A/N: No notes for this one, except that you should go listen to Nord Mead by Miracle of Sound because it's amazing and beautiful. Many thanks as always to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Except for Hariksen and the unnamed other soldier, but they may never come back in, so that's whatever.
Rating: M for mentions of violence and rape and death.
The carriage jostled as it made its way along the road out of Windhelm, low to the ground from the weight of the burden that it bore. Beside the heavy oak coffin sat Lady Sansa Stormcloak, and at her side, Ralof. Though Ulfric had urged his new Stormblade to remain in Windhelm, the young soldier was firm in his desire to bury the man who had once been his commander, confidant, and friend.
Sansa, for her part, stayed frigidly neutral toward him. Robb had trusted him, and he had never been unkind to her, but he had lifted the axe that killed Sandor, and for that, she could never forgive him.
"How long has it been since you were last in Winterhold, my lady?" he asked, ignoring the distrustful stares of the two men that Ulfric had ordered to accompany them.
Sansa sighed and was silent for a long moment before replying. "I was ten when we left for Solitude and I haven't been back since. None of us have, except for Jon. As far as I know."
"That's a long time to be away from home."
She nodded, her hands wrapped tightly around her brother's helmet as she held it in her lap. "It will be good to be back where I am considered a Stark again."
Her companion had no reply to that so they lapsed into silence; the only sounds that could be heard were the clopping of the horse's hooves and the distant rumble of thunder.
Beneath the lid of the coffin, the last true Stark lie dead, his head rolling freely from the rest of his body as the cart creaked and bounced toward its destination. Given his sentence, he had nearly been denied a proper burial, but, traitor or no, Ulfric had deemed that one offense too many against his former Stormblade and sent the body away so as not to let it linger.
By the Jarl's orders, they had left under the cover of night. He had made his point with Robb's execution and had no desire to drag the matter back to the forefront of his soldier's minds by carrying his coffin through the streets in the light of day. After all, a man accused of treason was not a man befitting such an honor.
Above the carriage, the moons shone brightly, just past full as they hung low in the sky and illuminated the cobbled path to Winterhold. A nearby wolf let out a warning howl as they passed and Sansa raised her gaze, meeting its glittering eyes in the darkness.
Stark though she may have been, Sansa had never felt much like the wolf that her family's sigil declared her to be. She had spent most of her life being bullied and controlled by those with power and in the end, the pack had not survived. With Robb's death, she was the last and even then, no longer in name. After everything she had endured, it was that knowledge that hurt the most.
Slowly, Sansa moved her hand to rest against her stomach, the motion hidden by the helmet in her lap. With Gilly's help for supplies, she had begun to embroider a pair of tiny socks for the babe growing inside of her, pale yellow with the three black dogs of its father's house. It seemed silly when she thought about it, but she reveled in the small amount of rebellion that she felt as those dogs began to form beneath her needle. Though Lady Stormcloak in name, no child of hers would wear the Bear of Windhelm.
"How long are we staying in Winterhold, ser?" one of the soldiers asked, his gaze fixed harshly on a man beside the road, looting a mangled corpse.
"Only long enough to bury the Stormblade," Ralof replied. "We'll stay tomorrow and then leave on Fredas at the break of dawn."
"Good," the other grumbled, cupping his hands together and breathing into them. "It's bloody cold this far north."
With the swift approach of winter, his words proved true and by the time they reached the base of the mountains that led to the city the wagon was moving at little more than a crawl, its wheels dragging reluctantly through a thick layer of snow.
The battlements of the College had just appeared over the horizon when the wagon lurched to a halt and the driver turned with a heavy sigh.
"She's not like to move any farther with so much weight, my lords. The snow's too much, even for Bessie." He patted the horse's neck affectionately and smiled at the whicker that came in reply.
"What should we do, ser?" one of the guards asked brusquely, stepping down into the snow. The others followed, the younger guard helping Sansa descend last. Before Ralof could answer, she spoke.
"The city isn't far from here," she said quietly. "I know how to get there on foot. It will be slow moving, but once there I can have my half-brother send down men to assist you. For Robb, he would do anything."
The three men exchanged a series of glances before Ralof nodded. "Very well, my lady. Hariksen will accompany you, and I will stay here with the boy to guard the Stormblade's body. Move with haste, and may Talos guide your way."
The large stone-faced soldier nodded in curt acceptance before moving to Sansa's side. "Lead the way, Lady Stormcloak."
Her companion wasn't much for company as they began the climb toward the city. He was silent, stoic, and, she knew, fiercely loyal to her husband's cause. Any thoughts of escape she had been entertaining quickly slipped away, and in their place a deep emptiness remained. It was a feeling she knew too well.
As the city's wooden walls broke the crest of the horizon, the snow began to fall again, heavy and wet. It clung to her gown and cloak, adding a physical weight to the force that rested on her shoulders. The flakes settled on her lashes, freezing her tears before they had the chance to fall. Winter had come, and even it wouldn't allow her to properly grieve.
Not for the first time, she considered letting herself fall into the snow, going numb one limb at a time until she could feel nothing anymore and slipped into a sleep from which she would never wake. And yet, her feet continued to carry her on as her body, weak though it was, stood strong against her lack of will.
"Is that the Jarl's longhouse, Lady Stormcloak?" Hariksen asked, his hand poised above his eyes as he squinted into the falling snow.
As the sturdy building rose into view, Sansa's heart clenched painfully. It was there that she and her siblings had been born, that her mother had combed her hair and sang to her, that Rickon had first started to crawl, that they had left for the shiny splendor of the Blue Palace. It was home in every way that Solitude had never been and Windhelm never would be.
"Yes," she replied quietly. It was all the answer he needed, and all she was willing to give.
"And you're certain that Jon Snow will send aid?" His suspicion was palpable, and Sansa fought the urge to laugh. She must have had more power than she realized if her husband's men felt anything more than pity and indifference toward her.
"Yes," she said again. "It is our brother that lies dead down below. He will do whatever it takes to bury him beside our father."
Not blind to the anger behind her words, the soldier nodded curtly and their arrival at the Jarl's door was made in silence. When Sansa hesitated, Hariksen opened the door and a rush of warmth greeted them as he nudged her into the hall.
The man seated on the weirwood throne was much as she remembered him, and yet the passage of time since their last meeting was evident. He had always been a stern boy, but now the steel grey eyes beneath his brow were dull and tired. There was no need to ask if the courier with news of Robb's death had arrived before them.
When their eyes met, Jon smiled ever so slightly, but his eyes remained guarded and Sansa couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for the way she had treated him when they were children. Bastard or no, he was all she had left of her family, and she hoped that they could put aside the quarrel of their youth.
"Lady Sansa," her half-brother greeted her, rising from his throne and meeting her in the center of the hall. "I regret that our reunion is under such circumstances."
"As do I, brother," she responded, dropping into a curtsey before pulling him into a tight embrace. "As do I." It was Jon that pulled away, looking slightly uncomfortable, but she saw a relief in his gaze that lightened the burden on her heart.
When the moment between them grew too long for Hariksen's liking, he cleared his throat loudly and stepped forward. "We have come to ask for your assistance, Lord Snow. Our wagon was waylaid by the snow on the mountain and isn't like to be freed without a few of your men."
His expression hardening again, Jon nodded and turned to the broad-shouldered Nord beside his throne. "Grenn, gather whomever can be spared and send them back with Stormcloak's man here. It seems they were incapable of bringing my brother back home."
Though the implication of his words was not veiled in the slightest, the soldier gave no indication of offense other than a brief narrowing of his eyes.
Jon's housecarl nodded obediently and moved to Hariksen's side, gripping his arm with a massive hand and steering him toward the door. "If you'd be so kind as to show us the way, my lord," he said, the words far more a command than a request. Though the soldier opened his mouth to protest, a second look at the man beside him closed it just as quickly and he departed from the longhouse with only a single backwards glance.
Once the door had closed behind them, Jon sighed and seemed to deflate, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand across his lightly stubbled jaw.
"I hope they have not treated you too unkindly, Sansa," he said quietly, guiding her to a seat along the wall and dropping down beside her.
Taking the seat gratefully, she shook her head and pulled down the hood of her cloak. "They have not been cruel. Only distrustful, as I suppose is to be expected given that I'm the sister of a traitor."
A long silence fell between them as the weight of Robb's sentence sank in, and it was Jon who finally spoke again. "Now that we are alone, you may speak freely. I've heard many rumors concerning you in the past few moons, most of which I hope were untrue."
Sansa sighed quietly. Her life had certainly become the topic of conversation since the burning of King's Landing. Once she would've loved for everyone in Skyrim to know her name, but now all it carried with it were stories of cruelty and pain.
"What exactly have you heard?"
Jon shrugged slightly and shook his head in apparent disbelief. "First that you escaped the Lannisters. I can see that much is true, but after that it becomes far less clear. There were rumours that you were traveling with the Hound, but then his execution was announced and the courier bringing that news was the same with an invitation to your rather hasty wedding to Ulfric Stormcloak, and after that...the rumours of your wedding night..."
Though Sansa could feel her stomach weaken at the thought of her husband, she knew that with Jon she could tell the truth and perhaps lessen the burden of all the lies she had been forced to tell.
"I did escape the Lannisters, and I did do so with the Hound, but that's where the truth of those rumours end. I know what Ulfric said at his execution: that he was a traitor, a murderer, and a rapist. I suppose to the Stormcloaks, he would've been a traitor and he certainly did kill his fair share of men, but he never raped me."
Jon stayed silent when she took a moment to collect herself and she could feel her eyes welling up with tears as she struggled to continue.
"I fell in love with him. The man I first met may have been the Hound, but the man I fell in love with was Sandor Clegane. He was kind to me, and gentle, as much as he could have been expected to be." The look of mild surprise on her half-brother's face was short lived as she continued. "I'm pregnant with his child."
"You're..." Jon sighed heavily and shook his head. "Gods, Sansa. Does Ulfric know?"
She shook her head. "When Sandor and I arrived in Windhelm, we had every intention of getting married, but Ulfric decided that he wanted me for himself so Sandor ended up with his head on a spike while I was forced into a marriage I didn't want and raped by my husband the day after my lover's execution. Those weren't just rumours."
When she paused, Jon finished her thought. "And now, our brother is dead."
Another silence fell over them and when Sansa spoke again her voice was choked with emotion. "I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to call you my brother. I was a foolish child, and now you're all I have left and I wish I hadn't been so cruel to you when we still had Mother and Father with us, and Robb, and Arya, and Bran, and little Rickon—"
A sob rose in her throat and Jon hushed her softly, wrapping her in an awkward embrace. "You don't need to apologize, Sansa," he said gruffly. "I understood why you treated me the way you did, and why your mother hated me so. I was an imposter in your home, and nothing more than a reminder of our father's disloyalty to her. That's all behind us now though. I may not be a Stark, but neither are you anymore, and we both must overcome the names that we have been forced to bear."
Nodding, Sansa clung to her half-brother as she cried, but the moment was broken when the door opened again and Ralof walked into the hall.
Lowering his gaze respectfully, he waited until Jon had finished soothing his grieving sister and risen to his feet before speaking. "Jarl Snow, I regret meeting under such circumstances. My name is Ralof. Your brother was a friend of mine, and he always spoke highly of you."
He hesitated for a moment and then added quietly. "And his coffin has arrived, my lord."
His expression hardening, Jon nodded and gave Sansa a grim smile when she moved to his side. "Very well then. Let us give the Young Wolf the hero's burial that he deserves."
The graveyard in Winterhold was a somber sight, even more so than most. The ground uncovered by snow was dry and cracked, an inhospitable terrain for the flowers that usually grew to honor the dead. The few headstones that lie in a row all bore the same name, a testament to the fate of the once noble House Stark. At one end Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn rested side by side, and on the other, two smaller stones marked the empty ground where Brandon and Rickon would have lain had their bodies ever been recovered.
Between them, a new hole had been dug, a new headstone carved, and far too soon, Robb Stark's coffin had been laid to rest beside his parents and brothers. Jon Snow stood behind the stone, his solemn gaze fixed on the large wooden box before him. Though Ulfric had given the coffin no adornment, Jon had spent the hours before the ceremony carefully carving the wolf of House Stark into its lid and it stared back through a glimmering ruby eye. Sansa stood at his right, her face eerily beautiful beneath the shadows of her cloak and the flickering flame of the torch in her hands.
A long silence stretched over those gathered around the grave and when it was finally broken, it was Ralof who spoke. "I suppose I should say something, shouldn't I?"
When he got no response, he cleared his throat and nodded. "Aye. I will. It's the least I can do."
The light from the torches sent the gleam of the ruby skittering across the ground, and it made the armor of the soldiers shine a deep red the color of blood.
"We're here today because Robb Stark was declared a traitor, accused of acting against Skyrim and her people. I can't claim to know him better than some of us here, but I can say with confidence that that was not the Robb Stark I knew. I never knew a man more loyal or honorable than my Stormblade, and no matter the reason for his death, I will always remember him as my commander, my mentor, and my friend. And in our grief, let us not forget that he is in a better place now: drinking mead in the halls of Sovngarde."
Jon nodded in acceptance of the speech and Ralof sighed shakily before stepping back again, his eyes gleaming wetly in the dancing light of the fire.
It was Sansa that stepped forward next, her voice quiet and broken. "In the name of the Nine, I send my brother to Sovngarde. Akatosh, may he live to honor you in death as he did in life. Arkay, help him to find peace, as he never knew on Nirn. Dibella, let us never forget our love for him. Julianos, grant us the wisdom to understand his passing. Kynareth, let his body bring new life to the earth. Mara, let him rejoice in the halls of Sovngarde with those he has loved and lost. Stendarr, have mercy on us as we grieve for our loss. Zenithar, grant him rest, for he has now served his sentence here on Nirn. Talos, give us strength."
"Talos, give us strength."