Radiant morning light burst through the unshuttered window and onto the canvas for Sansa Stark's needle. She's come to prefer the luxury of fresh air and a view to the musty sewing rooms of her "decent" upbringing. It was a much chillier pastime these days, but Sansa has had a great deal of time to master the art of gloved sewing.

Her eyes were fixed on that quite spectacular view now, but she no longer saw it. The needle continued to disappear under fabric stretched tight across a wooden frame, leaving its colored trail a fraction longer, and popped faithfully back up, but her mind bounced between the past and the future. At breakfast, she had been told that Roslin gave birth to a healthy, squalling baby boy the night before. Then, as she was leaving, the exhausted maester had finally appeared and delivered the message that Edmure's fever had broken. He was lucid and requested her presence as soon as it was convenient.

If one chose to be literal, it would have been convenient enough for her to see him immediately. Something drove her to finish this current project first, though. It was so close to completion and there was a vague sense that when it was real, the plan that hinged on it would have to be too. Why not let the new family have some time to themselves before she intruded?

Now she allowed herself the private admission that she had panicked. In spite of the reassurances of those close to her, it still astonished Sansa that she had made it this far. The terror of what would happen when she failed had been unbearable in her darkest hours, as she lay awake staring at pitch black skies. The rest of the time, she tried not to think about it.

The proposal she was about to make to Edmure was, in some ways, even more ambitious than his rescue. She meant to ask him to risk what was left of his holding on the same day he got it back. So at the realization that that moment was upon her, yes, panic had set in. She was still mentally rehearsing a speech that had been rehearsed countless times already, argument and counterargument. Her head spun. She closed her eyes and took in the crisp air of the Riverlands, different from that of the North but familiar enough to steady her, before refocusing on her cross-stitch.

Within the hour, she was finished. Sansa rolled its entire expanse out over the floor and stepped back to appraise her work. The flag had been pieced together out of variably sized tiles of broadcloth, which didn't please her. House Stark deserved something far more grand. Still, it wasn't the first time she had made do with what she had. She would also need to have it laundered back to its original white, both for necessary contrast and to replicate her House Colors.

The pattern, though... The stylized Stark direwolf's head stretched enormously across it in steel-grey thread, just as she remembered from the flags at Winterfell. She hadn't had time to fully flesh it out. Even what she had now had taken several days to accomplish, and would have to be augmented with paint to be identifiable from a distance. But it was easily the biggest sewing project she had ever undertaken and seeing it gave her a powerful thrill of pride.

She sent a runner to request the Blackfish's presence at the meeting, then rolled up the heavy flag and pushed it under her bed.

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The first thing that struck Sansa about Edmure's chamber was the smell. A bowl steamed over a brazier next to his bed and that steam emitted a pungent odor. Her uncle was propped up under a fur blanket, with Roslin perched on the side and the newborn between them. At the sight of Sansa, Roslin furtively moved her feet off the bed and hung them over the side.

Edmure, though, beamed from ear to ear. "There she is! The Tully heroine! Sorry, Stark heroine."

A septa breezed in, head lowered, to refresh the herbal concoction in the bowl.

"Thank you, Uncle Edmure, but I wasn't exactly alone."

"No." He cast a glance at Roslin, who instantly stared down at the baby and began to fidget with a tiny finger. "Speaking of which, where is your friend? The other woman?"

"She couldn't come with us. But I hope you'll see her again soon."

"I hope so too. It would be my duty and my honor to-" he broke off in annoyance as the septa placed a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. Unperturbed, she left as silently as she came. "It would be my duty and my honor to reward her in person. Have they been treating you well here in Riverrun?"

"Very well. Though I'm sure it's more luxurious under normal circumstances." She affected a slight pout that got a chuckle out of him. Sansa reached out for the infant. "Congratulations to both of you, by the way! May I touch my new cousin?"

"Of course."

The Blackfish arrived as she stroked the soft wrinkles on the bottom of one red foot. She paused, inhaling sharply, and the boy stopped kicking. That earned her a curious look from his mother.

"My wife is trying to convince me to name him Brynden," Edmure called out. "I balked at first, I admit, but I'm starting to like the sound of that."

"I'm flattered," replied the namesake in a tone that indicated anything but.

"It's better than Blackfish." The callow mask vanished as he turned back to Sansa. "I know you've had as hard a time as I have these past few years. That kind of word gets around. If there's anything you ever need from Riverrun, Sansa, let me assure you it's yours."

She straightened. "I'm glad you said that, Uncle."

"Ah, I see now," grumbled the Blackfish. "Here we go."

"It would help me immeasurably if you would open your coffers. It takes coin to fight a war, a lot of it, and I'm a bit short at the moment."

"Is that what you want?" the Blackfish demanded. "Another war?"

"It's not about what I want. It's about what has to be done." She shot a glare over her shoulder. "And you're one to talk."

Returning her attention to Edmure, she added, "I also need your soldiers to take back the North and the Riverlands from the traitors who have lied and murdered to acquire them. No offense." The last statement was directed at Roslin. She nodded placidly.

Edmure regarded her as if she were slow. Her chin rose and she stood her ground.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have enough men to help you take Winterfell, much less the North. Nowhere near it."

"It's true, I thought you would have more when I came here. But I never intended to attack Winterfell. And I already have an army. We're not a full complement yet, but with your help, we could have enough to start making serious trouble for the Boltons. The men inside these walls are only a start. Surely there must be others outside them who are still loyal?"

"Where did this other army come from?"

Sansa moistened her lips. The question she had most dreaded answering had been asked. As confidently as possible, she said, "I have the support of Lady Yara Greyjoy."

The Blackfish yelped, "What?"

Even Edmure's face was growing graver by the second. "As desperate as you must be, I can't believe you would ever trust the Greyjoys, of all people."

"The boy talks some damn sense for once," the Blackfish interjected. "Have you learned nothing from your family's mistakes, girl? Theon Greyjoy took their trust and burned Winterfell with it. Balon tried to do the same. And the sister- gods, Yara-" He trailed off into a series of breathless sputters as the baby started to cry.

Roslin bundled him off to a corner of the room and bounced him on her shoulder, making soothing noises.

"See? Even he thinks it's a bad idea."

"I'm not quite as naive as you seem to think. I thought all of that and more when she first proposed an alliance. Lady Greyjoy has since proved her good faith to me."

"Wait." The Blackfish put a finger to his lips, dragging the upper down. "That woman who helped you get my nephew out of Walder's dungeon. That was her, wasn't it?"

"That was one of the ways she proved herself, yes. Besides, she has nothing to gain from betraying me now. If she wanted to deliver me to my enemies, she could have done that when she first found me."

A quiet voice emanated from the corner. "She risked her life for us."

Edmure looked from her to Sansa and sighed. "And what does she get out of all this?"

Sansa quickly sketched out what she knew about the fight for the Salt Throne and the torture of Theon.

"You had better make sure she keeps having no reason to stab you in the back. I didn't see what they did to Robb, but I saw what he looked like afterward."

She glanced back at her other uncle, who's face had suddenly gone alarmingly red. "The ironborn have been fighting larger forces for centuries. They're good at it, even I know that much. They had to be. Their tactics can work for us too." As she warmed to the speech, she began to pace at the foot of the bed. "Instead of going straight for the most heavily defended part of the North, we start at the fringes and thin them out one camp at a time. We disrupt their supplies. We sow discord."

Edmure addressed the elder Brynden as Roslin sat on the bed and rocked little Brynden, watching Sansa intently. "What do you think of that?"

"It could work," he reluctantly admitted. "The Kingslayer used a similar strategy to make significant inroads against us. And small groups are better for winter fighting than slow-moving armies. Did you come up with that plan or did she?"

In lieu of answering, she said, "There's another reason the ironborn are the most useful allies we could have right now. We're going to need a defended base while we're putting together an army. Lady Greyjoy is the only living person ever to have breached the Dreadfort, and with most of House Bolton's men in Winterfell or spread out across two provinces, its own ranks will be depleted. I plan to deplete them even more."

A tense silence descended over the room, making the crackles and pops of the freshly set fire seem too loud. Finally, Roslin spoke up. "May I say something?"

Everyone looked at her in shock. "Of course," said Edmure.

"I don't know if this helps, but if you're looking for an army, what's left of Lord Baratheon's passed through the Twins about a week ago."

"What's left?" Sansa echoed. "What happened to Stannis Baratheon?"

"He lost everything in an incredibly foolish bid to take Winterfell," answered the Blackfish. "I've been locked in this castle for eight months and even I know that."

Sansa's heart couldn't quicken anymore, but the lightning along her spine was definitely new. "How many men? Where were they going?"

"I don't know, but..." Her eyes darted rapidly between nowhere in particular. "But I don't think Lord Baratheon was with them."

"See? They're leaderless. Things are already getting better."

"Well, you did get me out of that-" Edmure caught himself. "Out of the Twins. That's certainly something I would have dismissed as impossible three days ago. But even if I were inclined to abandon my home to the Freys, they'd hardly let me march an army, however puny, past them."

"Uncle Brynden has informed me that the walls can be defended with only two hundred men. What would you say if I told you that you can get the rest out and rout the Freys at the same time?"

She felt the Blackfish's eyes bore holes through her back.

"I'd say those are extraordinary promises."

"The ironborn will be here soon. They'll stay out of sight until they see the Stark flag I brought with me flying from the highest tower. That will be their signal to move into position as soon as night falls. Tell me, what do soldiers do when they've been camped for months and they're bored?"

"Well, uh-"

"Other than that."

"They drink."

"Heavily?"

"No other kind for a soldier."

"When I give the second signal, the traitors will find themselves drunk, confused and under attack from two directions." She spoke more slowly and deliberately now. "Or they will if Riverrun attacks at the same time."

"How- how long have you been planning this?"

"Since before I rescued you. And because I did, you have the opportunity to take back your home as well as mine."

Her face heated up as he stared back, flabbergasted. Had she overplayed her hand?

Edmure simply looked at his son. "How many ironborn?"

"At the moment? Three hundred and thirty. No, pardon me, three hundred and thirty one."

The Blackfish broke in. "Come on, boy, you can't seriously-"

"I am the Lord of Riverrun and you will address me as such. I, for one, have no intention of waiting in my own tomb until the food runs out and the Freys possess it anyway. Lady Stark, I place the resources of this castle at your disposal."

"I still don't trust the Greyjoy. What assurance do we have that this isn't just a trap to lure us out for the slaughter?"

"Are you questioning my orders?" Edmure demanded.

"I won't disobey, but I'll damn well question. I have right of seniority."

When a tiny voice said, "I'll find out", it took a moment to trace it to its source.

Her husband leaned in. "Pardon, my dear?"

Roslin looked up without quite meeting his eye. She spoke a bit louder now. "Send me to my brother. I can find out if he knows you're coming for him. And I can signal you when they're drunk."

"Why would you help us win a battle against your own family?" asked the Blackfish.

"To protect my family. My son."

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Sansa hurried down the lane outside the archery range, hoping to get in an hour of solitary practice. Those men not currently on the battlements straggled past in irregularly sized clumps, hushing respectfully as she passed. She preferred to assume it was out of respect, at any rate.

The Blackfish approached from the entrance. "I was just going to look for you." He looked down at Brienne's crossbow and a quizzical expression flitted across his face. The next moment, he was once again all business. "We need to talk."

She leaned to look around him. "Do we really?"

"How much do you know about this new friend of yours?"

Something about the way he asked told her it was an honest question, not a prelude to a scolding. She decided to return his openness with frankness. "I know Yara has had to be tough, clever and very, very careful to survive the life she was born into."

"It almost sounds like you admire her." He gets no reply. "But I meant to ask how she thinks. What does your gut tell you she'll want after this war is over and she's gotten everything she can from it?"

"The war hasn't even started yet."

"That doesn't mean she isn't thinking about it and it doesn't mean you shouldn't be. The winning strategist thinks beyond the next move."

Sansa tightened her grip on the crossbow. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"It will probably never become a problem. It's stayed secret so long that-"

"Uncle Brynden!"

He looked around and, seeing no one nearby, pulled her aside. His voice lowered to a near-whisper. "If you're going to do this, if you're going to trade on your name to make this rebellion happen, then you need to know the truth. In spite of what you may have been told about our past, I was close with Bethany Redwyne once. Close enough that she told me her nephew, Paxter, had sired a child with my niece. He sired you."

Sansa felt nothing. Absolutely, positively nothing. It was as if her entire body, inside and out, had gone dead. When the Blackfish spoke again, his voice came to her as if from a great distance.

"You have to understand, this was not long after Ned brought Jon home. Your mother was hurt; she was angry."

A tiny chill trickled down Sansa's back, like a single drop of ice water. Several puzzles, puzzles heretofore barely even considered, were suddenly falling into place. The differences in height, coloration and temperament between her and the rest of her family. The way her mother had always treated her as if she were special, as if she needed more love and care than the other children. The sadness that had come over her at every mention of House Redwyne.

"You can't blame-"

"Liar! How dare you? How dare... It's not true!" She turned and fled with unexpected speed the way she had come.

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The sun was just starting to turn bloated and red on the horizon when the door of the Blackfish's office cracked open just enough to allow Sansa to pass. She glided to the chair opposite him.

"Did my father know?"

There was no question as to which father she meant. "No, I don't think he ever did. But if he had, he would have raised you as his own. He was that sort."

She buried her face in her hands. "It wouldn't have been the same, though. I would have been Jon."

"Not the worst life."

"Not the best either. And I wouldn't have had the option of escaping to the Night's Watch." She peeked up, huffing through her fingers. "So that's why the esteemed Lord Redwyne stayed away, then? To protect me?"

"To protect Cat too, I'm sure. A man can afford to stray; a woman can't. You've probably had that drilled into your mind since you could speak."

"At least. Did you know him? What was he like?"

"I never saw that much of Paxter, but I remember women used to trail along after him everywhere. I wasn't surprised he was a temptation."

"But he was an honorable man?"

"That was your mother's type."

"So... there's some chance it was about more than just anger? With him and my mother?"

The Blackfish smiled wistfully, gaze turning inward. "Why not? We Tullies haven't had much luck with Redwynes. What's rolling around inside that crazy head of yours?"

Sansa's eyes dipped to the house words engraved across the front of his desk. Family, duty, honor. "I have to see him. Find out how far his desire to protect me goes."

"I hope you're not going to ask to be claimed. I wouldn't have told you if I thought you were that foolish."

"I was raised a Stark. It may not be in my blood, but it's in my head and it's in my heart. There's nothing to claim. I am a Stark." She rose stiffly from the chair and pulled herself up to her full, impressive height.

"Others won't be so pragmatic."

"No, I'm sure they won't. That's why I need to find out who knows."

"The only living ones are Paxter, Bethany, me and now you."

"That's not good enough. If Bethany Redwyne told one future husband, she may have told another. Men brag to their friends." She began to drift away. "If there's anything to worry about, he's the only one who can help me root it out." At the door, Sansa turned and favored the Blackfish with an aching smile. "I already can't imagine what I'd do without you."

"You may be no wolf, but you sure can chew a man's ear off." He indulgently shooed her. "Get outta here."