I Do Not Own A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones/Fire and Blood/House of the Dragon

3rd Lunar Cycle of 126 AC

Sansa was in the glass gardens, hugging her ribs. After finally being released from Domeron care, he was confident she would be able to walk without falling over and reopening his hard work. The wound was unusual, but she could live with it. It was just… blue and black, the veins around her skin were a very pale blue, with some darkening to black near the wound. Overall, though, the wound was healing rather normally, it was just cold.

Winterfell wasn't very different now than when it had been in her era; it lacked a few things of course. The renovations to the family wing which had eliminated it when her mother had moved here, or the guest wing renovations which had been a bit more lavished than now. Her mother had brought a bit of the Riverlands to Winterfell when she had come here. And there was the sept missing; her father had built it for her mother as an anniversary gift, it had been the newest and most Southron aspect of Winterfell. And as a little girl Sansa had loved to pretend, she was a Southron princess, and the sept was her castle; it was so colorful and interesting compared to the practicality of Winterfell.

It was so strange, Winterfell was timeless, truly, and it was comforting to her as she stood in the glass gardens now, looking out at the Godswood. She shivered a little as she hugged her shall a bit closer to herself. There was a sound and she turned to see Cregan there, he was watching her warily.

"I didn't run off," she promised. "I was going cross eyed reading the records; the script is atrocious."

"It is," he agreed.

"I always liked this garden," she informed him. "My mother, she was Southron, and she… renovated, but this… this always remained the same."

"Your mother was Southron?" he asked sourly.

"My grandfather had Southron ambitions," she sneered. "I loved my mother, and my father did right by her, and he loved us, but Southron ambitions, it's a poison to our line," she sighed. "We serve the realm, we serve the North, but whenever Starks go South, it never seems to go as planned."

"Oh?"

"Mmm… we blame you for that."

"I've never been South!"

"Yet," she smiled. "You're the most famous Stark, Cregan, in history."

He grimaced. "I don't want to know, Sansa, any of it."

She chuckled a bit as she looked up at the birds which fluttered through the glass gardens. "What has brought you here, Cregan?"

"I need your advice," he answered softly. "It appears you have suffered and reclaimed Winterfell, and I have just reclaimed it, but… my uncle and cousins."

"Mmm," she hummed as she took a deep breath and leaned back on the workbench. "I do not believe you will like my answers, because I have seen how this can go poorly for the North, and it will impact your reign either way."

"If I kill him, I am a kinslayer, and I… never wanted to be that, but I feel banishing him will only cause further divide and problems," Cregan stated.

She nodded; at least Cregan was smart enough to realize he only had two options at this point. With Jon Sansa would be arguing about the only two options, then banging her head against the stones of Winterfell in frustration of Jon's stubbornness.

"In history…"

"You said you did not want to know," she breathed.

"Sansa… please," he murmured.

She turned to look at him as she thought about the history of Cregan Stark, he was one of the greatest Starks, if not the greatest Stark, he was a renown military commander, he had impressed Targaryens with his swordsmanship, he had been a fair Warden of the North, he had brought stability and justice to the Realm as the Targaryens fought, and if he had remained South she had no doubts he'd have saved the Targaryens from themselves. People had begged Cregan to serve as regent for King Aegon III, he had declined though, he had saved the North, he had served as Hand of the King, he had ended a civil war through sheer force of will. Cregan had judged fairly, and killed without hesitation, he had commanded respect for his very long life.

"And what do you seek, Cregan?" she asked. "Power?"

"Honor," he countered.

"Why do you want honor, you deal with the dishonorable? You need power right now more than honor."

"Honor may not win power, Sansa, but it wins respect, and respect earns power," Cregan countered. "Even when dealing with the dishonorable and abhorrent, the only separation between becoming like them and keeping true to self is honor, and I do not wish to lose my honor."

Sansa blinked a few times; and she smiled bitterly. Cregan reminded her of Jon and Robb, but he didn't seem as pigheadedly stubborn as her brothers had been. If her brothers had not been so stubborn, Robb might be alive and King of the North, and Jon would've never surrendered the North to that Targaryen.

"Then I will use your words, from my history and I hope your words help," she said softly.

"Sansa, I do not need to know…"

"Cregan, these words shaped my house, and how the North was perceived for hundreds of years, and if you hear them now, I do not think it will damage you," she murmured. "It is better for the Realm that traitors die. There are worse ways to die. You rose up in rebellion against your lawful ruler, the Realm will be a better place without you. The North Remembers."

"I said that?" Cregan sputtered. "Why?"

"Targaryens…" she sighed. "But the principle stands, whether it is for the Crown or Winterfell, your uncle betrayed the Realm, and the North, and he betrayed our family, and we do not tolerate traitors."

"He is still kin."

"And yet, he betrayed you, and the North, he served his own Southron ambitions, aided in destruction which has impacted the North, and afflicted our people, he did not serve honorably as Regent or as your uncle."

"Killing him makes me a kinslayer?"

"As we've established, he is blood, but not kin, and which is the worse offense?" she asked softly. "Betraying your kin for your own ambition and greed or betraying your position for your own ambition and greed; either way he has committed a grievous offence and taught his sons that this behavior is fair in service of self. It is better he dies, Cregan, and if you banish his sons to the Wall, it gives them a chance to redeem themselves but never take control of the North again."

"And for me?"

"It is better to work in service of the North despite personal afflictions and agonies. Also, I personally believe in cutting off problems before they can begin," she informed him indelicately. She had plans for getting the North independent after the Long Night and War, even with the Targaryen Queen, she would not let her people suffer under the rule of another Southron monarch, now though, things were different, and she would have to be wary.

Vaemond was smiling as he watched his sons as they celebrated Daeron's union with Hazel Harte. It had taken much on Vaemond's part to secure this match, given Princess Rhaenyra's exploits were well known, and the fact his brother just let the Princess do whatever she should please.

Princess Rhaenyra's whoring had led to Vaemond's distaste of her; though he could not fault her given he was aware of his nephew's proclivities and preferences; it was a doomed match. One which was made a mockery of because of Corlys' blind ambition, and Viserys' foolishness. If they had been intelligent and not blinded by their own views, they would have just permitted the match to Prince Daemon all those years ago, and it would have never come to this. But alas, this was where they were, and Princess Rhaenyra was destroying his House!

And Corlys was permitting it!

Rhaenyra's bastards being presented as true born sons of House Velaryon had created business problems, as many people doing business with House Velaryon did not like the open deception, it was a bad mark on their character and House. Then there was the fact Corlys stupidly persisted that Rhaenyra's sons were his grandchildren but neglected to groom them in the ways of their House because Rhaenyra had run off to seclusion after her scandalous marriage to Prince Daemon at Corlys' daughter's funeral no less, it was an insult.

Which brought him to the second problem, Prince Daemon had married Lady Laena, eloping no less from Princess Rhaenyra's own wedding which had been done in much haste after Ser Cole had beaten Ser Joffrey Lonmouth to death without consequences. But the fact Prince Daemon had stolen Lady Laena without consequences as they both raced off from the scandalous union, it could not be taken as anything less than an insult. Especially given the rumors that Prince Daemon intended to steal Princess Rhaenyra before everything that happened with Ser Lonmouth. Then, upon Laena's second pregnancy, she dies by her own dragon's fires, which had killed her and the babe within her, the funeral was where Prince Daemon eloped with Princess Rhaenyra! How could House Velaryon be strong when such an insult passed without so much as an open sentiment of punishment or disapproval. Prince Daemon had just lost his second wife, and married at her funeral, without Lord Corlys calling out such a grievous insult!

Then there were Prince Daemon's daughters, Princesses Baela and Rhaena, and they were raised in House Velaryon, but any suitable matches that could be made were not being made because Corlys was campaigning a match for them with Rhaenyra's bastards.

But it was not Corlys or his immediate family which suffered the consequences of these actions, no, it was Vaemond and his brothers, and his sons, and his family, which were left to bear the brunt of these consequences. Houses who did not wish to make matches with their crumbling House, or work in trades that had been prosperous in the past, or have an alliance with the House Velaryon, it was ruining them. Vaemond had paid a hefty price for his son's wife, and received a measely dowery in turn given House Harte was one of the lesser Noble Houses of the Stormlands, they weren't even in the Court of the King for the most part. It was an insult, though the match was good. It was a grave insult though. And Vaemond's second son's prospects were more dismal than his eldest son.

Still, he smiled as he watched his son dance with his wife, Daeron looked happy to be dancing with Hazel Harte. They were a beautiful pair to watch, and a fair match.

Sighing, Vaemond leaned back watching the festivities. Corlys was an insult who had not even bothered to attend the wedding, which was another insult their dwindling allies had noticed. Vaemond would have to take the matter to Court soon if it did not relent, they were destroying everything Vaemond had spent his life working for, and his fool of a brother could not see that.

Corlys was so consumed with bitter ambitions since Rhaenys lost the throne that he did not care about how he reclaimed it when it was never his to claim! Vaemond was losing trades, standing, and influence, and their house was being made a mockery all the while. Vaemond should have been able to form a match with a Lannister or Baratheon for his child, not a mere lesser Noble House in a different land which offered a small dowery in turn for a steep bride's price.

"You should smile, father, it is a joyous day, Daeron is happy," Daemion said as he sat beside him.

"Your mother would be happy," Vaemond smiled as he remembered his wife at his wedding.

"Mother would be fawning over Hazel, it is a good match," Daemion smiled.

"It was the best match we could make; I do hope they will be happy," Vaemond sighed.

3rd Lunar Cycle of 126 AC

Not even three days after they had spoken had Cregan seemingly come to a decision, and it was public. It would also be Sansa's first appearance before Cregan's North, and she shivered in fear of that implication. If this went well, no one would contest Cregan's lie, if this went poorly then she would be losing her head to and Cregan would lose his standing. The bitter winds had her shivering as Sara held her hand though when they walked out. Part of Sansa wanted to flee, the moment she walked out on the executioner's platform, she wanted to flee. Everything in her was screaming to run, memories were running through her mind, and the grounding presence of another hand in hers, small and delicate was the only force not having her run off. She was a Stark, she would do this.

She had sent Ramsey to death, she had witnessed death in its many forms, she would not flee, she was a Stark.

She would be the embodiment of Eddard Stark's legacy, and she would be a Stark.

Which was why she took a deep steadying breath. Rody appeared beside her with Domeron and Bryan behind her and Sara. She felt Sara squeeze her hand as they stood there in the cold. Across from Sansa were four men, and all four had dark, near black curls, with their long solemn faces, she could know them to be Starks. There was no doubts in her mind that they were Starks.

Cregan walked out, Ice on his back.

It was a startling difference between Cregan and her father then that struck Sansa, she did not think her father had ever carried or held Ice beyond executions, but Cregan walked out with Ice in hand and prepared for his duty.

The older Stark was brought forward as Cregan drew Ice, the Valyrian steal ringing almost musically as it was drawn and Cregan rested it before him.

"Uncle…" he greeted the other man grimly.

"Pup," Bennard growled. "So, you've settled upon becoming a kinslayer now," Bennard smiled triumphantly.

"Kin is not blood alone, uncle, as you know, and I do not sentence you to death for your betrayals to kin and family, but rather your betrayals to oaths, the North, and the Realm. For kidnapping my sisters, for holding Sansa Stark hostage, for betraying the laws of regency and breaking the oath we swore as a House to the Crown to protect the realm, and put aside our personal ambitions," Cregan stated.

"For your actions against the House Stark, I, Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, sentence you to death. For your actions against the North, I, Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, sentence you to death. For your actions against the Realm and Crown, in the name of King Viserys of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to death, Bennard Stark," Cregan finished.

"You… you cannot do this!"

"For your sons actions against the House Stark, I, Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell sentence them to the Night's Watch, where they will take no wives, hold no lands, father no children, wear no crowns and claim no glory. They will serve the Night's Watch until their deaths. I sentence Benjen Stark, Brandon Stark, and Elric Stark to a life at the Wall, may the Gods grant them mercy," Cregan stated.

"You are a kinslayer!"

"It is better for the Realm that traitors die. There are worse ways to die. You rose up in rebellion against your lawful Lord, the Crown, and the Realm will be a better place without you. The North Remembers. And as traitors to the Realm, I, Cregan Stark, of House Stark, Lord Of Winterfell, Warden of the North will impose these sentences," Cregan informed them grimly.

Bennard was pulled up to the executioner's block, and Sansa squeezed Sara's hand tightly as they both watched with grim determination. They were Starks though, and could not look away as they watched Cregan move.

Bennard stared at Cregan with hatred in his eyes. And Cregan moved swiftly, cleaving the head off in one sure motion, the weight of Ice pierced the execution platform now. Bennard's head rolled with a dull thud as his widow wept, and his sons stared in genuine fear as Cregan turned to them.

"At the first thaw, you will be sent to the Wall, and if you should desert, I will be passing your sentences out, and carrying them out myself," Cregan warned seriously.

Sansa squeezed Sara's hand reassuringly as they were guided off the platform. Sansa hugged Sara then.

"Why…"

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the blade, it is a matter of honor," Sansa murmured as she remembered Robb once lamenting about that lesson. "It is important to the North if the Starks are to remain the North's leaders, we be true to the Old Ways, and honor the new ways, as well as maintain our honor and integrity, we are the example they follow, and it is important we maintain this."

"But… they were Starks…" Sara whispered desperately.

"They were, and they betrayed us, they betrayed our House and our ways, and they forsook the ways of House Stark," she replied. "A betrayal of the kin and Realm is the deepest betrayal even the Gods strike people down for those betrayals."

Sara nodded and they turned to see Cregan then, Cregan walked over, as he hugged them both close to her. It was startling as she hugged him back, she felt safe and like she belonged for the first time since she'd returned to Winterfell.

The pack was safe.

Rhaenyra roused in her bed, grimacing as she moved in her bed, feeling Daemon beside her, there were sounds of children laughing in the distance, and she grimaced a bit. Daemon's seed from their night was dried on her thighs, making her feel a bit sticky but satisfied as she shifted in her bed. Her husband's hand was cupping her breast now and she smiled as she felt his thumb swipe over her nipple against the cold air of Dragonstone.

"It is time to get up, my love…" she murmured.

"Mmm, I'm comfortable here," Daemon muttered tiredly.

She giggled a bit as he rolled over her, and they were nose to nose as he stared at her. There were childish shouts, and a scream, which had Daemon rolling his eyes as he rolled off her again.

"Are you certain you want another one?" he asked. She got up to grab a shift because the children were no doubt coming this way.

"Don't tell me you tire of this, love," she chuckled.

"I don't… but having an army of children will not have your father forgiving us sooner," Daemon muttered.

"He will come around," she promised as she came over to him. She knew it bothered Daemon a great deal they were not on speaking terms with Viserys; not that Rhaenyra was bothered by it as much. What bothered Rhaenyra was that Otto Hightower was back as the Hand of the King since the death of Lyonel and Harwin Strong. It bothered Rhaenyra that that poisonous monster was in the Small Council and in King's Landing…

"He did not even send congratulations for the birth of Viserys, whom we named for him!" Daemon protested.

"No, Ser Otto did not send congratulations, I am certain father sent the congratulations," she said softly. "Does it still bother you so?"

"What?"

"This… our life?" she asked softly.

"No," he rose as he walked over to her. She took a moment to enjoy the sights of her husband in all his glory this morning. "I do not regret this life, Rhaenyra, I merely wish we had had more of it. Though I would not trade our sons and daughters for that time," he responded.

She smiled as he kissed her softly. Their doors were pushed open as Daemon pulled on a robe, and their sons came rushing in crying. She caught Viserys before he tripped, the four year old was in tears, while Daemon caught Aegon.

It appeared that someone had gotten whacked a bit too hard with a training sword over a fight regarding the dragons. Aegon was not going to share Stormcloud, and Viserys' was upset he couldn't just ride a dragon because his egg hadn't hatched yet. She chuckled at the simplicity of her sons, but enjoyed it as Daemon went to clean up before he stole Viserys away to take him riding on Caraxes.

Rhaenyra spent her day watching her sons, news of the Courts and King's Landing was difficult to gather even with Daemon's devoted supporters. She walked quietly through the halls though when she was told there was a ship approaching. Which had her tensing. Her sons were playing on the beaches, and she wanted to know what this was about. She was surprised to see the Velaryon colors flying high as she gathered her skirts and walked to greet the arriving ship.

"Princess Rhaenyra," the sailor greeted, she did not recognize the man, even as he bowed to her.

"Yes," she replied stiffly.

"I was sent by Princess Rhaenys, your form good father has taken ill, House Velaryon is being recalled to Driftmark for his passing," the sailor said.

"What?"

"Yes," the man replied grimly.

"But I had sent a letter to Lord Corlys not four moons ago, he was going on voyages… he was in fine health," she started.

"Yes, but it appears he to have taken ill with a burning sea fever from his injuries, they encountered slavers across the Narrow Sea, and he was cut deeply. We found his body after it had been lost at sea for three days, even the fish had begun feasting upon his flesh, he is at Driftmark now though, and his fate is unclear at this time. Princess Rhaenys requests his family come to his side at this time, and he is so fond of Princess Baela, Princess Rhaena, Prince Jacaerys, Prince Lucerys, and Prince Joffrey, it would be of service to bring them to him, perhaps aid in giving him strength to recover," the sailor explained.

"Of course, of course, we have been meaning to visit, I will speak to Daemon, we will be there swiftly, if you should need provisions speak with the dock master," she said as she walked back for Dragonstone. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she walked into the Keep and was greeted by Daemon who was working with Baela on her sword foot work as Jacaerys and Lucerys watched with wicked grins on their face.

"And you… lunge, not like that, I can knock you down," Daemon said as he did just that. "You must keep your center Baela," he said.

"Daemon…" Rhaenyra called her husband then, and he looked at her then.

"Go practice with Jace," he said as he ruffled his daughter's hair and walked over to her. "What is it?"

"Lord Corlys has taken ill, he is at Driftmark, but Princess Rhaenys is requesting his family attend to him, it is not looking good," she murmured.

"I thought…"

"Baela and Rhaena were asked for specifically with my sons," she pressed.

Now Dameon looked solemn and serious. They would need to mend the bond with House Velaryon, and this was the time to do it, but Rhaenyra did not know what more they could do beyond visiting.

"We will summon the finest healers and most knowledgeable maesters, we will help Rhaenys with what ever needs to be done," Daemon decided and she nodded as he kissed her softly. This was the chance they needed to steal their way back into Court, she thought.

5th Lunar Cycle of 126 AC

Planting season was a bitch, the soils were frozen, stagnant, and dry. It was concerning, the top soils were rather weak, Cregan was not certain this would be a fruitful planting season, Sansa had been helping him with the farmers and travelling to the farms. It was clear though they were not going to have an easy year this year.

The end of planting season though was when his wedding was to happen, and Cregan panicked; not because he was marrying Arra, but because he'd forgotten to commission the fucking bride's cloak! He'd been so fucking busy that the one task he had to do, the ONE task Arra had given him, was forgotten! He was dead, he would prepare to meet the Gods now, she was going to kill him. Rody, Domeron and Bryan had all informed him they'd make sure his crypt was a nice one, which didn't help. There was no way Cregan would be able to commission a bride's cloak with a fortnight to the wedding, Arra was arriving any day now, and he could not just go out and get a cloak without it being a bride's cloak; in other words, Cregan was fucked.

Sansa had laughed and promised to have the cloak ready in time.

He wanted to argue that it was impossible to have a bride's cloak ready in a fortnight, but Sansa had ignored him, and he couldn't figure out where she was sequestering herself with her plots.

Today though, today Arra was arriving, and Cregan's heart was in his throat as he stood on the walls of Winterfell with Sara watching for the Norrey banners.

"Why do you have to get married?" Sara asked him.

"Because I'm Lord of Winterfell," he replied as he looked down at her.

"But then you'll stop being my brother," Sara reasoned.

"That's never happening," he smiled ruefully. "We're just adding Arra into the family, like we added Sansa."

"But then you won't spend as much time with me," she muttered.

"True, but… Arra and I will have children and you'll have playmates," he pointed out. "It's not all bad, Sara."

"Will Sansa get married?"

"In time," he shrugged. "It's the way of life. Marriage, family, death," he pointed out.

"I don't want to get married, it seems boring," she stated.

He laughed a bit as he ruffled her hair, there was a horn blown and he snapped up to look out over the fields and saw Arra's banners. He picked Sara up to get her down to the main courtyard where they would greet Arra and her family. She protested a bit, Sansa appeared as they lined up with Cregan's other banners and men here. The people were whispering excitedly; and Cregan's heart was in his throat. Lord Lucan Norrey rode through the gates of Winterfell first, and Cregan swallowed the knot in his throat as his stomach did an anxious flip. Cregan had written a letter to Lord Norrey that he had found his sister Sansa Stark, but now it was time to test the deception. Cregan knew Domeron, Bryan and Rody knowing Sansa's origins was inevitable, and he would speak to Arra about it, but he did not think he could tell everyone. Secrets only worked when no one knew them, and conspiracies only worked when minimal forces were aware of the truth.

Arra rode in behind her father, she smiled at him with her green eyes alight with mischief. He smiled seeing her, her long blonde hair was done loose with a few braids in place. Following Arra was her sisters Elissa and Orrina who both smiled at him too. He greeted Lucan nervously and then walked to help Arra down, catching her as she leapt from her horse as she hugged him tightly.

"I missed you!" she chuckled as he swung her around and set her down. "You still look like a rat," she laughed.

"I am to be your husband!"

"A very handsome wolf," she offered.

"I can agree with that," he sighed. "Arra, my sisters would like to greet you," he murmured. "Arra, this is Sansa, and you know Sara."

Arra turned, looking at them as she walked over.

"We extend warm greetings to you, and your family, Lady Arra, we are honored to have you join our House," Sansa gave a low and proper curtsey before she rose up.

Arra looked Sansa over then glanced at Cregan. "Well, good to know someone in the Stark family has manners!"

"You shot me with an arrow, what was I supposed to say!" Cregan demanded as they walked into the Keep.

"Hello Lady Arra, it is good to meet you," Arra responded.

"You shot me with an arrow!" he repeated in exasperation as Sara was giggling.

"So Sansa, Cregan has told me you were fostered at House Royce, what was the Vale like?" Arra asked as she looped arms with Sansa and started walking off. Cregan shook his head as he looked at Lord Norrey then.

"She does look like a pretty Stark, clearly the Gods favored her when they created her," Lucan chuckled.

Cregan sighed and shook his head. "I'm just pleased she's home," he sighed.

"Funny thing, Rickon's daughter being hidden in the Vale, if he wasn't such a grumpy bastard I'd almost not believe it, but after Jonos, I could understand hiding his daughter," Lucan sighed. Cregan nodded, he knew in time he could convince people Jonos was Sansa as a babe, and sent off for her protection, given the death of his mother during the birth, but for now, he would let people remember he'd had a sibling before he'd work on correcting the memories.

"She looks very like a Redbeard, kissed by fire that one," Lucan said. "Your grandmother, your mother's mother, was a Redbeard, was she not?"

"She was, Sansa got the red hair from her," Cregan agreed swiftly.

"Mmm, I'm glad she's home and safe, Bennard attempted to use her as a hostage?"

"Yes, in a shame marriage with a Bolton Snow," Cregan answered.

"Shame on him, I'm glad you retrieved her," Lucan nodded.

Cregan agreed, now he needed to survive his wedding.

7th Lunar Cycle of 126 AC

Cregan's wedding was a quiet affair, though he had just about kissed her for sewing a beautiful bride's cloak for Arra, which Arra had loved on sight. Their wedding was a simple matter, and less than a fortnight after the Norrey's had arrived they left, wishing Arra and Cregan Stark a fruitful union.

Sansa had just about laughed herself silly at Sara's disgust at Arra and Cregan's affections for one another; neither Arra nor Cregan were good at keeping their hands to themselves, thankfully Sansa had never walked in on their escapades, though they could be heard through the halls of Winterfell. They were very enthusiastic about their union.

However, despite their union, Cregan had never faltered in carrying out his duties, and Arra assumed the role as his wife and partner with ease.

They also spent a whole night telling Arra everything shortly after the wedding, at which point Arra was the one to work the rumors around Sansa to fit the idea that Sansa was the babe born instead of Jonos, and the maesters were horrid with their records in the North. Arra had many questions for Sansa, but Arra was gifted with greensight, and had been dreaming of a bloody, red wolf with blue eyes coming, and then Sansa had come. Bloody, with red hair and blue eyes, and Arra had decided it was a gift from the Gods to answer Cregan's prayers for another Stark. So Arra just pulled Sansa further into their family, leaving Sansa entangled with these new Starks who loved her.

The growing months were harsh and hard, and Sansa had found herself riding out with Arra or Cregan to help attend to the farms; she hadn't know anything about farming but she had learnt. And she found she preferred riding draft horses to the destriers or jennets Starks were known to breed, the draft horses were just gentle giants, and tempered. Sara and Arra both rode like they were born on horses, and left Sansa feeling graceless and hapless on a horse, though she could keep up with the pair of them.

It was when the harvest was coming though that life became grim and bleak. The harvest was not good, and the prospects were not in favor of a healthy winter.

And that was where Sansa found herself, standing on the walls of Winterfell with Cregan who was worrying about the shortages to come. Lady Arra was sick and Sara was at her studies. Sansa found that though the times were different, the view out had not really changed, the stark lands, the forest lines, she recognized these well, she even fancied recognizing a few of the taller, more resolute trees.

"Maesters Garrett and Marq predict this to be a light winter, fucking Reach and it's endless summer though, I don't hold the same prospects for this winter," Cregan sighed in distaste. The replacement maesters to the North were all Reach born and bred, none accustomed to the harsh life of the North, and Sansa understood Cregan's distaste and sentiments for the maesters who had come. Sansa did not like the maesters in general any more, and did not want them here, she did however understand it was not her place to advocate for the North to break away from the Seven Kingdoms; Targaryens in this era ruled and they had dragons.

"With the blight and ruined stores and this pitiful harvest, it is not good," Cregan sighed. "Even in a light winter, the coming spring, the lands are not recovered from the blight, and I do worry our people will starve."

Sansa stared out at the horizon as she worried her lip between her teeth.

"This is the start of one of the greatest famines in Northern records, it will ruin our House and we will feel the affects of this two hundred years from now," she murmured. "We should seek aid, perhaps by not being so isolated we can save our people?"

"Aid? From where, Sansa?" Cregan asked. "I cannot just produce farmland and crops, and the North is not forgiving. All the other houses are also rationing, the blight affected their crops greatly."

"How long do we have?" she asked carefully.

"A year, maybe two if rations are not tampered with," he muttered tiredly.

"Perhaps… perhaps we change the fields, churn a top crop to restore the earth?" she murmured looking at him. In her winter it was not an option, given that the Long Winter was going to be too cold for anything to grow, outside of the glass houses, but glass houses were not sustainable for thousands of people at a time. Merely sustaining a keep of necessary crops, but not enough to feel the people.

"What?"

"My father, in our time, he grew winter grains on fields, they would be churned when the spring came to plow, and help the soils recover. My grandfather started this," she admitted. "It kept the blights away, and… hardier crops."

"That is great for the future, so we survive, but it does not solve the rations now," Cregan pointed out.

"No, but… perhaps we can gain aid from the Crown?" she proposed uncertainly.

It was not a plan she relished; Sansa knew that the south though possessed the riches the North did not. But the military might of the North was something which appealed to many Southron Lords. Though Sansa did not agree with her grandfather's Southron ambitions, she did understand them. Her grandfather though was an ambitious man, and his ambition was his undoing, perhaps though, with the lack of Southron ambitions on Cregan's part, then they could return North with aid. Expelling the Southron connections would be easy in a few years, but it would be of use to recover the North. Sansa knew the Dance of the Dragons was coming, and that would lead to a reconstruction and ruination of Westeros, leading to its downfall. She knew this was a pinnacle point in Westerosi history, but in Northern History, it cemented Cregan's reign in the North.

Cregan Stark was the reason the South respected the North; he was the reason House Stark was as strong as it had been until its own downfall.

Though Sansa had been planning on restoring it if they survived the Long Night. Breaking off from the Realm would've been foolish, but if they survived, she had no doubts Daenerys Targaryen would be mad. There was something about that Targaryen, the small smirks at the small folks' fears of her dragons, the way she held everyone in disdain but smiled prettily for Jon and her council, the way she watched everything hungrily. Sansa had no desire to subject the North to the reign of another mad Targaryen; they had burned her grandfather and uncle alive, raped and killed her aunt, and set fire to the realm. It was not to say that Lannisters, Baratheons, or Hightowers or anyone in the South would be good for the North, but at this time, dragons…

Dragons were the only reasons Sansa did not even dare to whisper to Cregan they should break free. But still… from what she remembered of her lessons this was time of peace; tension, but peace, year 130 AC was when the Dance of the Dragons begins. So, she had time to help protect the North and help it recovered before the Dance of the Dragons… well, ruined the realm, and Cregan had to go shut down rebellion.

"The Crown?" Cregan snorted with a wry smirk on his lips. "King Viserys is a fool, and his welps hold no promise," he stated grimly.

"It is the duty of the Crown to serve their people," Sansa stated turning to look at him.

"And what makes you think that?" he asked.

"Because we were Kings of Winter," she stated. "Thousands of years our house has stood for our people, and we only bent the knee to spare our people; even still, though the South does not remember us, the North remembers, and we are a part of the Seven Kingdoms. It is time we remind them we are here, and we are a part of their kingdom, seeking aid for our people by commanding the crown to fulfill their duty does not seem foolish," she folded her arms.

"You think you can command a King, a fool at that, to aid when all he desires is tourneys, feasts, and festivities?" Cregan stated.

"Yes," she nodded. She'd grown up observing the game, the manipulations; she'd learnt from the best, Cersei Lannister, Petyr Baelish, Margaery Tyrell, her grandmother, Olenna, Tyrion Lannister. Sansa might not have played the game actively, but she had learnt from the best, she had been preparing the exit strategy of the North if they were to survive, and she had learnt from the best, and she was willing to continue her education if it aided the North.

"You…?" he raised his brow skeptically.

"I am a Stark, brother, and it is my duty to protect and aid the North," she stated crisply, hiding the tremor in her hands at the idea of going South.

"You're serious," he muttered.

"There is no harm in us commanding a King to do his King's duty," she sighed. "And if that does not work, I can seek aid from the Tyrells, Lannisters, or any number of Great Houses who would relish the idea of connecting with the power of the North. We command the largest military force, there are mining projects we can research, and trades to be examined. It would not be wise for them to turn us away in our hour of need."

"I am not offering up your hand," he warned seriously. Relief had her knees trembling as she caught the wall. "But I'm seeing the value of us seeking aid, Arra's pregnant, and her health… if there is a famine, and I worry for my wife, and child, many others must be in a similar situation," he muttered humorlessly.

"Arra is pregnant!?" Sansa felt the smile of joy blooming on her lips at this information. "That was fast!"

"Shush you!" he swatted at her as she giggled in genuine delight. The kinship she felt to Cregan was rather reminisce of her relationship with Robb. Playful, safe, and secure. The six moons since he had welcomed her into his home, she had found a familiarity and kinship with none of that uncertainty she had been struggling with regarding Jon.

"How far along?" Sansa asked excitedly. Cregan and Arra had been married for about four moons now.

"Two moons, we think. We just found out," he informed her with a sly smile. Before that smile dropped. "But the midwives brought concerns for Arra's health, the morning sickness is all day, and she can hardly keep food or water down… Similar to my mother."

Sansa hesitated before she touched his arm.

"Do not tell me," he stated firmly.

"I won't," she promised. "But… back to our predicament regarding food and crops."

"South, I might not like it, but for our people, the South might be of service to us for a change," he sighed. "After we have resolved this though, we will speak more on the Night King. If he is coming there will be need to fortify the Wall, and the Night Watch's training."

"We have time," she said softly. "There will be the more pressing issues, King Viserys, but we should serve the North before dwelling upon the realm."

"We will go south," Cregan decided.

"No, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell," she rasped.

"I'm not letting you go alone, Sansa. We did not grow up together, but you are kin, and under my protection, and now my sister!"

"There must aways be a Stark in Winterfell!" she strangled out. "No, Cregan, no… you will remain here."

"No," he stood. "I am Lord of Winterfell, and I will not send you alone, to get what we need I am aware you will have to go. I might not fully understand everything about you yet, sister, but we are kin, we are wolves, we go together," Cregan reiterated.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," she repeated.

"Sara will be here, and Arra, they are Starks, but I will not send you to the dragon pits alone. Besides, if I'm not there, who's to back our tales, sister?" he mused.

"Nothing good comes from a Stark going South," she muttered.

"Oh, lighten up, sister, it'll be an adventure," he smiled sharply. "We will protect each other."

"We should call bannermen, aid for when we have the crops we need," she muttered. "Numbers will remind them of the North."

"I'll call our lords and banners, we will inform them of this, and we will work the problem," he said firmly.

"You're not coming south," she repeated. He snorted and chuckled.

"So, tell me, little sister, how are you to command a dragon?"