authorsnote: I have to say the response to this fic has been awesomeee! please keep your comments coming in - I particularly love people speculating on planned twists/reveals, I love it!

do enjoy this chapter, a fair amount of introspection, necessary my friends, necessary.

follow/fav to get updates and most importantly enjoy!

songrecs: mary magdalene - FKA twigs

"So, what comes next?"

An easy question, to ask, a difficult question to answer. What did come next?

He had prayed to the Weirwood, after hours sat at this table, looking over figures that didn't add up, troop numbers that only spoke of despair and supply lines that could supply so little. He had asked for a sign, for help, for anything, and here they were, this was what they had been given, but now they had to find a way to use it.

Because yes, he was elated to have the Stark's back (though mainly Robb, Rickon and his Father, perhaps 'elated' was too strong a word for Lady Catelyn, though it made him happy to see Sansa reunited with her Mother), but he truthfully didn't see how that helped their cause. His Father was a strong battle commander yes, and Robb too, but he didn't need commanders, he didn't need more tacticians, honestly he wasn't entirely sure what he needed, more men? More food? More time?

Aye, that was the crux of it, he needed more time.

But there was no time, not for any of it, and so with a sigh he knew he needed to use what the Old Gods had given them, for there had to be a reason for divine intervention for the usually aloof Gods to step in, he just needed to figure out how he could use it.

More figuring stuff out, more trying to add up things that didn't add up, god his head hurt just thinking about it and he reached again for his drink. He didn't drink much, but with four dead family members sat in front of him he felt today could be an exception, especially with the splitting pain in his head.

More to figure out, more to do … always more to do.

He found himself thankful, thankful for his family returned (even though he wasn't sure what the Old Gods were trying to tell him), thankful for what little time they had left, and thankful for Sansa.

Seeing her come out for him, clearly on the side he should remain King … it had warmed him. Usually he felt so cold (inside, the cold weather hadn't bothered him since he'd marched to the Wall and even less since he'd returned), but her words of confidence, the decisive way she had declared he was the King, it had made him bask in that warmth.

Because even facing down such impossible odds, facing such an uphill battle and a fight, he had to recognise one fact.

He did want to be King.

Once he had never thought himself ambitious, but then as he looked back on his childhood he realised in some ways he had been.

'For Winterfell' Robb would scream as they ran at each other with wooden swords.

'For Winterfell' He would roar back until Lady Catelyn yelled or Robb carelessly told him he was never to be Lord of Winterfell.

He had wanted to be. He remembered that, as a boy, the burning desire to be a Lord, to not be a bastard. He had surged with pride when named Lord Commander and being named King had been the honour of his life. He had never truly craved power, not in the way Littlefinger or Cersei Lannister did, but he liked leading, he liked being in charge, and he knew he was good at it.

'We all enjoy what we're good at' He remembered Val had said that once before kicking him in the shins. Val, another casualty. 'We all enjoy what we're good at'

He did, well at least one of the two things he had a talent for. He liked leading, being at the front as he led his men into battle, protected them, kept their faith. The bloodshed? Arguably his best talent, his skill with a sword? That wasn't such a source of pride.

A killer, how could he have pride in being that? He had killed many, he didn't find it difficult anymore, not mentally or physically, it was as simple as taking a pen to paper or walking through the courtyard. Easy, simple, a bad sign, no pride.

But in being King he could and did have pride. It was hard, and he could do without the politics, but he even had a talent for that (not quite on Sansa's level of course, but then she'd been tutored by some of the biggest political minds in Westeros. He could do it, he commanded the respect of his men and he wanted it, now perhaps more than ever, to ensure he protected his men with what was to come.

It felt slightly wrong now Robb and his Father were back, like perhaps he'd taken something away from them, robbed them (he knew Lady Catelyn would certainly feel that way), but Sansa had made her thoughts known on that with the furious glare she'd sent his way when he'd almost given up his chair at the table.

He had earned this; the Lords of the North had put their faith in him – what kind of man would he be if he didn't honour their trust? He may have sacrificed his own personal honour for victory in the past, but he still had his honour as a Stark, and his dedication to his duty.

'Love is the death of duty'

'Duty is the death of love'

He would do his duty.

"I think we rest" Eddard Stark spoke then, and Jon realised just how tired they all looked. He knew he looked the same, exhausted from the work that was ahead, but they looked worse. Perhaps coming back from the dead was draining, though he didn't remember that himself.

…

Darkness, nothing, emptiness.

And then a rush into his lungs, a gasp of air, a bright light, the howl of a wolf.

Alive, well, wounds healed, pain gone. Alive.

But not quite.

Something different, colder, something changed, emptier.

Alive ... but not whole.

…

"Of course, you must be tired" It was Sansa who spoke then and Jon nodded, shaking himself from his thoughts, thankful Sansa had slipped into her courtesies, that was an area he had never learned well, to her chagrin he knew, "Rickon your room is the same as before" Their little brother nodded, still too young to be involved in the main conversation and looking half asleep himself the direwolfs at his feet (though Ghost and Lady had trotted towards his desk, loyal).

"Mother, Father I currently occupy your room but the large guest room in the same corridor" Sansa said, and their Father and Lady Stark just nodded, Lady Stark still looked to be spoiling for a fight and he knew that would be an issue for the future but thankfully for the moment she had relented, she looked tired herself and perhaps sensed any fight now would be pointless.

"Robb, Jon is in your room, but the room next to him is free" Jon winced then, and he even saw a look flash over Robbs face but his brother just nodded and dropped it, no protest...not yet at least.

Still Jon knew, even though they had worked out the immediate issue of who would be King, there would be much working out of where everyone stood, everyone's place and a balance in the household. It would be delicate, and he glanced at Sansa who offered him a nod, she would help him navigate this.

He was better at politics than he had thought, but at the Wall it had been easier, simpler, less manoeuvring, less cunning, bluntness preferred, honesty the brand of politics more than scheming and lies (though he supposed in the end the opposite had proven true). Here it was a different game, one Sansa was adept at playing, and though he was good, better than most thought, he wasn't quite at her level.

"We'll walk you" Sansa said, and Jon nodded but she shook her head at him.

"Jon stay here, I'll come back" He nodded again, no doubt she had her reasons, and if there was one thing about Sansa it was that he trusted her implicitly, as he knew she trusted him in the same kind – they had proved themselves to one another again and again.

'We have to trust each other'

He saw the flicker of surprise then from both his Father and Lady Stark as he stayed put in his seat and just offered Sansa a nod of his head, but he chose to ignore that, he didn't need their opinions on his relationship with his sister right now. He did suppose it was odd for them, to see them so close when before they had barely treated one another like siblings, but right now he didn't need to hear it.

So much to do, so many figures, not enough time.

He smiled as Sansa brushed a hand over his shoulder as she made for the door, their family already waiting for her. He offered her a small smile and she one back to him.

"I'll be back" She offered, and he smiled again, another nod, though it was strained. He wished he could walk with her back to his room and crawl into bed, or perhaps curl up in a chair in front of the fire with Sansa in the one next to him (as they had done twice since returning to Winterfell just a fortnight or so earlier), but alas he knew he could not.

As the door swung shut, he let loose the sigh he felt he'd been holding for about an hour and closed his eyes, a nasty headache already working at his temples. So much to do, and though he appreciated the Old Gods were trying to help, what was their intention? He was happy to have his family back of course, but he couldn't see the tactical reasoning behind it.

He realised he sounded a little cold then, but this was who he was now, he had come back a little colder than before, he knew that, and he felt that perhaps family reunions, smiles, and laughter would be reserved for when … if, they won this battle.

He was focused, too focused perhaps but he had to be. Who else would be? He had been fighting this war since he was a boy.

The War of the Dawn would not wait, would not pause for him to catch up with Robb or finally talk to his Father about his parentage now he had a chance. It wouldn't stop for Sansa to manoeuvre against Cersei or for Lady Catelyn to try and depose him. It would not stop for them to bring in the harvest that was too far out, it wouldn't pause for him to recruit the soldiers he needed.

It would not stop; they would not stop.

And so, neither could he.

And thus, with a small sigh he tipped his eyes back down to look over the figures. Tomorrow he'd go to the Weirwood tree, pray, perhaps try, and ascertain what the Gods were seeing when they had sent down the Stark family, but for now? For now, he had impossible figures, a lack of men and supplies and a war to contend with.

The walk had been nice, quiet, a hint awkward and then handing her family off to rooms had been uncomfortable.

She was in the role her Mother had once been, and a hint of her Fathers too. She was now the Lady of Winterfell, strutting around the castle in charge. She was the one who heard petitions, who talked with soldiers and nurses, who tried to organise grain storage and the building of glass gardens (a very busy 2 weeks, but then she had also held that role on the march to Winterfell). She had modelled a lot of her habits and ruling on her Mother and Fathers, hoping to emulate them now they were gone.

But now they were back, and guiding her Mother to a guest bedroom with a smile, and promising Robb, her older brother she'd have food sent up, and giving her Father a nod as he requested they meet again in the morning … it all felt horrifically awkward.

Still, feeling uncomfortable did not change her behaviour, and instead she offered her family smiles, even a quick hug before she was encouraging them to sleep. She ruffled Rickons hair, accepted a kiss from her Mother, hugged her Father and smiled at Robb before their doors were shutting and she was striding back to the solar.

Jon's solar.

She was pleased she had clearly stated Jon's place but she had seen the look he had given her and she knew he was right. Figuring out everyone's place, everyone's role, the delicate balance here at Winterfell … it would be difficult, and that was even before they'd reveal to the North that the Starks had returned (and ugh, just thinking about that gave her a headache). It would be hard, but she knew Jon would need her.

And Jon always needed her, that was what had made her put her faith in him so. He didn't dismiss her, didn't roll his eyes and discount her opinion. He listened, he considered her, he relied on her. Littlefinger had thought when they had first heard the sentiment that Jon would be named King that she would be resentful and jealous, and though yes she had stung a little with envy, she couldn't truly be upset, how could she truly be when Jon treated her like a Queen at his side?

She felt heat sting her cheeks then and shook that thought away before giving a passing servant a smile.

"Lady Sansa" The servant dipped her head.

"Maria isn't it?" The servant grinned, delighted to be known by name by her Lady, and as she went to walk away Sansa stopped her.

"Could you please have food taken up to the three empty rooms on this corridor? We are anticipating guests, but could you just drop it outside and knock on the door?" Sansa was relieved and pleased when Maria just nodded with a smile, no questions, just happy to do her job.

She remembered her Father had taught her how important it was to respect the household staff and she had found his lesson in that useful again and again, she hoped he'd approve.

She knew he wouldn't approve of how she was manipulating Littlefinger, lying through her teeth to him and manoeuvring to ensure Jon's position went unchallenged but eh, she was no doting, quiet Lady anymore.

She hadn't been for a while.

She continued on then, back to Jon's solar, they had much to discuss. She knew he was focused on the War of the Dawn (as he should be), and so she knew she'd need to take the lead in figuring out how to re-integrate her Father, Mother, Robb and Rickon. She'd be happy to, to play her part, to take some of the stress she could from Jon and she smiled to herself as she re-entered Jon's solar and he lifted his head and gave her a smile before turning back to his books, the chair at his desk open and waiting for her.

She would always stand by Jon, ensure his reign and her place by his side continued. And so, as Jon focused on troop movements and stationing for the next hour or so before lunch, she began to think creatively … how could they lie to ensure the North accepted the Stark family back without compromising Jon?

That was her priority.

Protect the North, protect her family, protect Jon.

'I'll protect you I promise'

'And I'll protect you'

She knew he would, she would, they would.

The road forked in two directions.

To the South … the rolling green hills, the lapping of the water of the Trident, the warm sun on her skin that now felt cold after Bravos. The scheming lions, snakes and vipers, the flimsy castles, the politics, the lies.

Cersei.

But then, to the North … snow, the cold crisp air that cleared the lungs, the shadowy trees of the Wolfswood, trout and wolves, bears and crows. The loyalty, the honesty, the bloodshed.

Family.

'I heard that Jon Snow rammed his sword through twenty of Ramsey's men before he murdered the bastard himself'

'I heard that Sansa Stark marched by his side and laughed when Jon cut Ramsey down'

'I heard he swung his blade, the valyrian steel one? And half the army turned tail and ran'

'Red hair like a fox apparently, and she laughed Friar, she laughed!'

She had barely believed it when she overheard the two traders, talking of a victory in the North, of Jon Snow, Jon, fighting back the Boltons, Sansa proud by his side (that had made her mouth fall open and the tavern maid had made some quip about being stuck that way). Apparently, the Stark banner flew over Winterfell now, the running direwolf, proud once more.

South – Cersei, her list.

North – Jon, family.

Two directions, North and South, where did she belong now? No one didn't belong anywhere, they belonged in the shadows, in the background, hiding in the dark. Cat of the Canals belonged on the streets, on the steps begging for change, running fish and oysters. Ary belonged on the road, hiding from the other boys, laughing with Grendy.

Where did Arya Stark belong?

'Home' She had snarled at Jaquen Hagar and he had, had the audacity to laugh.

"Complete your list little one" He had dared her, "But then you come back" That wasn't a question, nor a request but a threat. She had near laughed, swung needle at his face and ran, but the look in his eye, the shadows on the walls, she had gulped down her fear and nodded instead.

The God of Death may give her a reprieve, to return home, to be Arya Stark a little longer but not forever, not for the rest of her days. No one was her future, Arya Stark was on a clock. The House of Black and White and the God of Death would have their dues.

But first, her list.

South – her list.

North – her family.

East – the House of Black and White waiting for her.

West – nothing at all.

'He swung his blade'

'Red like a fox'

'Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei. Dunsen, Poliver, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Gregor and the Tickler. And the Hound, the Hound, the Hound'

'No one'

'Come back'

List. Family. Death. Nothing.

With a deep breath she nudged her heels and patted the horse on the side, and then she felt the crisp breeze on the air, the rush of cold into her lungs and a small smile lit her face.

Home.

sooo thoughts?

ahhhh! 6 starks accounted for, where is our 7th?

did you enjoy? I know there was a lot of 'thought' rather than action in this chapter but there has to be build up! this chapter was also a little shorter but the next section is proving larger and I wanted to get this out. did you like? love? hate? tell me! (but pls be a little nice).

in terms of timelines btw, jon/sansa have been back in Winterfell for about two-three weeks since the battle.

also pls remember this is 70% books, 30% show and so there is some stuff bought from show but a lot of book events take priority or show/book events have been adapted. does that make sense? hopefully!

do pls review me your thoughts, fav/follow for updates!

speak soon