"Jon Arryn is never going to make it to Winterfell alive," said Sansa. She, Arya and Brienne were assembled in the Godswood, standing together under the Heart Tree. Sansa wasn't sure when or why they had decided to hold their private discussions, the ones they had away from the rest of the family, under the Heart Tree, but somehow they always seemed to end up there when making plans. Making plans before the Old Gods, she thought. Before Bran. "It would be one thing if Joffrey was king, because he would never believe or entertain what Jon Arryn says. But Robert's still alive, and they might have convinced him for now that Jon Arryn was lying, but if he ever decides he wants to hear his old friend out, then that risks everything for Cersei. I can see Cersei organising a bandit or two to attack the Night's Watch party on its way north. After all, the Vale can't declare war over a bandit, can they? And even if she decides it's too risky…"

"Littlefinger wants that risk," finished Arya. "He'll do it so that we suspect the Lannisters, if nothing else."

Sansa nodded. "I suppose if it's Littlefinger who has him killed, he might wait until after Jon Arryn's passed Winterfell, to make sure we'll suspect the Lannisters because of what Jon Arryn tells us, but he might not – Lysa can do that well enough."

"I know that Littlefinger was responsible entirely in the last time, but are we certain this was not the Lannisters at fault this time?" asked Brienne.

"Jon Arryn was the first to realise about Cersei's children, wasn't he?" said Arya. "Cersei would want him gone and discredited, Littlefinger be damned."

"Aunt Lysa testified against her husband," said Sansa. "That'll be Littlefinger's doing, I know it. He probably told her it was the only way to keep Sweetrobin from being fostered, if nothing else. And she probably realised it would be the only way she could ever marry Littlefinger."

"Are you going to tell Mother now?" asked Arya. "It's going the same way as last time. Surely you don't still think she won't believe you."

Sansa resisted gritting her teeth. She knew, logically, that Catelyn would probably believe her. It was a long time since Catelyn had seen Petyr, and when she had it had been just after Brandon Stark had almost killed him. It wasn't hard to see how that could spin a man into someone as destructive and vicious as Littlefinger, and talking politics with her over the past few months, Sansa had seen how cynical Catelyn was when it came to politics. And Catelyn had believed everything else Sansa had told her about the future, even if she still hadn't come around to Jon yet.

And yet.

Sansa wasn't even sure what it was that kept her lips wired shut whenever it came up. She just couldn't quite tell her mother. Maybe it was because every time she went to, all she could think was If it hadn't been for you, he never would have come after me –

It wasn't fair of Sansa to think that, let alone say it, so she kept her mouth shut.

"If you did not tell your mother about Baelish, then what did you tell them about Jon Arryn's death?" asked Brienne.

"We told her and Father that we weren't sure who murdered Jon Arryn," explained Sansa. "We said there were so many people in King's Landing who would be interested in seeing Jon Arryn dead, whether to make sure their secrets died with him or so they had a chance at gaining more power, that it was impossible to say who it was. It keeps them distrustful of everyone in King's Landing – which they should be, because Littlefinger is far from the only threat in that viper's pit."

"Except, maybe, Mother's childhood friend," said Arya, pointedly.

You don't understand, Sansa wanted to scream. There had been so many people whose duty it was to protect her and hadn't. Cersei and Joffrey, Ned for not breaking the betrothal earlier, Dontos and Baelish and Ramsay, Robb. Even Jon, in the end. Who was to say Catelyn wasn't going to do the exact same?

"We need to be in the courtyard soon," Brienne reminded them. Sansa nodded, grateful for the distraction.

"Perhaps you'll be allowed to sit in on the meeting," Arya said to Brienne, cautious hope in her voice. "We might just be girls -" Arya sneered the word – "but you're a woman grown. Surely Mormont can't protest you."

"We'll see," said Brienne. "Your lord father and brother know enough, though."

"It would still be better to have one of us in there," said Arya.

"I know of one person who no black brother would protest sitting in on the meeting," said Sansa casually.

"What, Theon?" demanded Arya.

"He's heir to the Iron Islands," said Sansa loftily. "It makes sense for him to observe Lord Stark dealing with the Night's Watch in preparation for when he takes lordship in Pyke. And he knows as well as you or I about what happened."

"I think Lady Sansa is right," said Brienne, earning herself a betrayed glare from Arya. "Theon Greyjoy might not be the most honourable of men, but has no more desire than any of us for the Seven Kingdoms to be overrun."

"And I trust him," added Sansa, her voice firm. "I trust that he will tell us what happened in the meeting and I trust him to steer the conversation the way we need it to go."

Arya stared at the two of them mutinously before huffing out a sigh. "Fine. Fine. At least Robb and Father will both be there, so he can't get up to anything."

"He's not going to get up the anything," said Sansa, exasperation working its way into her voice. "He came back to fight for us, Arya. He could have gone and hid on the Iron Islands but he came back to Winterfell to fight. That's not what someone does when they're still 'up to something'."

Arya muttered under her breath, but nodded.

"Now that that's decided, we really do need to get to the courtyard," said Brienne, glancing through the trees towards the courtyard.

"I'll come in a minute," said Sansa. "Go on without me."

She waited until Brienne and Arya were clear of the Godswood before she turned to face the gnarled weirwood. She drew her fingers over the face carved into the tree. "Are you still watching us?" she wondered aloud. "Are we doing the right thing, Bran?"

Almost in response, a sparrow landed on the branch before her head, dislodging three leaves. They floated down, landing at her feet. She picked them up and held them in front of her.

"Three blows of the horn, right," she said. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins." The words felt sacred on her tongue. "I'm no good with a sword or shield, but I think I can still wake the sleepers." Sleepers like Catelyn, who still trusted Littlefinger. Like the Lannisters and the Baratheons and the Tyrrells, squabbling over who sat on the Iron Throne.

I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, she thought. That much, she could do.

Before Ned began the meeting with Jeor Mormont, he met with Benjen in his solar. His little brother greeted him with a broad smile and a hug, but Ned's heart only ached. The Night's Watch wasn't an easy life, but Benjen had joined to protect the Wall from Wildlings, not White Walkers. Ned hated that he had to burden him with this.

"What's wrong?" asked Benjen, noticing his mood quickly.

"I need you to sit down, Benjen," said Ned, his voice grave. Benjen gave him one more worried glance, but sat. Ned turned to stand by the fire, watching the leaping flames in the grate. "What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room," said Ned. "Not even to Mormont. No one outside of our family can ever know."

Benjen's lips parted as he stared up at Ned. "You're starting to scare me, Ned."

You should be scared, Ned couldn't help but think. "Promise me, Ben."

Benjen stared at him for another moment before nodding. "Aye, alright then. I swear I won't tell anyone."

"Late last year, Sansa and Arya awoke with memories of the next several years," said Ned. "They weren't the only ones – Theon Greyjoy woke up with the same memories, and only a few weeks ago, Brienne of Tarth arrived here in Winterfell, wanting to fulfil the oaths she made to my daughters years in the future."

Benjen nodded slowly to himself, before asking, "What happened in the future?"

Ned walked back to his desk and sat down across from Benjen. "The Others are coming, Benjen. They attacked Winterfell and killed the girls, Theon and Lady Brienne."

Benjen swallowed visibly. "You believe in this?"

"I do," said Ned. "Sansa, Arya and Theon are not the same children that they were before. They're older, and…" He struggled to find the words. Eventually, he gave up, and continued, "They know things that they shouldn't – about the world, about the past, about everything."

"Do they know about -"

Promise me, Ned. "No."

Benjen leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "The White Walkers are coming. Gods, Ned. We've had Rangers not come back, but we thought…"

"The Wildlings are coming south," said Ned. "But they aren't coming to raid. They want to have the Wall between them and the Others. A King Beyond the Wall is leading them – Mance Rayder, I believe he's called."

"Rayder was a Ranger, but deserted to join the Wildlings years ago," said Benjen.

"I wish to treat with him," said Ned placidly.

Benjen jerked his head up. "Treat with the Wildlings?"

"If we leave them north of the Wall, they will simply become members of the Night King's army," explained Ned. "If we can settle them south of the Wall, peaceably, then we have a better chance."

"They won't settle with the Northmen," said Benjen, shaking his head. "They're wild, Ned. They'll keep raiding. They won't follow our laws."

"Maybe not," said Ned. "Sansa and Arya tell me that the surviving Wildling's bent the knee to Jon."

"Jon as in Jon Snow?" asked Benjen.

"He was made King in the North after Robb and Rickon were killed, and while Bran was missing," Ned explained shortly. "The Wildlings bent the knee to him. Perhaps they can be convinced to bend the knee to Robert."

Benjen snorted. "Jon may be just a boy now, but even I can tell you he would be a better king for the Wildlings to kneel to than Robert." As soon as he finished speaking, he realised what he was implying and his eyes snapped up to meet Ned's nervously. "I didn't mean -"

"I know," said Ned, holding up his hands. "Jon is a Northman. Even with all of our differences, he and the Wildlings still have the blood of the First Men flowing through our veins. Robert does, too, but the Baratheons have more in common with their Andal cousins than the First Men."

Benjen nodded. "The Wildlings don't kneel to just anyone," he warned Ned. "Maybe they kneeled to Jon once, but that doesn't mean they'll kneel to him again."

"I'll have to speak to Sansa," Ned muttered to himself. When Benjen cocked his head, he explained, "Sansa was Lady of Winterfell when Jon had to treat with a southern queen. She would have ruled the Wildlings in Jon's name; she'll be able to tell us more."

"Little Sansa, ruling over Wildlings," said Benjen, shaking his head. "Who would have thought it?"

You haven't seen her yet, Ned thought grimly. Before, he would have shared Benjen's response, but the hardened Sansa who talked politics and logistics with him each night would be more than capable of staring down an unruly bannerman. But Benjen would learn, in time.

"I need you to help me convince Jeor Mormont," said Ned. "Both about the Wildlings and the Others. The Wildlings need to come south of the Wall, but the Night's Watch will never accept that if they don't believe in the Others." And with your reaction, even then it will still be a hard fight.

"Without telling him of – of everything?" asked Benjen, sweeping his hands around the room to indicate the everything. "He's a good man, and he's a hard man, but he's also a rational man, and the Others' existence isn't exactly rational, brother."

"We have a deserter here, who claims to have seen the White Walkers," said Ned. "Gared, his name is. I have stayed his execution until he can make a full report to Lord Commander Mormont."

"I don't know if one deserter's word will be enough," said Benjen doubtfully.

"Benjen, if we can't meet this threat properly, then the entirety of Westeros is at risk," said Ned. "Your brothers on the Wall, your nieces and nephews here in Winterfell… Each and every one of them will die if we don't act. Sansa and Arya have already seen it. They don't need to see it again."

Benjen looked to the ceiling. "Alright," he said. "I'll do what I can. But you're going to need a plan on how to settle the Wildlings south of the Wall if you're going to convince Mormont."

"Lord Stark, you know that I have always respected your judgement, and that I rely on Benjen greatly as my First Ranger, but what the two of you are suggesting -"

Across the room, Theon huffed. Jon shot him a glare, even though he shared the sentiments. They had been talking in circles for what felt like hours.

It would be so much easier if they could just bring Arya or Sansa in here to tell the Lord Commander everything they knew, or if Theon stood up and told his story. Jon knew why they weren't, though – any word of what the girls had been through getting out put them at risk. If Jaime and Cersei Lannister had been willing to push an eight year old boy out of a window to avoid being discovered, the Gods only knew what they would to Sansa and Arya. Anyone outside their immediate family was not to be trusted.

"Commander Mormont, I am aware what this sounds like," interrupted Ned. "I am perfectly aware that the White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years, and how unlikely it is that they have returned. But the fact remains that we have eye witnesses of the Others movements, and it needs to be investigated immediately."

"The Others were vanquished for good in the Battle for the Dawn," argued Commander Mormont.

"If it was for good, then why build a great big wall?" asked Robb. "You don't need a Wall seven hundred feet tall just to keep other people out, Lord Commander. All the keeps of the Seven Kingdoms prove that well enough."

"Perhaps at the time, they feared a second invasion by the Others, Lord Robb, but it never came," said Mormont.

"There was the Night's Queen," said Jon. Ned, Robb and Mormont all turned to look at Jon. It was the first time he had spoken. "That's what she was meant to have been, wasn't she? Her skin was white and cold, and she had eyes as blue as the coldest stars, and she took the Night's King soul. That's what Old Nan always said. That sounds like the Others to me."

"He's right," said Benjen. "That or a wight. The stories could have been twisted over the years, I suppose, but it is evidence that the Others never left for good."

"But why come back now?" asked Mormont. "It's been thousands of years. What could have made them come back now?"

"Maester Luwin has told me it is going to be the longest winter in hundreds, if not thousands, of years," said Ned.

"Or it could be as simple as an Other being born that was a bit more ambitious than the rest," said Robb. When Ned, Benjen and Mormont looked at him, he shrugged and said, "Surely they can't be the same White Walkers that attacked in the Long Night. Like you said, Commander, it's been thousands of years."

"It doesn't matter what their motivations are," said Ned. "What matters is that we see the Wall properly fortified before they strike. We need to have more men on the Wall, and good men, at that – trained knights and soldiers if possible – and to have the Night's Watch properly supplied for winter."

Mormont sighed. "I suppose I can't protest having more men and food brought to the Wall. There are many castles we simply haven't had the men to man."

"Exactly," said Benjen, sharing a look with Ned. "Even if Ned and I turn out to be wrong, it will be no skin off the Watch's nose to accept more help from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms."

Except… Jon turned to watch Mormont as Ned said, "We also need to discuss the matter of the Wildlings."

"They have been getting bolder as of late," said Mormont. "Any help you may provide to repel them will be most welcome."

"This isn't a discussion about routing the Wildlings," said Ned calmly. "It is about bringing them south of the Wall."

Mormont blanched and looked at Benjen. "You agree with this?"

"Under any other circumstance, I would not," said Benjen. His tone was very careful, and Jon knew he had to have been planning his answer for a long time. "We have been at war with the Wildlings for thousands of years. Under normal circumstances, I would find it inconceivable to settle them here in the North – but these are not normal circumstances, Commander. The Others are on the march, and marching with them are the dead. If we leave the Wildlings north of the Wall, vulnerable to the Others, then we will only be letting the Others' army grow stronger."

Mormont looked between Ned and Benjen. "The lords of the North will not agree with this."

"If you support this, we will have a chance of convincing them," said Ned. "Obviously, we will not be able to tell the North the full conditions of allowing the Wildlings south of the Wall – that will only come once we treat with them – but I have been discussing this matter with Benjen, and we have drawn up a plan that we think will be acceptable, or at least tolerable, for both Northmen and the Wildlings."

Mormont looked wary, but said, "Let's hear it, then."

"Sansa?"

Sansa looked up at the sound of Theon's voice. Edging forward, she peered out from her hiding place to see him walking around the battlements, looking around worriedly.

"I'm here," she said softly.

He came to kneel down in front of her. "Your family is looking for you," he said. "They're worried sick."

Sansa hugged her knees and asked, "Where were you?"

Theon looked down and admitted, "The Godswood."

Sansa nodded. "I wanted to go there. I feel closer to Bran, somehow, and everyone who we left behind, but I just… couldn't."

"So you came here instead," said Theon, and offered her his hand. After a moment of hesitation, she took it. He led her to the edge of the battlements so that they could look over the Wolfswood, and beyond that, north and north again. The trees were still green at the feet of Winterfell's walls.

"We couldn't jump now," she whispered to Theon. She squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment to stop the tears that were threatening spill out. She turned to him and hurriedly said, "We could still go. Father and Mother could come up with a reason. We don't have to be here."

Theon pulled her into a hug and she sunk into it, pressing her head into his shoulder. "Yes, we do," said Theon. "I know you're not going to leave your family – and I can't leave Robb. Not when none of them know how bad it can get."

"Gods, Theon, you're not meant to be the reasonable one," complained Sansa, hitting him lightly on the shoulder.

Theon smiled faintly at her, amused but not enough to crack through the weight bearing down on him. "I left Yara to Euron," he said. "He had her for months because I couldn't face it. I swore to Robb once that I would be his brother for now and for always. I can't fail family again, not like that."

"Theon…" said Sansa. "You don't have to prove yourself. This isn't going to be like with Euron. You can still get out of here."

"If you can't, I can't," said Theon. "We'll face him together, Sansa." His voice cracked as he said it, fear plaintive in his voice.

She threw her arms around him again. "I won't let him hurt you again," she promised. "Not either of us. It'll end this week, and we'll never have to fear him again."

Theon buried his face in her hair, and they stood together, wrapped up in each other's arms, remembering a leap of faith that they had taken together in a snow that hadn't fallen. Eventually, Theon's arms loosened around her waist, and he offered her his hand once more. She took it and let him lead her back to the castle.

The lords of the North were meant to be arriving over the next few days, ready to hear from Ned and Jeor Mormont. They only barely had time to host the bannermen before they had to start preparing for Robert Baratheon's ride on Winterfell, but Sansa and Catelyn had forced the timing and logistics to work. And since the bannermen were converging on Winterfell, Ned had taken the opportunity to deal with one other potential problem.

"We'll keep him as far away from the both of you as possibly," Ned was saying. "We've allocated the Boltons the rooms furthest from the both of yours, and you can pretend to have fallen ill, if you wish, to avoid him entirely."

Sansa nodded, not able to meet her father's gaze. Catelyn stood up and came to sit next to Sansa, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

"It'll be done quickly," added Ned. "A few days, at most. I promise you that. You'll be safe again."

It's never safe, Sansa thought but did not say. Dealing with Ramsay didn't mean that Joffrey wasn't out there, or Petyr, or even the bloody White Walkers. They could minimise risks, deal with threats at they came – but safety was an empty promise. It always had been. It was as much a fairytale as Florian and Jonquil.

"I remember Roose Bolton saying, when I was first married to – just after the wedding, he mentioned that he had hoped to marry me to Domeric Bolton, and that he was glad that I had finally been able to join the Bolton family at last," said Sansa. It wasn't entirely a lie, but she was still exaggerating the story. "He might want to negotiate a betrothal."

"I will find a way to say no," reassured Ned instantly.

"I have a way to say no," said Sansa, not looking at Theon. "I need to be betrothed before they arrive."

Ned went still, and Catelyn turned her head sharply to look at Sansa.

"We've already discussed it," said Sansa. "It makes sense from an outside perspective. You would continue your influence over Theon after her takes up lordship of the Iron Islands. Becoming the lady of one of the kingdoms is a worthy marriage for me, even if it isn't as prestigious as marrying the prince. It's a good match."

"You want to marry Theon?" exclaimed Catelyn.

"I trust him more than any other man you could offer me," said Sansa, lifting her chin up and crossing her arms.

Ned cast a look at Theon. "I'm not sure about this, Sansa."

"If you refuse, I can always force the issue," said Sansa, her voice deceptively calm.

"Sansa!" chastised Catelyn.

"I'll do it, Mother. I won't be available for Ramsay or Joffrey," said Sansa. Bran sent me back to reforge the future. I can build my own destiny, too. I won't be sold to anyone again.

Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright, alright. I will announce your betrothal at the welcoming feast."

"Ned!" hissed Catelyn. He shot her a quelling look that made Sansa tilt her head to the side. He had a reason for allowing their betrothal, then; one that he probably thought Catelyn would agree with. She wasn't certain what that reason was, just yet. Still, she'd take her victories where she could.

"Thank you, Father," she said politely. Arya, Robb and Jon were going to be livid, as Catelyn was now. She could handle them, though, and a few days spent arguing with her siblings was more than worth not having to worry about being betrothed to Ramsay or Joffrey.

The feast was another two days later. Sansa and Theon waited together outside the door. They stood facing each other, holding each other's hands loosely.

"Don't look for him," she said. "When we get in there, just look at me or straight ahead. We'll do only as many dances as we have to in order to be polite, and otherwise we can stay at the High Table, out of his reach."

Theon swallowed hard. "I won't look," he promised.

Sansa squeezed his hand comfortingly. "It won't be long now." The doors started to open. Sansa took a deep breath, trying to calm her thudding heart, and took Theon's arm. His fingers tangled with hers and he clung so tightly it was almost painful. "You and me, Theon, just you and me," she whispered as the doors opened fully.

Sansa stared ahead as she entered the Great Hall, letting her eyes skate over the assembled lords, not taking in any faces. She counted each breath, forcing herself into a rhythm: one, two, one, two, one, two. Theon's breathing was rough beside her. Sansa couldn't help but clutch his hand a little tighter.

The crowd's cheering sounded only like a distant roar. Robb ushered them up to the table, his eyes too bright and his demeanour too cheerful. He was only pretending to be pleased with the betrothal, Sansa knew that, but something about it made Sansa want to scream.

She didn't know how either she or Theon made it through the meal. They barely looked up from the food in front of them. Sansa responded to Arya's conversation mechanically, but if she was ever asked what it was about, for the life of her she wouldn't be able to answer.

Sansa jumped as the music started. Too loud, too loud, she thought, hysteria eating at her spine. Why is it so loud?

Theon laid his hand over hers. "One dance," he reminded her. His face was pale and clammy. Unable to swallow past lump in her throat, Sansa nodded and stood. Beside her, Robb was offering Arya his hand, and Arya took it, laughing – Robb must have made some kind of jape, Sansa thought distantly.

They arranged themselves on the dance floor. Sansa rested one hand in Theon's and the other on his shoulder. "Look at me," Theon reminded her.

"Only at you," she promised, and with that, the music felt a little less claustrophobic. Her feet began to move with the sound, and she counted the beats out under her breath for Theon. He didn't need them, not really – he'd been through all the same dancing lessons she had – but he started counting with her all the same.

"It's Florian and Jonquil," she realised after another moment.

"I can't believe it took you so long to work out," said Theon, his lips turning up ever so slightly.

"It's been a long time since I've heard this song," she told him. For so long, there simply hadn't been time for singing. He turned her in a spin in time with the music, and something in her eased. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool," she sang quietly.

"I thought you would have had each and every song about Florian and Jonquil memorised until the end of days," teased Theon.

She swayed in his arms, smiled and said, "Well, I've been past the end of days, and I still remember the words."

The song wound down and the band promptly started a second, Brave Danny Flint. She hummed the first few bars, but the quick, fleeting joy she had just experienced had evaporated with the last strains of Six Maids in a Pool, replaced with a terrible foreboding.

"May I cut in?" asked a voice. Theon's fingers went tight around her waist, and Sansa pressed closer to his side, trying to melt away from the intruder. She turned her head, already knowing who was there.

Ramsay Snow.

AN: Yeah, okay. Sansa's been a bit irrational in this chapter (as well as previous chapters) on the Littlefinger front. But she's got some serious trust issues after everything that has happened to her and it's something she's going to have to overcome or have it come back to bite her. It's an intentional character flaw.