A part of Sansa had always craved death. She'd given up on the gods a long time ago. Death was to be her only peace in the world. It would be an eternal, infinite nothing.

Death was Winterfell. It was the smell of cold rain and the remnants of a fire. It was the heat seeping through the stone walls and the brusque northern accents of the servants drifting in through the window. Sansa allowed herself a small smile.

"Are you awake?" A familiar, girlish voice demanded. "You've got to get up."

Sansa's eyes flew open. Her sister loomed over her, years younger and with a wide, thick scar on her neck. A choking noise escaped Sansa.

Arya nodded fervently. "I know."

"What is this?! He killed me, I know he killed me!"

"Valar Doaeris," her sister intoned gravely.

All men must serve. Sansa studied their old bedroom. Her sister had thrown the shutters open. The sun had reclaimed its golden hue; the grim light of winter had not stolen it's warmth yet. Their beds were side by side, Sansa's done in pink and Arya's in green. Shelves of toys and dolls lined the walls, only interrupted by an occasional painting of some Stark child long dead. She'd escaped to here once, when she was still married to Ramsey. It was destroyed.

"I thought it was over," Sansa whispered.

The door to their room crashed against the wall. Sansa sat upright. Arya wielded a candlestick at the intruder.

It was only Jon, jaw smooth and his eye still scarred, breathing heavily. He froze. It only took one look at his sisters for his face to drop. Sansa could almost hear his heart pounding from across the room. He cursed darkly as he eyed Arya's throat. The heaviness weighing on Sansa's chest lifted just a bit; her big brother was here.

"Jon? What's the matter with you?!" Someone called down the hall. Jon hurried to close the door, but a gangly auburn haired teen threw himself in the crack and wrestled it open. Robb stopped short, blue eyes wide, at the sight of Arya. Behind him, Jon shut the door and barred it. He went as far to move the girls' trunk of play clothes in front of it.

"Bran?" Sansa demanded. "Rickon?"

"What?" Robb asked. His incredulous expression might have been funny if the situation weren't so dire. "Who? Arya, your neck-"

She ignored her brother and looked to Jon. He merely shook his head.

"They weren't in the nursery," he said solemnly.

"Arya!" Robb cried. "What happened-?!"

"Where are Bran and Rickon?" Arya asked.

"Bran and Rickon? Who in seven hells are Bran and Rickon? Are you talking about Uncle Brandon? He died long ago. What is on your neck, Arya?"

Robb went on asking questions but his siblings paid him no mind. They stared at on another, faces grim and hearts pounding. It was obvious; Bran - no, the Three Eyed Raven that had stolen her little brother away- had done something terrible.

"What did he do?" Arya whispered in horror.

"He wasn't in the godswood," Sansa supplied.

Arya looked at her sharply. "How do you know?"

"Because she was in the godswood with Ghost," Jon answered.

"You were supposed to be in the crypts," Arya snapped.

"I couldn't let him take-"

"Only death may pay for life," Jon interrupted. "The Red Woman once said only death may pay for life. If there are three of us-"

"Father!" Arya cried.

Sansa jumped out of bed as Jon lunged for the trunk.

"SANSA!" Robb bellowed. She stopped, almost against her will. She'd never heard him like this, but she'd imagined it plenty of times. It must have been the voice he used to command his armies across the Neck. "What the bloody hell is going- your arm..."

The white nightgown only reached her elbows. She'd taken care to cover every inch of her skin from neck to toe before. An angry pink scar in the shape of a dog bite began on her left forearm and twisted down to just above her wrist. Jon straightened, his face very white and his full lips pressing into a thin line. Ramsey was back, too. The gods weren't that kind. Littlefinger and Cersei and Joffrey were all back again. Sansa struggled, but she managed to push the panic down.

"My dressing robe, Robb," Sansa demanded calmly. She glanced at the grey and pink garment over his shoulder.

He grabbed it from the hook, but didn't hand it over. "Not until you tell me what is happening."

"We will. After we find Father," she promised.

He rolled his eyes but tossed it to her nonetheless. Sansa's body was in an awkward stage that occurred just before puberty. Her breasts were budding, knees ached, but her arms still had some of the fat from childhood. Her hands were clean and her nails were long. It was stupid, but she'd missed having long, pretty nails.

Arya rounded on him. "So Father's alright then?"

"I don't see why not. But with you lot-"

"Mother?" Sansa asked.

"Mother? Sansa...Mother died birthing Arya. You know that. Are you alright? Come, I'll take you to Maester Lewin."

Sansa took a deep breath. Arya crossed to the window, looking out at the green expanse of their home.

"I'm sorry," Jon said softly.

A knock sounded at the door just before it rattled.

"Girls?" A woman called.

"In a minute," Sansa said in her sweetest voice.

"Is everything okay, Lady Sansa?"

"Yes. Just a minute, please."

The woman hesitated for a moment, but continued down the hall soon after. Sansa sat on her bed, pulling the robe tight around herself. Jon joined her and Arya soon after. Robb, still bewildered and more than a bit angry, lowered himself onto Arya's bed across from them. He crossed his eyes and glowered like Rickon had done so many times before.

It made sense, she thought, resting her head on Jon's shoulder. Catelyn Tully was not a Stark. She did not have ice in her veins. Though Bran and Rickon did and Bran was too important to the old gods to be tossed away. Perhaps he was already there, already learning from the man that claimed too be Bloodraven. Would they demand another life for him if he was already there?

"Who was it that went north with Bran?" Sansa asked.

"The Reed children and Hodor," Jon answered.

"We'll need to send a raven. Perhaps they might be able to tell us something," Sansa said.

"I wish you were able to tell me something," Robb mumbled.

Jon sighed deeply, the exhaustion heavy in his bones. This was the second time he'd died and come back. It made her glad she wasn't a god. She didn't want to be the one to greet him when he finally died. She'd seen him angry. Danaerys called it his dragon temper but the silver queen had never seen how wild the Starks could get.

"We'll have to tell them," he said, studying Robb like a puzzle. "There's too much to do on our own."

Arya stood. "I'll go fetch Father."

"Not with your throat like-" Sansa was cut off by another knock at the door.

"Girls?" The woman called again.

"We need Father," Arya shouted.

The woman was quiet for a moment before she said through the door, "If the Lady has flowered I can fetch-"

Arya rolled her eyes. "No, she isn't bleeding. None of us are bleeding. I won't open this door for anyone but Lord Stark so you better not fetch anyone but him."

"Arya!" Robb chastised.

"Lord Robb?!" The woman exclaimed.

"My father NOW!" Arya yelled.

The woman's footsteps scurried off down the hall.

"You're not half as scary anymore," Sansa teased.

"How old are we anyway?" She scowled, plopping down on a cushion beside a dollhouse. "When is it? And why in seven hells do they say we've flowered when we're bleeding between our legs?"

Rob choked but was wise enough to stay quiet.

"Before King's Landing, I'd wager," Jon said as he rubbed his smooth chin. "And we don't have the wolves yet."

LadyLadyLady. Sansa's breath caught. To have her direwolf, to have her fur and fangs and love was too much to ask. It was more than she deserved. Her death was one that she'd never finished mourning.

The Starks were silent, each contemplating the morning, until someone pounded on the door. "Robb! Girls! Open this door now!"

Robb hurried to unlatch the lock. He pulled the door back to reveal Ned Stark towering in the doorway. His long face was as grim as ever. Sansa realized with a start that she had turned into her father. They all said she was her mother's twin, but she had more in common with her father than anyone knew.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded. "Your maid is frantic-"

Sansa and Arya threw themselves at their father. Jon hesitated until Arya gave him a nasty face. Ned laughed, a bit bewildered, but hugged all three of his children back. He smelled like leather and pine and home. She wept silently, running her fingers through the end of Arya's hair. Jon was the first to pull away. He embraced Robb next, one of those manly hugs that end in a shoulder clap. Arya followed Jon, right down to the shoulder clap, but Sansa only stepped back. It was selfish and foolish, but she couldn't bring herself to forgive him. Logically, it was best to keep Jaime as a prisoner. She wouldn't have let him go. Still, it felt like a knife was twisted in her chest whenever she thought of kingsguard and their hilts and Joffrey ranting about Robb and Jaime. She had yet to forgive herself of her sins. How would she forgive anyone else of theirs?

Lord Stark ran his stern, silver gaze over each of his children as they wiped at their eyes. It wasn't until Arya lifted her head from her arm that he noticed something was terribly wrong.

"What in seven hells is this?!" He cried as he rushed to his daughter. He closed the distance in two strides.

Sansa bolted the door behind him and stood with her hands clasped. Ned twisted his daughter's head from side to side, even wiping at the scar to see if it was real. He glanced at Sansa, saw her to be untouched, and then studied Jon. He didn't stand like a boy on the cusp of manhood. He stood tall and unwavering like a wizened king of old. Slowly, Jon lifted his thin night shirt. His body was softer and less muscled, but he still had the scars. There were the nineteen stab wounds from the Watch and a newer, darker one that ran from the left crook of his neck to his heart. His right wrist was banded in a thick line too. Disarmed and nearly cut in half. A new surge of anger overtook Sansa. Her knuckles went white where they clasped the other hand.

"We died Father," Jon said in a steady low voice. "All of us died."

Ned's brow furrowed and he looked at his daughter's neck again. Robb shrugged in response to his father's wordless question and Sansa avoided their gazes. She wouldn't show any of her scars if she could help it. She wouldn't let Ramsey have that too. Instead, she said, "He got me in the navel and pulled up."

Her long legs dangled in the air. Ice flamed through her torso and cold bit at her cheeks. A cruel curiosity shone through the eerie blue eyes staring back at her.

"Who?" Robb demanded, his young face as red as his hair.

"The Night King," she said.

It took all of two heartbeats for Robb and Ned to erupt.

"Do you think this is funny?!" Ned demanded. "This is not a good joke."

"It's no joke," Arya said.

"I know who my mother was," Jon interrupted. Every head swiveled to him. "And my father."

Arya laughed. "Not before he fu-"

"Arya," Sansa cut in lightly.

"Your father?" Robb asked, mouth gaping.

Ned held up his hand for silence.

"I'm sorry, Jon," Ned said in a shaking voice. Sansa sat on her bed, leaning back against the headboard so she could get a better look at them all. She pulled down her dress to make sure it didn't go past her knees. "It was for your own protection, for everyone's protection."

"I understand," Jon said softly. "You are still my father. I'm still a Stark. The North is in my bones, no matter what is in blood."

Ned staggered back and sat on the foot of Sansa's bed. He cradled his head in hands. They waited patiently, her other siblings sitting beside one another on Arya's bed. After a few minutes, he peered up at his children. "You all died? The Night King, truly? Not Robert?"

Arya snorted. "That fat drunk couldn't touch me if he tried."

"You met the King?" Ned asked.

"Maybe it would be best if Jon told his story first," Sansa suggested gently.

"Why do I have to go first?" He scowled.

"Cause you know the important stuff best, stupid," Arya teased.

"Alright," he grumbled.

Jon launched into his tale. He began with King Robert's visit, then the wall. He was only interrupted twice. Jory Cassel stepped in to check on the family. He was puzzled, but pleased, when Arya and Sansa both hugged him. Next was a maid bringing in water and breakfast. Only Robb and Arya are, wolfing down their bread and fruit. Sansa went after, explaining everything that happened in King's Landing and all that she knew of the War of the Five Kings. Robb thundered when she spoke of Joffrey and cursed when he heard of his own sins. Sansa's stomach twisted when she spoke of Ramsey. She kept that part short, saying only that he was cruel and greedy. She spoke of her escape with Theon, capturing Winterfell with Jon, fighting with Danaerys and their deaths.

Arya's speech was even shorter. She simply said she spent the war "hiding throughout Westeros" and then "training across the Narrow Sea". Sansa shared an amused smile with Jon.

Ned and Rob were quiet for a long time. The sun was shining brightly through the shutters. A silly thought crossed her mind: it would be warm enough to keep the windows open again.

It was Robb who broke the silence.

"Dragons, truly?" He whispered in awe.

"Aye," Jon said with a grin.

"They're every bit as large and fearful as you would expect," Sansa said. "But very smart and loyal to those that their rider is."

"Did you ride one, too?" Robb asked.

"No," she said with a smile. "But Rhaegal let both Arya and I meet him. He visited when things got rough at the end. I think he knew we needed a bit of warmth."

"We all loved him," Arya said fondly. "Men died for him when he fell. That's how a wight got me. There'll never be a fight like it again. It's how the good ones died. Jaime, Brienne, Tormund. The Hound was there until they all died. I watched him run off while I bled out. "

"He brought us their Valyrian steel. I took the axe and-"

"While you bled out?!" Ned thundered. "How can you speak of it that way?"

Arya shrugged. "It wasn't a bad death. It didn't hurt too much. And I was with the dragon so at least I was warm at the end."

Sansa touched her stomach. "It was cold. His sword was so cold it burned."

Jon's lips were curled in disgust, but he understood. He'd died by the same blade.

"It was quick, at least," she conceded. "I always thought I would die slow."

"Madness," her father muttered. "Utter madness."

"Father, please, you believe us don't you?" Arya cried.

He rubbed at his brow, his dark hair hiding his face. She could see the conflict he struggled with. Magic had yet to make itself known, but the truths they told could not be discredited.

"Leave us," Sansa commanded.

Arya and Robb protested, but Jon looked at her with an unreadable expression. He cocked his head to the side in question. Sansa merely nodded and stood between the two beds.

"Leave them," Jon said.

There was another, less persistent round of protests, but they left all the same. Ned Stark was petrified. It was the same look she'd seen in men who saw the dead for the first time. She avoided his gaze, watching as Jon closed the shutters. He paused just outside the door.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"No. Thank you."

"I can find him for you."

"He'll make himself known in time. I'll deal with him then. But Jon...Tell Arya that he's mine."

He nodded and closed the door behind him.

Ned and Sansa Stark eyed one another. It was an odd thing to do, no matter the circumstances. It was the first time she chose for a man to see her naked. Resolve strengthened, she untied her dressing gown and tossed it on the bed.

"Sansa-"

"No, Father. You must see if you are to believe us."

Quickly and efficiently, she pulled the shift over her head and laid it next to her robe. Ned inhaled sharply. She watched his eyes go from the thick scar that had ended her life, to the sinister cuts beneath her breast, and then the bites. Dog bites began at her thighs and worked their way up. The highest was on the side of her hip. Her back wasn't as painful to show. Joffrey hadn't hurt her pride as much as Ramsey had.

Sansa dressed before turning around to face her father. Tears ran down his cheeks. He looked like he might be sick. He moved to comfort her but she stopped him with a shake of her head.

"All of this is nothing. Nothing compared to the Others. Lord Stark, you swore to protect the North. If the North falls again, so does man."

Someone pounded on the door. "Lord Stark, a guard arrived. They've found a nights watch deserter."

"Get dressed," Ned told his daughter. "We're going to get your wolf back."