The dead were defeated.
Countless corpses from the army of the undead and the army of the living scattered throughout Winterfell; its castle, its Goodswood, Wintertown and nearby hills.
Death & snow. It was like one of those sad tales Old Nan told them. Arya used to loved them, the more death the better, but Sansa although scared would focus on the sadness that surrounded the characters. What happened after the tale ended? Did they sail to a land far away? Did they roamed Westeros as ghosts that had no resting place? Sansa gripped the dragonglass fiercely.
Maester Wolkan was the one who noticed her hands were bloody but she refused to let herself aided. 'See that the wounded are taken care of first'- her voice wobbly and frail. Was that her voice? Was she a ghost now? She gripped the blade even tighter.
The last time she saw her sister she had given it to her. 'If you think something is wrong don't be afraid to use it'- Arya had said, serious and cutting. She missed her fiery sister.
"I don't know how to use it" She replied nervously. Grabbing the blade from the wrong side nipping a finger.
"Stick them with the pointy end"- her sister had said. The rise of her eyebrow communicating the message. Stay safe, and possibly don't get killed. That was the last time she had seen her sister, she had prayed for her then, for her brothers, for Lady Brienne and for Theon. Now she emerged from the crypts and hoped that the Old God's had heard her.
People were dead. People she knew and people who where complete strangers to her. It was all evident in front of her eyes, it's not like it wasn't expected, they were the underdogs, but still the decimation was a blow to the heart.
Sansa stood in front of the entrance for the crypts. Carefully counting and taking notice of every face that went out. Which groups they belonged to, which level they were placed. Some would never come back.
"My Lady..."- Sansa bristled and spun around, the dragonglass blade poorly aimed at the woman in front of her.
She had hard features, short hair and a kraken on her breastplate.
"I'm sorry to startle you Lady Sansa"- the woman said, her hands up in a non threatening manor. "But time is at haste. I'm here to take you back to the ships. We must retreat to the Iron Islands immediately"-
"But we won" Sansa replied. Her voice with a childlike tone to it. She wished she could be steel, she wished she could be a knight. She wished she could be Arya.
"You did My Lady. But the fallen are many. There is to be a burning of the bodies and we are nothing but sitting ducks here for another threat."-
"Who are you?" Trust no one; Arya had said, and she had been right. "Where is Theon?" She said, signaling towards the proud kraken.
It was now that Sansa realized that the woman had been crying, her eyes glassy not from the surrounding fire and smoke but from tears.
"My name is Yara my Lady. Of House Greyjoy and ruler of the Iron Island. I have sided with the Dragon Queen and it was my brother's wish to find you before anything. Theon is no more."-
She ran. It was on instinct. The Godswood was their safe haven. The hell with everybody else! It's her family she should be looking for.
She ran, she fell, she tumbled and slipped but she kept on going.
Still among devastation the Godswood held its magic. Random fires making the red leafs seem like red lights in the skies, the many faces an audience for a bloody play. There was a man standing in the middle of it all. Besides the pool were his reflection seemed one with the trees.
"Jon!" Sansa cried running towards him. At the last minute he held her at bay but then she realized she still had the blade in her hands.
Their embraced was with roaming hands. Not invasive like Ramsay's nor incestuous like the Lannisters. It was a father's touch after having fallen down. Are you hurt? Are you ok? Each stroke said.
"Where's Bran? What happened? Theon... Theon..."
"Breathe Sansa, slowly"- Jon said stroking her hair. "The bait worked but he was too strong. Theon fought with honor but it wasn't enough. We had to unleash the dragons"-
"And Brandon?" She asked from the crook of his neck, afraid to see the news on his face before his words.
"Safe. Badly hurt from the fires but alive. He's already on the ships. You're supposed to be there, what are you doing here?-
"Arya. I can't find Arya."
"I can't find her as well"- Jon replied making her breath come short again "the last time I saw her she was in the towers with the archers, I know nothing else"-
No... Sansa whimpered. Not her, not Arya. She was too stubborn to die. She was too young to die. She was the only sister she had for her to die and leave her alone in the frozen graveyard. "We have to find her."
"I need to get you on that ship. I'll find..."-
"No. We have to find her" Sansa begged. You can't leave me if she's dead, I can't stand it; she pleaded with her eyes. Jon held her closer and kissed to top her her head. He smelled like smoke and burned meat and she smelled like sweat and fear.
They left the Goodswood hand in hand. Jon holding her steady navigating her through the bodies with his hand still on his sword. Sansa noticed he was no worse than she was, His eyes looked crazed and his hand twitched on his pummel every time someone came near them while Sansa herself was left in dismay at not recognizing which part of the castle they where in.
Everything was burned and torn down. The damage was even farther than what the Ironborne and the Boltons had done in the passing. 'Home is not a place. We're Winterfell. Arya, Bran and Jon' Sansa repeated over and over in her head. She saw Lady Brienne sitting motionless while Podrick bandaged her shoulder, he wasn't finished yet the dressing were already red.
"You struck the blow Snow?"- the Kingslayer asked making Sansa gasp.
Honestly, she hadn't even noticed he was their right beside Brienne. This mas was not Jaime Lannister, it wasn't just the filth he was covered in. It was in his lack of bravado and sad eyes that screamed defeat. When the cold comes you won't hear any lions roar. Sansa looked over the crowd to check if Tyrion was back. She didn't know why, he'd said he'd look for her once he found out what happened to the Dragon Queen. Their relationship was one of many layers and today they discovered a new one that had brought them closer. She'd dwell on it later.
"No. It wasn't me"- Jon replied, dragging Sansa's attention back at the conversation. Sansa had seen Jon in battle. He was fearless and fought with vigor, like the heroes of the old songs.
"Was it the Queen? Daenerys?"- Brienne asked. Podrick was now bandaging her left leg. It must have been something fierce since the squire very gently suggested they resume the conversation after she was seen by a maester.
"It was Arya."- Jon said. Awe, fear, respect and doubt in his voice.
She was alive and apparently had done the impossible but the news only had made Sansa even more nervous. She had seen the corpses rise right in front of her and her sister had apparently gone head to head with their leader. Where was she?
"Has anyone seen her?" Sansa asked but she received the same answer as before.
Brienne was badly hurt. One could say she was a tough woman but she wasn't invincible, she between Jon, Jaime and Podrick carried her inside the castle. Although it was breached; inside it's walls still stood tall. The great hall acting as a makeshift nursery that maesters and anyone that knew how to stitch was now helping the wounded.
She's alive Sansa, she'll come out once she fells like herself again. It happens to all of us- Jon had said leaving her alone inside the great hall, he said he had to look for the Dragon Queen and the rest of his men. He was doing his duty as should she but was it too hard to just let her see her sister first?
"My Lady, please. Let me see your hand"- Ser Davos said. It didn't surprise Sansa that Davos magically appeared after Jon left, he never left her alone. Ever... oh gods where was Ghost?!
As one of the many maesters that arrived at Winterfell with their Lord liege Davos sat next to Sansa visibly tired and shaken. He had a shoulder that didn't look right and was favoring his right leg.
"I'm sorry to ask but may I ask you about your sister. The younger Lady Stark?"-
"We haven't seen her since it all ended" Sansa replied not even looking at him. Her eyes were glued at the entrance and every single body who came in.
"I've never seen anyone fight like her before... she was, I can't even explain it"-
"Was she injured Ser Davos?"
"I couldn't tell you my Lady. I don't think so, you don't move like she did if you were hurting"- Suddenly screams where heard. A part of the outside wall collapse landing over several people. Women where screaming, men where dying, the servants were missing, hiding or still dead. Sansa needed to be strong and be the Lady of Winterfell. She needed to believe in Jon's words, she needed to believe in her little sister. She needed to do her duty and she did.
Sansa shielded her eyes away from the sun as she walked from the great hall. What time was it? What day was it? She had just aided one of the maesters with a birth. The mother had died but the babe lived; no one knew who the woman was, if the father was alive or death. It was chaos that left Sansa wondering what was the plan the gods had set for them.
Daylight brought an even more depressing view. Now you could see a clear face (or what was left of it) and sigils of the dead.
Had they really won? They were alive but tell that to the nameless baby with no one to claim him as theirs. It was a cruel world and Sansa looked at the sky deciding right them and there that she would not bare any children.
For afar she could see the door to the smithy open, out came the one who was in charge. The young lad Jon had brought with him. He was handsome and strong, she had caught various serving girls giggling and fighting for who was going to bring him his food. Sansa supposed they were right; he was handsome. But there was something oddly familiar about him that Sansa couldn't put her finger on.
He walked dazed as if he just woke up. But froze once he saw Sansa. He saw him stand a little taller (which was a lot since he had a respectable height) and walk straight over to her.
"My Lady. I'm sorry to disturb you but it's about your sister"-
"Arya? Have you seen her?" Sansa stood immediately on alert
"Yes, she is in the storage room. I..."- Sansa didn't stay to hear anymore. She shouted Jon's name, someone was bound to tell the King she needed him.
She ran directly to the store room and just like the Smith said, there, laying over grains of corn laid her sister sound asleep. She tried to wake her up to no avail. The Smith said he tried to do the same but failed, he started to worry because of the nasty gash she had on the side of her face. She's always been such a light sleeper, I went to get some help when she wouldn't wake up- he had said. Sansa had saved that comment for later. Men and apparently women, did stupid things in the eve of war.
Arya was caked in blood so it was difficult to see if it was blood for her wounds or from the fallen. Sansa began to touch her, prodding for any cuts when she flinched at a large scar in her belly. Those are old; the Smith had said.
"Who are you? She demanded
"I'm was her friend... I am her friend. We're pack" the man said and Sansa know knew all that she needed.
Jon and other men had finally arrived. We need to get her to a maester Sansa had said. The closest one was the Wildling; Thormund. He went to carry Arya when the Smith blocked him and told him to stay away "She doesn't like it when people touch her!"
Who is this man? Why does he know her sister? Why does he know her habits and old wounds? But more importantly why was he carrying Arya like she was the most precious thing in the world? Sansa didn't care. Because for her Arya was the most important thing in the world. And if this Smith thought the same then Sansa knew she was going to let things slide for her sister.
Sansa loved her sister and her sister loved her back. They were a pack and that pack had survived, apparently with a new member.
Winter came, but the pack survived