Sansa scratched the little direwolf's ears. There were still six pups. None of the Starks were naive enough to believe that it was an omen for the return of their baby brothers. They took them anyway, unwilling to let the pups die in a ditch. Jon was trying to convince their father that they were meant for him and Benjen. Sansa agreed, going so far as to name her own pup Lady Shaggydog. It would have made Rickon laugh.

This was not the time for grief. There was so much to do, so much to write. Ink stained her hands and arms. Her fingers were cramping. She'd made it known very clearly that it was very stupid to write all of this down, especially with the king riding north. Jon Arryn's death was not a surprise, but it didn't make the burden any less difficult for her father to bare.

All four children agreed Ned Stark would absolutely not go to the capital. Jon helped her put things into motion that prevented him from leaving Winterfell. They'd sent a rider with a marriage proposal for the Mormont heir. If she didn't want the mantle of Lady of Winterfell, Sansa would speak with Lady Cerwyn personally. She was just a stone's throw away. Jon was writing under the name of their father to the Night's Watch. They used the deserter as an excuse to ask about the state of things beyond the wall. They would pair it with rumors from Winter's Town to demand an investigation headed by Lord Stark. Construction plans were underway. Her home would become the home of thousands when the cold winds blew. It was time to repair the abandoned tower and expand Winter's Town.

Jojen Reed had died the day that Sansa had awoken. It was a cruel and efficient way of sending a message. The Three Eyed Raven had already taken Bran from her. She hated the damned thing. He may be on their side, but she didn't have to like him.

A shadow fell over her desk. She looked up at her intruder. Robb's red hair was in a disarray and his fuzzy beard was growing back in. He'd matured into a man over the past week. It was sad to watch his innocence go.

"Sansa, it's past midnight," he said needlessly.

"I know. I can never sleep anymore. I just see his eyes." She rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand, the only part not wet with black ink.

Robb pulled a tufted leather chair to the edge of her desk. The candles turned his auburn hair ginger. It made her think of Tormund Giantsbane. The days were hollow without his bawdy jokes and deafening laugh. He was annoying, a bit too much to handle, and the only one who's spirits never dampened. Brienne was a fool for not taking him.

"What's he like?" Robb asked.

For a moment, she thought he was talking about Tormund. Then she remembered the burning godswood again. Her thoughts were of nothing but death and the dead.

Sansa frowned as she chose her words. "I don't really know. Jon's the one to ask. I only encountered any of them once. We talk about them like they're another creature in the wild, but they're smart Robb. I could see it in his eyes. He had a thousand questions running through his mind when he killed me. I could see them all."

She scribbled those thoughts on a scrap of parchment. She shoved it into a file folder made out of a curious hide. The Citadel was a mystery. She might have liked to go there if they didn't fear women so much. She'd like to see the day Dany arrived on Drogon. Maybe she could ask her sister to kill a path through the front doors.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that all happened. I'm sorry I didn't come for you."

"Don't be silly," she snapped. "You can't apologize for something you haven't done. It would have been foolish to give up Tywin Lannister's heir for a daughter anyway."

"It doesn't-"

"Robb! The North comes before everyone and everything. It comes before me. It comes before you. It comes before the Westerling girl's honor. Do not sacrifice the North for anything or anyone."

Robb blushed and looked at his hands. The silence was long enough that she succumbed to the guilt dancing on her tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I never really blamed you. Only...you have Theon, Arya has Jon, and Bran had Rickon. Loneliness is a fearsome a captor as any, even a mad boy-king."

"Did you ever find them? Your person?"

"Yes," she lied, painting a little smile on her face. Just sad enough to be mournful, but bright enough to appear reminiscent. She'd had enough pity from everyone. The story was that Jon, Arya and Sansa had green dreams of the Long Night. The old gods left their scars as a reminder of what needed to be done. The castle whispered at first, but soon forgot it all as their days became longer and busier.

Rob beamed. "Well then, we'll just have to maneuver them up here. After you get some rest. Come, I'll walk you to your room."

Sansa let him help her lock the folders away and get her to her room. Most nights she snuck into Arya's chamber anyway. This night, she waited until his footsteps faded before she slipped back out into the hall. She made her way to the kennels, picked up Lady, and climbed to her favorite battlement to watch the sunrise.

The king's court was just as she remembered. It was, however, a bit odd to see them all so young and unworried. The wars had aged them more than all of those years had. Conflict waged in her heart when Jaime's tall, lithe frame appeared in the dining hall. This was the man that had crippled her brother, that fucked his twin sister at every chance, but he was also the man had answered the call when their need was dire. He had so much potential. Who was Sansa to deny him that? She, of all people, knew how hardship and time could bring out the best of someone.

"My brother is handsome isn't he little dove?" Cersei asked. It was still difficult to hear her voice. She clenched every time the queen spoke to her.

Sansa hadn't realized she was staring. She was slacking in her tutelage being away from the stinking dregs of the Red Keep. "Yes, your grace."

With three of their own dead, there was enough room for the children dine at the royal table. Robb sat next to the queen as Father's heir in lieu of the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa was proud of her brother. Any hatred or disgust that slipped through his mask could be mistaken for the foul Northern disposition that her people were known for. The room was warm from the fires and bodies. The smell was a bit too much, but not nearly as bad as King's Landing. Winter had a way of smelling crisp and clean.

"You're a bit too young for him, I'm afraid. Though my son Joffrey resembles him and will grow to be just as handsome."

Robb choked on his food and collapsed into a coughing fit. The queen discreetly inched away. Arya didn't hide her laugh. She'd been positively monstrous. She hadn't even covered up her death scar. She let everyone know that she'd had a vision of her death in the Long Night and she was proud of it. The common folk were whispering about Starks and the Old Gods and warging and witches again. Sansa considered going along with it but decided she didn't want to appear suspicious after the Lannisters fell tomorrow. If the Lannisters fell tomorrow.

"Yes, your grace," Sansa parroted.

"You'd like to be queen wouldn't you?" Cersei asked sweetly.

"No," Sansa said shortly. She'd been Jon's regent more than once. It was enough for her. "Starks die when they go south. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. And winter is coming."

She and the queen glanced over at the direwolves. Nymeria and Grey Wind were sharing a large bone. Lady, to Sansa's utter horror, had laid at Sandor Clegane's feet and not budged. He'd been terrified at first, but eventually accepted his fate with grace. Rick, her father's pup, was playing with Nymeria's tail. Ned didn't seem to show any signs of the bond that his children had with their wolves, but he and the pup were fond of one another.

"My sister's right," Robb said. "Starks don't fare well in the South. Every one of them has died."

"Your father didn't," Cersei noted.

Robb looked to where his father was trying to keep the king's attention away from a serving girl. It was an admirable effort. "Aye, but a part of him died with his sister."

"You Starks are a grim lot aren't you?" Cersei asked with a hint of suffering.

"Would you have liked it here, Your Grace?" Sansa asked.

"Pardon?"

"If things turned out differently, if you had to marry my father instead of the king. Would you have liked it here?"

Cersei thought for a moment, her attention settling on Ned and Robert. The Warden of the North wasn't particularly handsome. Grief hovered over him like a cloud and his finest doublet was severely lacking in ornamentation. The king, by contrast, was fat and drunk and womanizing.

"Ned is a kind man and a good father, but all little girls dream of being queen," the queen said.

"I shoe as hell dawn," Arya said through a mouth full of food. "Whassa poin? I ner lean da nord."

"Girls marry for the honor of their families. If your mother had lived, she would have taught you that. Among other things."

"Das supid," Arya said. She swallowed thickly and noisily drowned her goblet of water. It was bad. Even for Arya. "If I wanted to bring honor to my family, I'd just ride into battle. The Starks don't need to marry someone else for honor anyway."

Cersei's smile was devoid of any cheer. "Of course they do. You still need medicines and spices and grain."

"That's marrying for trade, not honor. Gold mines run dry but justice and loyalty do not."

"Excuse me, Your Grace, I'm going to put my sister to bed," Sansa said loudly.

Robb's amusement died instantly. He panicked, his blue eyes going wide. Sansa shook her head shortly in a failed effort to communicate that she'd send someone to save him. She jerked her sister out of chair and then the hall. She made eye contact with Theon and jerked her head to the dais on their way out.

"Gods that felt good," Arya said as they reached the godswood. She leaned back against the weirwood tree. She hadn't worn a gown since they'd awoken almost a month ago.

Sansa imitated her sister. Lady and Nymeria laid their heads down on in the girl's laps.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" She asked.

Arya's smile was wicked.