hadn't realised she was there until she spoke, but he hadn't startled at the sound of her voice. It was progress.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She entered the room and pulled up a stool across from him, perching on the edge of it. "I can't be available for marriage when Robert Baratheon comes North," she said. She hesitated, then said the true reason – "When Joffrey comes North."
"Jon Arryn's dead?" he said. "Your warning didn't work?"
Sansa shook her head. "No, there's been no word from King's Landing – but Littlefinger wants a war between the Starks and Lannisters. He'll find a way, and pinning the death of Jon Arryn on the Lannisters is the easiest way to cause tension."
"So you think it's still coming," said Theon.
"It's just a question of when," said Sansa, "and whether it comes before the Night King."
"You don't need to marry me, then," said Theon, beginning to polish the sword again.
Sansa reached out and grabbed his hand, the polish staining her fingers. "If Jon Arryn lives, I still need to go to south if I have any hope of preventing war, and soon," she said. "Before Cersei can have Robert killed. I need to get Cersei exposed, and Littlefinger, too, if I can. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen will be disinherited and Stannis made heir to the Iron Throne. The Seven Kingdoms will remain stable – well, at least until Daenerys Stormborn crosses the Narrow Sea."
"And why do you need to be betrothed for all of that?" asked Theon.
"So Robert doesn't try to marry me off to Joffrey," said Sansa. "I will not be party to his fantasies of Robert and Lyanna come again. If I am betrothed to you, then the deed is already done."
Theon dropped his gaze, freeing his hands from hers. "You don't need me for that."
"Of course I need you," said Sansa, her voice forceful enough that Theon peeked back up at her. "Who else can I trust, outside my family? You won't hurt me, Theon. You're the only man outside my family I can say that about with absolute certainty. And…" She bit her lip, then said all in a rush, "You're the only one who understands. You're the only one who ever will."
Theon licked his lip before he stood up, placing the sword back into its place and picking up another one. "You always dreamt of marrying a prince," he said. "I'm just a squire, Sansa. For a time, I was barely better than a dog."
Sansa surged to her feet and grabbed his wrist. "You were always better than a dog," she said. "Don't ever say that again, Theon. You were always better than what Ramsay tried to make you. If all you were was Reek, you would never have saved me."
"I'm still not the prince you dreamed of, Sansa," he said, looking down.
"And what prince should I marry?" she asked. "Joffrey? Renly? Or should I cast my net further and marry Viserys Targaryen? No, Theon. The songs are just that: songs. I was a child then. Now I know better. No one will ever marry me for love. All I can hope for is to marry a man who is better than Joffrey or Ramsay, and you can be that man. You will be that man."
Theon closed his eyes and leant closer, so that his forehead rested against hers. "Gods, Sansa. You deserve better than just a husband who's better than Ramsay Bolton."
"I deserved better than being beaten by the King's Guard for my brother's victories, or being sold to the family who murdered my mother and brother," said Sansa. "But that still happened. Nothing will change that. Maybe I deserve to marry for love, but it will never happen, Theon. What can happen is for me to marry someone I trust; for me to marry you."
"I'm not a good man," said Theon. "You deserve that, at least."
Sansa slid her hand down his wrist to wrap around his hand. "You aren't a good man," she agreed. "You have done terrible things, Theon. But you also saved my life and helped me escape Ramsay. You supported your sister in the Kingsmoot and rescued her from Euron. You came back to me and swore to fight for Winterfell. You sacrificed yourself to give Bran a little more time. You may not be a good man, Theon, but you are capable of doing good things. Do this one more good thing for me. Help to protect me from Joffrey."
Theon groaned, letting her lace her fingers through his. "Your brothers are going to murder me for this. You know that, right?"
Sansa couldn't stop herself from smiling. "I can handle Robb and Jon."
Gared was ushered into the Great Hall by Ser Rodrick and Jory and seated across from Ned. Robb and Jon sat on either side of Ned, while Rodrik and Jory turned to take up positions by the wall.
"Gared, you are aware of the consequences of deserting the Night's Watch, do you not?" began Ned. Across the table, Gared nodded jerkily. "You will not be pardoned for desertion; you have committed a crime and you will be punished accordingly for it."
Gared swallowed hard and looked down at his feet. "I knew what I was doing, my lord."
"You claimed yesterday that you wished to warn your family," stated Ned. "While you won't be warning them personally, by answering our questions honestly, you will be helping them by helping us to properly prepare the North for the coming winter. Do you understand?"
Gared's lips parted and he nodded hurriedly.
"Good," said Ned. "You claim to have encountered the Others. Where and when did this occur?"
"I was -" Gared's voice stumbled. He cleared his throat and started again. "I was on a ranging with Will and Ser Waymar Royce. We were meant to be pursuing Wildling raiders. We came across a village. I knew there was something wrong, but we went in anyway… There was no one there, but no bodies, either. Then the Others came. They killed Royce, and then raised him again as a wight to kill Will. I escaped. Gods, I escaped, but for how long?"
"Where did this happen?" prompted Robb, although his voice was gentle.
"We were nine days north of the Wall," said Gared. "In the haunted forest."
Nine days, thought Ned, leaning back in his chair. The White Walkers were only nine days from the Wall, but it had taken them another seven years to breach it. What were they waiting for?
"Can you describe the Others?" asked Jon.
"They were…" Gared trailed off, his eyes glazing over for a moment. He started and came back to himself. "They were cold. I barely know what else to tell you. Their skin was white as ice, their eyes like the coldest stars overhead. They had swords made out of ice that shattered Royce's sword as soon as they touched. They even sounded like cracking ice when they spoke."
"They spoke?" repeated Ned. Sansa and Arya hadn't mentioned anything about communication. In hindsight, though, it felt obvious; how else would the Others be capable of organising an army? They likely didn't have to issue commands to the wights, but surely they would have to organise with each other on how to continue their campaign.
But how far did their communication go? Sansa and Arya had called their leader the Night King. Did they have noble houses and laws like the Seven Kingdoms? Did they marry and have children? Ned couldn't help but remember Old Nan's story of the Night's King's bride, with skin like ice and eyes like blue stars.
Does it even matter? he wondered. It didn't change the fact that the White Walkers were coming for them all, and that in Sansa and Arya's future, they had laid waste to the North.
"I don't know what they said," said Gared. "It sounded… mocking, though."
Mocking. Ned supposed it made sense. A race coming to wipe out all of humanity was hardly going to be empathetic towards the humans tasked with protecting the realms of men. Still, something about the revelation stung, made Ned feel somehow more powerless than ever in the face of the oncoming apocalypse.
"Did you inform anyone in the Night's Watch before you deserted?" asked Ned.
Gared shook his head. "I couldn't stay. I had to warn my family. I had to."
"I will send for Lord Commander Mormont," said Ned. "Your execution is stayed until you can make a full report to him of what you have seen."
Gared slumped in his chair before peeking back up at Ned nervously. "My family, though -"
"If your information is found to be valid, the whole realm will know of it well before the Others reach the Wall," said Ned. He nodded to Ser Rodrik, who took Gared by the arm and escorted him out of the hall. Jory lingered.
"Do you truly believe this, my lord?" asked Jory.
"Jory, you must not speak of what I am about to tell you to anyone," commanded Ned.
"I swear it by the Old Gods and the New," said Jory, immediately.
"This isn't the only information we have about the Others coming south," said Ned. "I cannot explain to you or to anyone the source, but it is trustworthy. The White Walkers live, and they are marching for the Wall."
Jory mouthed the last few words to himself then asked, "If you cannot tell anyone else of the source, is that why you are questioning the deserter? To convince others?"
"Exactly," said Ned. "I cannot stress enough how sensitive this source is. You must never speak of it again, on pain of death."
Jory's eyebrows rose and his mouth opened slightly. He knew that Ned would not make such a threat lightly. "I won't, my lord. Not ever."
"Summon Maester Luwin for me," said Ned. "I need to send a raven to the Wall."
It took another three weeks for the letter to arrive, but it came, as Sansa always knew it would.
Jon Arryn, once Hand of the King, has been found guilty of high treason. He has been stripped of all titles and has been sent to serve on the Wall for the remainder of his days.