Sansa held the note in her hand. The seal unbroken, unread. She knew who it was meant for. Thinking of Jon, she frowned wondering how he would handle it. Lifting her hand, she knocked on his door. Jon's gruff voice echoed through her, while she managed to finally come in.

"Your majesty." He bowed. Sansa looked to see his men in the room. They bowed their heads as well. Lifting her hand she held out the sealed note.

"This arrived from King's landing. It seems your brother is making use of the dragon seal already." Jon took it, opening it quickly. Sansa noticed he was trying to keep his hands from shaking at the words.

"Aegon says I either return to Kings Landing marry Myrcella upon arrival, or I am declared a traitor to the Southern Throne."

"He is the traitor! He slaughtered innocents for land! Kneelers..." Spat Tormund.

"Aye, Aegon betrayed us first, but he is still King over me." Jon threw the letter down.

"How many men can you spare me?" Jon asked turning to Sansa. Sansa looked slightly taken back.

"This isn't a northern war."

"True, your majesty, yet you are harboring Tratious men of the southern kingdom. Aegon might not see it that way." Edd spoke up.

"I don't care what the Southern King thinks. My men will not fight for something they think has nothing to do with them." Sansa glared at Jon. "I will not waste Norther blood over a sibling squabble."

"This is more than a sibling Squabble, Your Majesty." Jon was angry, she could tell just with how his eyes bore into her. "He murdered people you helped save. Generations of families, gone."

"You think I don't know that?" Sansa glared. She turned her eyes to the wintesses in the room. "Leave us." They all looked around at each other. "Now!" She demanded. Jon nodded his head, while they quickly left. Jon sat down in his chair, the letter out on the table for her to see. She took her own seat across from him.

"Sansa-"

"Don't. You think I don't remember them? That I have no pity for them? Empathy? What do you take me for?" Sansa slid the letter away from her. "This is your fight, not mine." Jon reached across the table, taking her hand in his.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't have any other choice. You know that." Sansa held his hand back, her eyes meeting hers.

"I will not keep my men in a losing fight. Do you understand me? If I see any way of us losing, I will retreat." Jon kissed the back of her hand.

"A direwolf protects her pack until she is dead. The way you fight for your people is something I expect nothing less from a stark."

Sansa slowly untangled her braid. The cold winter air, made it unruly, her hands fumbling at the knot holding it together. The ribbon was frayed, with specks of blood on it. She looked at herself in the mirror but all she saw was death. Dying men, screaming for their mothers, their wives, their sons. She had dismissed her servant wishing to only be alone in her thoughts. Before she could finish undoing her hair, her tent flap opened widely to Jon. He was angry again.

"Why?" He yelled. She looked at Tormund behind him, who quickly understood what her glare meant. The giant of a man, quickly walked out of the tent, leaving just the two of them alone.

"You were going to lose."

"We had them on the run!"

"You didn't see the men coming up behind you. I did. I sounded the horn, so that you and your men would live to fight another day."

"There were no men!"

"Do you label me a liar?" Sansa turned to him. "My men were dying. Your men were dying."

"That's what war is? Death until their is one man standing."

"But you weren't going to be that man!" Sansa walked by him to the water basin. She grabbed a towel, wetting it, before walking over. She grabbed his hand gently, began wiping the blood from his hands.

"Retreating for a general does not look good to his men."

"I beg to differ. It means you care about your men more than you do about winning."

"They won't see that."

"Than blame me." her eyes met his. "Tell them, it was because of a woman's heart, they tend to forgive quicker." Sansa turned his hand over, placing his palm up. She gently rubbed in the inside, slowly undoing part of his armor. "You need to wash, you won't sleep well with blood on your hands." she whispered.

"It doesn't go away, no matter how hard you wash it." Jon gripped her wrist. "Retreating to me is something that I am ashamed for. But coming home to you, is not something I will ever regret." She lifted her hand to his face, smiling at him.

"Jon, lay with me tonight." He gave a soft smile, leaning into kiss her.

A few month since their loss had gone by. Aegon had paused his war while he dealt with dealings in King's Landing. Sansa knew it wasn't going to go forever, but she enjoyed the peace and quiet, away from battles.

She sat in her solar, with Arya. A small mischievous smile formed on her lips. She handed a letter to Arya. Who took it, reading it with horror.

"You are going to reject right?"

"Of course. It's below my station." She looked at her sister with a mocking smile. "I wonder how bad King's landing is for him to offer this deal."

"He must be desperate. I mean, marry him?"

"Jon's presence must be wearing on him."

"Who am I wearing on?" Jon asked, a slight smile on his face. Arya handed the note to him. He quickly read it, before tossing it in the fire. His face contorted with anger.

"Jon! I have to reply to that." Sansa quickly stood up to retrieve it, but he held her back.

"I will reply for you." Arya snickered from her seat.

"She's not going to say yes. He's a desperate boy king who thinks he could win her over with a peace treaty."

"I don't need a southern crown, I already have one." She grabbed his hand, smiling at him. "Besides, I don't think he will take me in my condition." Sansa placed his hand over her stomach. A smile spreading over his lips.

"It's true?"

"For three moons." She smiled, while he quickly took her in his arms, spinning her in the air. Arya smiled from her seat, happy that her sister finally found something wonderful.