They reached Bear Island on the twenty fifth day much to the relief of everyone. They were ushered into a hall constructed out of logs. The walls itself were palisade made from the very earth.

House Mormont was a poorer house, Sansa realized. It was located on a remote isle that didn't have any valuable resources to offer. She doubted the number of fighting men they would be able to get from here, if any.

"Welcome to Bear Island," rang out the tiny voice that greeted them. And thus, the real work began. Lyanna Mormont was a fierce child that lived up to the bear sigil of House Mormont. Sweet talking her was not an option, they soon discovered to their chagrin. "I think we've had enough small talk," the she-bear snapped. "Why are you here?"

"Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Castle Black before he marched on Winterfell and was killed. He showed me the letter you wrote to him when he petitioned for men. It said — " Jon began.

"I remember what it said," Lyanna cut off. "Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK." The emphasis on Stark was not missed. It was clear that Lyanna considered neither Jon nor Sansa to be a Stark and she didn't hide behind pleasantries as she made her opinion known.

"Robb is gone. But House Stark is not. And it needs your support now more than ever," Jon pleaded. "I've come with my sister to ask for House Mormont's allegiance."

Lyanna briefly counseled with the maester in hushed tones before returning focus to her audience. "As far as I understand, you're a Snow. And Lady Sansa is a Bolton… or is she a Lannister? I've heard conflicting reports."

Each word felt like a weight crushing Sansa's hopes. "I did what I had to do to survive, my lady. I am a Stark. I will always be a Stark." Sansa lifted her head high, drawing strength from the fact that she was a Stark.

"If you say so," was the dismissive reply that Lyanna offered.

Was this journey a waste? Sansa wondered, frustrated. If there wasn't any hope to have House Mormont fight with them, then it was better to cut their losses and leave. They needed to resume their journey to rally the other Northern houses. Surely others will say yes. Surely The North Remembered.

The Northerners were loyal, Father had said it loud and often.

If Father said it, then it must be true.

Just then, Ser Davos the Onion Knight spoke up from his place beside Jon.

Sansa didn't have much of an opinion about him, but she knew that he was a good talker.

"If you please, my lady, I understand how you feel," he was now saying.

The little bear temporarily retracted her claws, a confused expression on her face. "I don't know you. Ser…?"

"Davos, my lady. Of House Seaworth," the Onion Knight immediately supplied. Lyanna turned to counsel with the maester, but Ser Davos halted her. "You needn't ask your maester about my house. It's rather new."

"Alright, Ser Davos of House Seaworth. How is it you understand how I feel?"

This was the first time the little lady had shown any interest in what any of them had to say, and Sansa turned to Ser Davos, her interest also piqued. She had a vague idea of what he might say since they had discussed how to plead their case beforehand. Ser Davos was to be their last shot if all else failed.

Apparently all else had failed.

"You never thought you'd find yourself in your position. Being responsible for so many lives at such a young age. I never thought I'd find myself in my position. I was a crabber's son. Then I was a smuggler. And now I find myself addressing the lady of a great house in time of war."

Sansa listened to Ser Davos speak, entranced as he spoke of the army of the dead.

Jon backed his claim. He had witnessed the rise of the Others and their army. Fought them with his very hands.

There was a disquiet in the room after that statement. Nervous coughs and flickering eyes.

Finally Lyanna voiced her judgment. "House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for a thousand years. We will not break faith today."

Sighs of relief were heard throughout the room, only to be awkwardly cut off at the announcement that only sixty-two Mormont men would be provided to join their fight.

"Sixty-two?" Jon repeated in disbelief.

Sansa couldn't say that she was surprised at the number.

"We're not a large house, but we're a proud one. And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders!" the she-bear declared.

"If they're half as ferocious as their lady, the Boltons are doomed," Ser Davos acknowledged, tipping his head in admiration.

There was a ghost of a smile on Lyanna's lips as she returned his nod. "We will temporarily put away talks of war and take time to fill our bellies. I offer you guest right with bread and salt. You must be weary," she stated, transforming into a courteous hostess.

Sansa found herself developing a grudging respect. The little bear was Northern born and bred. As ferocious as they came. A thousand years ago Sansa once knew a little wolf girl just as ferocious. Tangled hair, skinned knees and torn clothes. A scowl as fierce as any bear and a jutting chin that dared anyone and anything.

Arya would have liked her. She felt sadness at the thought of her young sister out there somewhere. Arya was lost. Rickon was a prisoner of Ramsay, and Bran was beyond the wall. I have four living siblings and only one is with me. The thought of it all made her feel as if she was drowning.

She could only hope that after Winterfell was taken back from the Boltons, that Arya and Bran would find their way home. Would they know? A small voice in her head whispered. They will she answered it fervently. She turned her mind back to her plans of defeating the Boltons with renewed vigor.

As they feasted, Jon showed Lyanna Longclaw, which had been the ancestral weapon of her family until Jeor Mormont who became the Lord Commander of The Night's Watch gifted it to him.

If Lyanna agreed or disagreed with her uncle's choice, she did not say.