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Thousands of wights stood in the distance, silent sentinels just outside Winterfell, an ominous white crowd that made Sansa’s spine crawl with fear every time she came up here, to the battlements. Yet still she climbed the steps day after day to stand alongside Arya and Jon and watch the enemy.

It had been thirteen days since the White Walkers had appeared on their doorstep. For thirteen days the wights and their commanders had been standing outside, straining everyone’s nerves and creating an oppressive fear that was slowly suffocating everyone inside Winterfell’s walls.

Jon and his command were barely sleeping or eating. They were running around, giving orders, talking to watchmen, soldiers and knights, growing increasingly uneasy while they desperately tried to discern what the Night King’s next move would be. Sometimes the ice dragon would circle above, coming too close for comfort. People would scream and run but always the unhuman rider atop the dragon would turn away on lazy wings.

“What are they waiting for?” Tormund Giantsbane demanded for what seemed like the hundredth time during their daily war council meeting. The council had grown steadily over the last few weeks with the most notable addition being Ser Jaime Lannister, who had been almost burned to death on the day of his arrival. Sansa still remembered the look of utter anguish in Brienne’s eyes when Daenerys Targaryen had called upon her black dragon. Yet the unspeakable thing had not happened. Sansa wasn’t sure what exactly Jon, Tyrion and Varys had told Daenerys behind closed doors but when the queen had come out, she had refrained from killing Ser Jaime. Afterwards, Sansa had come upon a white and shaken Sam, who had been retching behind a barrel while Gilly tried to comfort him. Her eyes had went wide over Sam’s shoulder when Jon had appeared. He had put a hand on Sam’s shoulder but Sam had shaken him off almost violently. Sansa had not seen them interact since. Her heart went out to Jon every time she saw him watching Sam with sad eyes while the latter ignored him assiduously.

Daenerys Targaryen might not have burned Jaime Lannister but in every single one of their meetings she eyed him like a hungry predator and snapped at Tyrion as if it was his fault that he had been born a Lannister.

Tormund threaded his knuckles. “If we’re going to die, then let us die in a fight, not waiting around like pussies waiting for our heads to be chopped off!”

It was an old argument. For thirteen days Jon and the others had been trying to convince Daenerys of attacking the enemy first. They were on open land, unsheltered. Something prevented the Night King from attacking Winterfell but Bran said it was only a matter of time until the protective magic around Winterfell would weaken enough for an attack to be successful. After all, the Wall was no more.

If they allowed the Night King to attack first, Jon had tried to explain to the dragon queen numerous times, the ice dragon would kill thousands in an instant. Yet Daenerys refused every time.

“We wait for my Dothraki to arrive – and for Cersei’s forces.” Here she looked at Ser Jaime whose face gave nothing away.

Sansa shifted in her seat. They knew that these forces would never come but the dragon queen could not know or they “would be fucked” as Tormund had put it.

The beautiful queen looked hollow, her eyes had sunken deep into its sockets. Sansa would never forget the look of utter horror that had passed the queen’s face when she had seen the ice dragon for the first time. Jon had told her and Arya that the dragons were like children for her and however ludicrous that might sound – it made Sansa almost sympathetic to her refusal. If one of her family had been reanimated as a wight she would think twice about attacking them, too.

“I will not attack my own kin,” Daenerys was saying, as if echoing Sansa’s thoughts. “Not now that they have Viserion.”

“And whose fault is that?” Arya said scathingly. “The Wall would still be standing if you hadn’t given the Night King a dragon!”

Daenerys eyes were a blazing fire that would have frightened anyone, but Arya stood her ground.

“We certainly would have been in a better situation,” Tormund agreed readily.

“It was the wight hunt that led to this. I’m responsible,” Jon interjected, his eyes on Daenerys. Immediately, Sansa felt the familiar jealousy creep in. It was hard seeing the care in Jon’s eyes for the silver-haired queen. She gritted her teeth.

“A hunt you wouldn’t have needed to go on if she had agreed to help us in the first place! Her dragon is dead because of her own foolishness!”

Sansa could see Ser Jaime smile humourlessly, giving his brother Tyrion a pointed look which the latter ignored. “The little wolf is right,” Ser Jaime said. “Your queen has put us into a very bad position.”

Across the table Sansa caught Ser Davos’ look. Daenerys Targaryen looked murderous.

“It doesn’t help us to throw around accusations,” Sansa said quickly.

“Especially accusations against your rightful queen, who is here to rescue you all.” Jorah Mormont spoke firmly, his eyes fixed harshly on Jaime.

“Far be it from me to criticize your precious little Queen.”

Daenerys got up abruptly. She was tiny, but her presence filled the room nonetheless. “Your sisters,” she addressed Jon, “and your brother,” she turned to Tyrion who made a remarkable attempt trying not to flinch, “are very brave in opposing me. I can only hope you’ll make them see sense. I will not be so forgiving the next time I am insulted.”

She left, her steps determined. Jorah and her aide Missandei followed suit, but Tyrion stayed.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Arya turned to Sansa. “I’m sorry she included you in that.”

“Of course she includes the Lady Sansa,” Jaime interjected. “She seizes every opportunity to find fault with her. She has eyes. She can see that the people show Lady Sansa more devotion than her.”

“The people don’t know her. They need time.”

“She’s not a patient one, your dragon queen, Tyrion. She wants no rivals and Lady Sansa clearly is one, even if she is trying not to be. I would be careful, if I were you,” he addressed her directly.

Sansa looked at Jon. He was clearly displeased. “No harm will come to Sansa. Daenerys would never hurt my family.”

“Just as she would never hurt her Hand’s family?” said Jaime sharply.

“Sansa did not kill her father. Daenerys has no reason to see her as an enemy.”

“If you truly believe that, Jon Snow, then you are a greater fool than your father.”

Arya had her dagger out in less than a second. Before he could react, she had put it to Ser Jaime’s throat. He leaned back, stunned.

“Enough!” Tyrion got up. “We have other problems. No one needs to fear anything of Daenerys. Least of all Lady Sansa.” He nodded at her.

“I will talk to her,” Jon said. He had put a hand on Arya’s shoulder. Slowly she dragged the dagger across Ser Jaime’s skin. A thin line of blood appeared before Arya stepped back.  

“So will I,” Tyrion said, eyeing his brother. Ser Jaime looked at Arya as if he had never seen her before. “I’m sure she just needs some reassurance.”

That broke Ser Jaime’s spell. He rubbed his throat and gave a low laugh. “Two besotted fools – not as bad as Jorah Mormont, maybe, I’ll grant you that – but fools nonetheless.”

Brienne touched Sansa’s arm slightly as if the older woman had felt how much that comment had hurt.

“Fools or no – if we don’t attack these motherfucking dead people soon, we’ll all be off worse,” Tormund grumbled.

“Tormund’s right. We can’t forget the true enemy.”

“Tell that your fire queen,” Jaime said. He got up, nodding at Arya, and turned to Brienne with a brilliant smile on his face. Then he stood there like a statue waiting for Brienne to acknowledge him. Brienne looked stoically ahead – something she was remarkably good at. The smile glided off of Ser Jaime’s face. He left, shoulders set in a straight line, but his eyes told a different story.

Sansa fled the room soon after. She didn’t want to but every time Jon defended the dragon queen, she felt queasy in her stomach. He said that he doesn’t love her, she reminded herself.  Jon wouldn’t lie to her, but maybe he had lied to himself. Maybe he does love her. Maybe he hasn’t realized it himself yet. The thought made her want to cry but as soon as she stepped outside the chamber she was swarmed by people all vying for her attention. She welcomed the distraction readily, not wanting to dwell on the look Jon had given Daenerys, not wanting to think about him talking to the queen in her chambers. And maybe do more than talking, her mind whispered like the traitor it was. If they did, she had to accept it, smile and be happy for Jon. If only he was happy, she thought, she could do that.

The day was long and arduous. Like everyone else in Winterfell Sansa was continually fearing the sound of the horn that would signal an attack which left her nerves frayed. In addition, the morning’s meeting had left her with a dull ache behind her eyes. Brienne noticed it immediately. Not long after – they were talking to the people at the distribution point Sansa had set up in one of the larger halls – she put a little vial in her hand. “Podrick got it. The maester says this will help with the headache,” she told her. Sansa took it gladly, but she wondered sometimes what else her lady knight was noticing.

Her eyes fell to another redhead moving among the crowd. Wildings and northmen alike were mingling here, exchanging things, asking for blankets and clothing and other necessary items. The wildlings eyed Lady Alys Karstark with the same interest that Sansa elicited among them.

“The free folk think red hair is lucky,” Jon had told her with a rare impish smile when she had asked him about it, “it’s a sign of great beauty.” He had touched a strand of her hair. The simple gesture had made Sansa’s heart flutter and her stomach swoop.

“Do you like it?” She hadn’t known what had made her ask it and immediately after felt her face get warm but she couldn’t take the words back.

His hand had not left her hair. His touch had sent tingles along her spine. “Well, it’s lucky. We need all the luck we can get, right?” He had stopped, then added in a slightly lower tone. “I – ah – it’s beautiful.” From there it had seemed like such a small step to “You’re beautiful”. The words had hung heavily between them as he gazed at her but then Tormund had called him and he had left quite abruptly. Sansa had needed a moment to gather herself afterwards – and she had spent the whole night after chastising herself for her silly hopes when Jon clearly only saw her as a sister.

The only other northern woman with red hair in Winterfell was Lady Alys. While the wilding men shot Sansa more than one appreciative – and sometimes downright obtrusive – glance, her status as their host and Brienne’s dark looks deterred them from doing more. Lady Alys was less fortunate. Sansa watched while one of the wildling men grabbed her rear. Lady Alys froze. Her glance went to her guard, who was laughing with some men at the other side of the hall.

Sansa was at her side without having decided to do so. The wilding man looked delighted to see her. His hand squeezed Lady Alys’ butt. She made no sound. Sansa pinched his hand, hard.

“I remember Tormund Giantsbane telling me that no man of the free folk is allowed to touch a free woman without her consent? Do I have it wrong?”

The man’s smile fell. He looked from her to Brienne, who had laid a hand on her sword, baring her teeth.

“But – but – she’s not free folk,” he said stupidly, withdrawing his hand.

“M’lady, is everything alright?” Lady Alys’ guard had arrived, looking at the wilding man with contempt and distrust.

“Yes Fredric, everything is fine. My lady Sansa needs me. Do not fret so,” Alys said quickly and in an impervious tone. She turned to Sansa. “Shall we speak outside, my lady? It is so crowded in here. Fredric I need you with me.“

“But would it be alright if I stole her?” The wildling called after them idiotically. Sansa nearly stopped to slap him but instead she followed Brienne and Alys outside, glad that Fredric, the guard, followed suit. They stopped under one of the many stone arcs, out of earshot of Fredric.

“Lady Alys, I thank you for not alerting your guard. You would have been well in your rights to have this man arrested, but—"

“But having dissent between northmen and wildings would not be a good idea with war on our doorstep, I know my lady. I’m not stupid.” Lady Alys’ tone had turned cool. Sansa was not surprised. Ever since she had suggested to take away their lands and their castle, Alys avoided her as best as she could. Sansa wondered if she would ever be able to make amends. “If there is nothing else, please excuse me.” She didn’t wait for Sansa’s dismissal nor did Sansa expect her to.

Brienne watched her leave, Fredric following her officiously as if he knew that he had somehow messed up and should guard his lady better.

“She is not very civil,” Brienne remarked. “She should be. You are the lady of Winterfell.”

“I don’t blame her,” Sansa sighed. “I should have been more forgiving. Just the last of my many mistakes.”

Brienne gave her a weird look – understanding, softness and something else mingled in her eyes.

“I have to do something about the men groping the women,” Sansa said. “I’m thinking of talking to this wildling woman Tormund talked about last night – Frenya it was, I think, Frenya of the Frozen Shore –”

“Tomorrow,” Brienne interrupted her, her voice respectful but firm. “Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but you look very tired.”

So do you, Sansa almost said. Tired and sad. Instead, she said nothing and complied readily. She did feel worn out, not only physically. When they reached her chamber, however, one of the guards approached her to tell her that ‘the Lannister imp’ was waiting for her in her solar.

Sansa exchanged a look with Brienne. “I can ward him off for you,” Brienne offered.

Sansa shook her head. “He must have spoken to the dragon queen. It’s better to hear what has come of it as soon as possible.”

And hope that Daenerys Targaryen does not see me as a threat.

Lord Tyrion was sitting on the broad windowsill, his legs dangling of the edge, a cup of wine in his hand. For a moment Sansa was severely reminded of Cersei Lannister, although there could hardly be two people less similar than the Lannister queen and her dwarf brother.

Sansa sat down on the hard stone beside him. She didn’t want to tower over him. Tyrion eyed Brienne who positioned herself on Sansa’s other side, close enough to intervene.

“You seem to think me quite dangerous, my lady,” he said to her. “I feel honoured.” He waited for Brienne to say something but she remained silent. “She does know how to make one feel uncomfortable, too,” he muttered before taking a sip of his wine.

This earned him a glare from Brienne. “Start talking, my lord. Why are you here?”

Sansa shot her a warning look but Tyrion didn’t seem perturbed. He turned the cup in his hand, his mouth twitched. Sansa could smell the wine on his breath. She wondered how much he had had. Inexplicably, he seemed nervous.

“Lady Sansa, I come bearing good news,” he said. The irony in his tone puzzled her. “I have made Daenerys see sense. I made you safer. She is now quite willing to not regard you as her rival anymore.”

“She said that?”

“Well, no, she wouldn’t admit that you are her rival. But she came up with an ingenuous idea. An idea I didn’t put into her head. I swear.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. Brienne shifted slightly.

Tyrion sighed deeply. His eyes looked sad. At last he said: “She refuses to let us annul the marriage. Instead she wants us to consummate it.”

Brienne started visibly.

Sansa should have seen it coming. She should have known. Stupid, she called herself, stupid, stupid, stupid. Have I learnt nothing?

She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind, unfiltered. “I don’t want to be your wife.”

Tyrion drew back slightly, then smiled, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You have become very direct, Lady Sansa,” he said. “I do like that. In this case, however … it hurts me a little, too.”

“Who cares about your feelings?” Brienne spat. “How dare your queen demand this of Lady Sansa? How dare you agree to it?”

“Well, I was under the impression that this is what monarchs do: They arrange marriages amongst their nobles. Last time I checked, Daenerys Targaryen was your rightful queen, was she not?”

No, Sansa wanted to scream, but of course she couldn’t say it out loud.

“My lady, allow me to—”

“Brienne, please.” Sansa held up a hand. Her head was spinning but she made sure her voice was firm, when she turned to Tyrion. “I will have to marry one day, certainly. But it can’t be you.”

“Because I’m a dwarf.”

“Because you are a Lannister,” Sansa said sharply.

“That’s precisely why the queen wants us to stay married.”

“I know,” Sansa replied, frustrated.

“She thinks that our marriage will bind you to her.”

“And weaken my connection to the north.”

Tyrion inclined his head to acknowledge this. “I tried to talk her out of it, truly I did.”

 “What will she do if I don’t comply? Abandon us?”

“No,” he said quickly. “But I—,” he hesitated.. It was unusual for him to stumble over his words. “Its strategic,” he finally said. “With you actually being the wife of a Lannister your claim on Winterfell, indeed the whole North is weakened. She is thinking long-term. You can’t blame her for not trusting you, can you?”

“Do you want this?”

A sad smile twisted his mouth. “I don’t want to force anyone to marry me. Least of all you. Once is enough.”

“And yet still you are here, telling me that we have to be husband and wife.”

Tyrion stared at the cup in his hands. He couldn’t meet her eyes. A chill ran up Sansa’s spine. She truly feels threatened or Tyrion would not have accepted this.

The door banged open and a dark shadow came barging in. Sansa watched as Jon rounded on Tyrion, took him by the neck and flung him against the wall before she could show any reaction.

“How dare you!” he growled, punctuating each of his words with banging Tyrion’s head against the wall. The dwarf’s feet were dangling in the air. “If you think I will let anyone force her to marry, you are mistaken!”

“Jon!” Sansa found her voice and she put a hand on his arm, trying to make him stop.

Jon banged Tyrion’s head against the wall again. He groaned. “Stop,” he said weakly.

“Jon, let him go!”

Abruptly Jon loosened his fingers and Tyrion landed in a heap on the floor. He looked up, coughing.

“That was not very nice. I thought we were friends.” His weak attempt at a joke fell on deaf ears.

“I thought you told me that you had no intention of continuing this charade of a marriage!” Jon yelled at him.

“And I meant it.”

Jon turned to Sansa. His look softened. “I will not allow it,” he said. “I swear to the gods, Sansa, I will not allow it.”

For a moment it was as if they were in the godswood again, for a moment time ceased to exist and Sansa was drowning in Jon’s eyes or maybe he was drowning in hers, but then Tyrion coughed again and in a rush Sansa snapped out of whatever it had been.

She turned to Tyrion. “My lord, please excuse us.”

Brienne was looking at Jon, a little startled. She caught Sansa’s eyes and nodded. Eyeing Tyrion as if he was a bad smell under her nose, she helped him to his feet.

“Thank you, my lady, I can walk on my own. Let me preserve what little dignity I have.”

At the door, Tyrion turned. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t want this either. But we all have to make sacrifices to win this war. Daenerys left her campaign against the Iron Throne to be here.”

Because she wouldn’t have a kingdom to rule over anymore if she didn’t come here. The words hang unspoken in the air, then the door closed and Sansa levelled her gaze at Jon.

“Jon—” she began but he cut her off with a sharp gesture and a grim twitch of his mouth.

“Oh no, I know this look. You cannot truly mean to—” He didn’t finish his sentence. The anger was radiating of him like heat.

“Jon, you said it yourself. We need her. There is no telling what she will do if I refuse.”

“You don’t have to refuse. I already did.”

“You what?”

“I told her no. That I will not allow it.”

Sansa gaped at him, for the first time ever in his presence at a loss for words.

“That… surely must have gone well,” she muttered at last.

He held her gaze. “We quarrelled.”

“You quarrelled,” she repeated flatly.

“She has to see sense. You will not stay married to Tyrion. You will not be forced to share his bed. You will choose the man you want to marry on your own.”

“Jon it is very noble of you to say so—”

“Being noble has nothing to do with it,” he interrupted harshly. “This is not how we do things.”

“This is exactly how the nobility does things. I had hoped that as a woman she would be more understanding, but … Jon, you told me a hundred times that we are lost without Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. That she is our only chance. That our survival is more important than our pride. And now you go and endanger the alliance you and I fought so hard to keep up, for— for—” She couldn’t say it out loud. For me.

Jon looked away, swallowed visibly.

“You have to go back and apologize. She does not like being refused anything and—”

“That’s not happening Sansa.” His voice was resolute and so was the look he gave her. He was so stubborn that it made her want to scream and rush into his arms at the same time and kiss him as if the world was ending … which it would if they didn’t keep Daenerys’ favour, her head reminded her.

“You gave up the North for our survival,” Sansa said, trying to be logical. “My marriage is nothing compared to that.”

“It’s everything to me,” he said. Sansa felt heat rise in her body as he looked at her with those eyes, soft but burning at the same time. Not again, she thought, I can’t let him see, stop looking at me like that, don’t give me hope, I can’t bear it, I –

AHOOOOOOOO.

Both of them jumped.

Ahoooooooooooooooooo.

“The horns,” Sansa whispered. “The White Walkers.”

Jon was out the door in seconds. Sansa stood stock-still for a moment but then she gathered her skirts and ran after him. She crossed several courtyards, trying to keep up with Jon and everywhere she saw people running in the direction of the crypts, just as they had trained for weeks. The majority would already be there because night was approaching, she thought gratefully.

She caught up to Jon on the battlements where he was staring at the white crowd advancing towards them. When he saw her, he seized her by the shoulders. “Go to the crypts, now!” he yelled in her ears because suddenly there was a roar of wind and large wings spread before their eyes as they saw the wight dragon dash past them.

The dragon opened its mouth and a deafening crack filled the ear.

People were screaming as the main gate and its two towers came crumbling down as if they were only a couple of toy blocks set there by the hand of a child. Wights came swarming through, like cockroaches. Behind them —

“Damn!” Jon bellowed. “Light the pits now!”

Burning arrows flew across the sky leaving yellow and red streaks in their wake – a sight beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Sansa rushed to the pinnacles praying, hoping. Then, one after the other the pits they had dug outside Winterfell lit up in glorious explosions, killing hundreds of wights with every detonation. Yet it wasn’t enough.

Jon was yelling something. Sansa turned to the railings. The big courtyard below them filled with more and more wights. Sansa could feel her heart hammering in her ribs as she saw her sister glide off a roof and land in the courtyard where she immediately slashed three wights with her Valyrian dagger. Not far from her Sansa caught sight of Brienne’s blond hair and Tormund screaming obscenities as he dove into the crowd.

“The are coming across the walls, too!” one of the archers yelled.

Then there was another rush of wings in the air. Right in front of them a dragon spat fire killing wights across the field, turning its head and coming towards Jon and Sansa. Daenerys Targaryen was shouting.

“I have to burn them all!”

She looked at the gatehouse and the crumbled towers and the wights that crawled across the ruins like a swarm of insects.

“No!” Jon exclaimed in horror. “Our people are down there!”

Arya is down there.

Daenerys was too far above them to make out her face clearly, but they could see her shaking her head. Sansa screamed as the dragon lifted its wings. She rushed to the railing, looking into the courtyard, screaming for Arya, for Brienne, for all of her people.

Jon was already running. He jumped across the balustrade and landed in the middle of the fight. Sansa watched with horror as a wight lifted a sword at Jon who was still lying on the ground, having fallen from his leap. He seemed to sense it though because immediately after he had twisted away and lifted Longclaw at the same time. The wight crumbled.

Then Drogon was above them. The dragon opened its mouth and an awful ball of light glimmered deep in its throat. Sansa fell to her knees but down there Jon held up his sword, looking at the tiny figure on top of the dragon. For a moment that felt like eternity the dragon was suspended in mid-air, its mouth wide open but no fire came.

She will not put fire on them if Jon is among them, Sansa realized. For the first time she was grateful for the fact that Daenerys Targaryen was in love with Jon. The dragon turned away.

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly sounds came rushing back to her. Behind her someone was yelling. She turned to see the wall swarmed by wights that climbed across the pinnacles now.

Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to get up, to run away, but suddenly she felt a blow on her back and all the air rushed out of her lungs. When she turned she looked into the blue eyes of a dead man. Sansa fell back slightly – suddenly it was hard to breathe – and the wight followed her. Frightened, Sansa tried to back away, her hands lost their grip and before she knew what was happening, she was falling from the platform, trying to reach the railing, but failing and then her world was engulfed in white. She opened her eyes to only see snow around her. She had fallen into the gigantic mound of snow just below the battlements.

The snow was cold and soft against her cheek. Suddenly there were no screams, no red blood, no smell of roasted flesh. The snow enveloped her like a lover and Sansa closed her eyes.

And opened them high above on the roof of the armoury in a little bird. Down below a battle was raging and the little bird was frightened of the sounds and smells. It wanted to fly, but it was falling and the ground came frighteningly close but then there were wings in her back and Sansa was flying, barely, but she was flying. She made somersaults in the sky and then the little bird looked at a broken body in a mountain of snow, a woman, red hair spread out around her like a halo, red blood colouring the white.

Was this death?

Sharp hot pain wrecked her body and with a gasp Sansa took breath – in her own body. Sansa pressed her hand against her chest, but there was nothing there, even though she saw blood trickling into the snow. Heat and pain engulfed her and it was still hard to breathe. Above her a bird chirped, a sound clear and high. She lifted her head a fraction and saw a little bird sitting atop the snow. Another wave of pain hit her. It was too much and she willed herself back into that safe place and suddenly the little bird was watching the woman again. Watched the woman close her eyes. Watched the woman die.

In this new body emotions were a strange thing, fragile, almost non-existent. Time was an unknown concept and the woman in the bird struggled to know how much time had passed. She did recognize, however, that at some point the battle was over. Noises that would have frightened the bird but didn’t bother the woman arose all around her. People calling a name. Searching for Sansa.

The little bird saw a blond woman – Brienne, the woman whispered – running around frantically with a big slash on her face. Her companion, a golden knight, tried to rein her in but she was almost out of her mind, shaking him off. Her cries of “Lady Stark!” and then, after a time, more desperately “Sansa!” echoed around her. A slender girl came running. Arya, someone said to the little bird.

And then a man came, battered, dirty, eyes desperate. Jon, Sansa said but no one could hear her.

“Where is she?”, he demanded of Brienne.

Brienne shook her head and her eyes filled with tears.

“She isn’t with the others in the crypts. Dammit she should have been there!” Ser Jaime said, looking at Brienne with concern.

Jon had already turned away. He was calling her name, too and soon others joined. Everywhere, people were searching for Lady Stark. Lady Stark was lying unconscious in a snow mound. Lady Stark was dying.

The little bird was confused. Inside her the woman was urging it to chirp, so the little bird did. And somehow, miraculously, Jon heard the soft sound. He looked up, saw the little bird. His gaze came upon the platform, the railings and then at the snow mound and suddenly he was slashing though the snow and the red-haired girl was revealed to him. Jon fell to his knees beside her body, fighting the snow all around him.

“No,” he moaned, as he crawled towards her. “No, no, no!”

He had reached her. His arms came around the limp body, his hand touched her cheek. “Sansa,” he whispered. “Sansa, no!” He looked up. “Get the maester!”

Brienne came charging though the snow, half of her face covered in blood, her hair matted against her head. She stopped when she saw Sansa, her body going completely slack.

A man came. Sam, the woman in the bird whispered. A giant came, Tormund, she knew.

Jon was rocking Sansa in his arms, stroking her cheek, stroking her hair.

“There’s a knife!” Tormund put his hand around the blade.

“Don’t,” Sam barked and Tormund halted uncertainly. “Don’t pull the blade out. She could bleed to death!”

“Let him in.” Arya yanked Tormund’s giant form back, her face as pale as the snow. Sam came crawling into the white hole.

“Sam,” Jon whispered. The little bird could barely hear him. “Sam,” Jon said again and his voice broke. He looked at Sansa in his arms. “Help her, Sam. Help me.”

His words sent a chill into the little bird. Sam looked shaken but his face was resolute. He would know what to do, the woman inside the bird prayed. Sam’s hand felt the blade, felt her pulse, while Jon still held her close. He wouldn’t let her go.

“Gods, not again. Not her. Please, not her, I beg you,” Jon spoke against the woman’s hair and the anguish in his voice frightened the little bird.

“She’s alive,” Sam said at last.

Jon looked up. Sam was unwilling to look him in the eye. Jon’s jaw was working but he couldn’t say anything.

At last Sam looked up. “We may be too late. I – I can’t promise anything. Jon, I—”

“You will save her.” Jon interrupted him.

“I will try.”

Jon wasn’t listening. He looked down at Sansa, his eyes never leaving her face. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered hoarsely.

He carried her out of the snow. Pain shot through the little bird and suddenly Sansa was in Jon’s arms. She wanted to open her eyes, but no matter how much she willed it, she wasn’t able to. It was as if a thousand blocks of ice lay on her eyelids, covered her whole body except where Jon was touching her. And then the pain was back and she couldn’t find the little bird and the world went pitch-black.

Her world was a world of voices behind thick, thick walls, so distant she could barely make them out.

Her world was a world of cold, so icy that her legs were imprisoned.

Her world was a world of pain, so bright it made her want to scream and writhe except she couldn’t move a single muscle.

And sometimes her world was a blessed darkness, an all-engulfing black place without pain. She wanted to stay there, but the voices always called her back because sometimes, one of these voices cut through to her, so clearly, as if the walls had vanished. It was always Jon’s voice.

Sansa emerged from the darkness once again because the voiced were pulling at her. Loud voices, anguished ones and she felt uncontrollable fear seep through her. Open your eyes, she said to herself. Open your eyes and see!

But it was from the little bird’s eyes that Sansa suddenly saw and she felt herself slipping away, going into a dark corner, an observer in an alien mind. Through the open window, the little bird could see a large bed with a woman lying in it, people standing around her like vigils. The little bird hopped into the room unnoticed.

“What do you mean there is nothing you can do anymore?” Arya demanded. “You are a master, are you not? No – ” she said to the black-haired man who had tried to take her hand. She tore herself away and rounded on Sam, who looked more than a little frightened yet still stood his ground.

“She is alive but she doesn’t respond to any treatment. I tried everything, conventional and unconventional, believe me. There is nothing I can do anymore.” His glance found Jon and the little bird followed his gaze. Jon stood stock-still, his eyes again glued to the red-haired woman’s face. He looked numb.

“Look at her”, Brienne said. “She’s withering away before our eyes and you say there is nothing you can do anymore? If we do nothing, she will die!”

“It’s like Bran all over again,” Arya whispered and the world in front of the little bird’s eyes blurred and Sansa was plunged into darkness again.

After that it was easier to find the little bird. Her body was more compliant in letting her go, too weak to withstand. The little bird flew above Winterfell, tentatively at first because it flew against walls and sometimes even people. Once a child almost caught her but the little bird had gotten better at flying and now it could see the work done on Winterfell. The two dragons casting their enormous shadows on the inhabitants below whenever they circled above. It heartened the little bird to see so many alive but she also saw the battle preparations. People once again were preparing for the war that was not over yet.

Sometimes, the woman inside the bird urged it to seek out the windowsill. Through the glass it could always see Jon Snow sitting beside the red-haired woman, looking at her as if willing her to wake up by his sheer will alone. One day the little bird heard a grey-bearded man whose name she had forgotten, say: “The preparations are almost ready, Your Grace. Tomorrow we leave. It would be good for your people to see you. For you to speak to them. You’ve been cooped in here for almost two weeks—”

“She’s dying in front of my eyes, Davos,” Jon interrupted. His voice made the little bird’s heart flutter hard against her chest. She had heard this voice through thick walls in Sansa’s body but never in the little bird’s body. So clearly.

Davos halted. “There is always hope.”

Jon’s hand made a fist. “When I found her in the snow. Gods help me I’ve never felt like that. I couldn’t bear it. But this — this is so much worse. Having to watch her die little by little, day by day.”

Davos said nothing. He laid a hand on Jon’s shoulders.

“I know I have to leave her. But how am I going to do that? I can’t bear to not watch her face for a moment for fear of — for fear of—” Jon took a shuddering breath.

He’s dying, too, came a thought unbidden to the little bird. Another form of pain emerged and Sansa writhed in the little bird. Not Jon, she wanted to scream. Not him!

“She would want you to fight for Winterfell. The North, the whole realm, you know that,” Davos was saying.

She was Sansa again. She tried in that split-second in her transition from little bird to her body to grasp consciousness, but it eluded her again. Again, she was plunged into darkness. When she opened her eyes, it was dawn and she saw the world through the little bird’s eyes but she was herself. Arya and Brienne stood in the door, the latter pushing Arya gently out the door and closing it. There was only Jon. His face was full of sorrow. He pressed his lips to her forehead, a kiss as sweet and drawn out as his first and when it ended, his lips kissed her temple. “I love you,” he said into her ear, then straightened up abruptly and left.

Sansa screamed, kicked, called after him. She had heard the sorrow in his tone, the determination to follow her, wherever she was. Come back, come back, you can’t die. Not you, not you, not you…

Again, she tried to hang onto life’s thread when she plunged into her own body, again she sank into darkness. But now she wasn’t willing to go without giving it a fight anymore. Her days and nights were a tug of war between her body and that of the little bird and something calling to her beyond all of that. Was it her mother? Her father? She didn’t know but the voices were adamant. Go back, they said, almost in unison. How? she cried. Spread your wings and fly. Fly as Sansa Stark, not as the little bird, they said.

Sansa was confused. She wanted to reach the voices but there were other voices, far away and the memory of a sister’s laugh, a friends’ trust and the lips of Jon Snow against her skin. She spread her wings and flew. Suddenly blazing light blinded her, she closed her eyes…

…and opened them to a dark room and smoke-blackened beams. A woman was stoking the fire, the light dancing in her copper hair. She turned, her eyes fell on Sansa and the poker fell to the floor with a metallic clang.

“Lady Stark,” she whispered. “You – you—” Alys Karstark gathered her skirts and rushed to Sansa’s side, taking her hand. “Can you feel this?”

Sansa nodded. The other woman’s touch was cool and pleasant.

Alys took a deep breath. Her hand threw back the covers and found her toe. Sansa couldn’t lift her head but she felt the harsh pinch the other woman gave her toes and gasped slightly.

Alys face came back into her view, a wide smile on her face. “You felt that too. Thank the Gods!”

Sansa opened her lips. She wanted to say something but her throat seemed parched.

“Yes, water! Of course.”

The water Alys gave her was sweet and the most wonderful thing Sansa had ever tasted. By the time she had finished, Alys seemed to have found her cool again.

“Daella!” she called sharply. The servant girl appeared immediately – and immediately she screamed. “Lady Stark, she’s awake! She’s awake!”

Sansa could hear her screams fade down the corridor. “That should do the trick for bringing Maester Sam here,” Alys said matter-of-factly.

To Sansa’s surprise the other woman’s lips twitched into a wry smile.

Once Sam had arrived, red-faced and heaving, Podrick Payne and Gilly hot on his heels, Sansa had finished her second cup of water.

“Not so much!” Sam said to Alys who rolled her eyes.

Sam took her hand, his eyes soft. He wanted to say something but choked on his words. Gilly prodded him. “Now is not the time to get emotional Sam, Lady Stark needs your healing skills!” She turned to Podrick who was still looking at Sansa as if he was seeing a ghost. “Out with you,” she commanded. “And you, too, Lady Karstark!”

If Alys took offense of being spoken to like that, she didn’t show it. She left willingly and Sam slowly examined Sansa after Gilly had taken off her nightdress. Sansa was too weak to protest. She surmised that Sam had seen her naked already when he had taken that blasted dagger out.

“Jon?” was the only thing she asked.

“They’ve been gone for three days now. No word yet, my lady.”

Gilly clicked her tongue in disapproval, but said nothing.

“Brienne? Arya?”

“Both gone, my lady,” Gilly said. “The lady knight said you would want her to.”

Sansa nodded. “She was right.”

“She left Podrick for you. She said you would wake up and would need a knight to protect you.”

It had been Brienne’s way of upholding hope. Sansa felt tears prickle in her eyes.

Gilly clicked her tongue again. “You’re awfully thin. No worries. I will put some flesh on your bones again. His Grace will kill us if he sees you this weak once he comes back.”

“His Grace will be too happy to see her alive I’d wager.” Sam ended his examination. He shook his head at her. “It’s a miracle”, he said and then, again: “It’s a miracle.”

Gilly was smiling at him fondly.

There was a knock at the door and Alys came in without waiting for an answer, Daella right behind her holding a steaming bowl in her hands. She nodded at someone behind her and Podrick came in, positioning himself at the door.

“There are already people wanting to see you,” he said. “It’s better if I’m close, my lady.”

“No solid food!” Sam told Alys in an uncharacteristically stern way.

Alys rolled her eyes. “We know something about caring for the sick, Maester.”

Sansa tried to prop herself up. Both Gilly and Sam protested, but Alys helped her until she was leaning half-sitting against her cushions.

“I need to know. What happened while I was—” Gone, she wanted to say but swallowed the word.

The room fell silent. Gilly and Sam exchanged a look, Daella looked at her feet. Only Alys was meeting her eyes openly, though her look made fear crawl up Sansa’s spine.

“What is it? They are alright, aren’t they? Jon, Arya, Brienne?”

“Of course, they are! As far as we know,” Sam said hastily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” When Sam didn’t answer, Sansa felt panic seize her throat. “What happened? Sam! You’re frightening me.”

Sam didn’t look happy and he didn’t seem to find words either though at last he simply said:

“They know.”

“They know?”

It was Alys who answered the question that wasn’t really a question. “They know that His Grace is not a bastard. That he is Rhaegar Targaryen’s son with Lyanna Stark.”

Sansa’s head was spinning. “How?” she whispered.

“We don’t know for sure – but we think Varys had something to do with that.”

“Daenerys?”

“Was furious. I thought she was going to burn Jon on the spot, but then, well...” Sam faltered.

“Then what?” Sansa was growing increasingly frustrated.

Alys sat down on the bed, her posture rigid, her eyes searching. “Then the dragon queen announced that she and His Grace would get married upon their return.”

Ten pairs of eyes, including Daella’s were eyeing her closely upon this revelation. Sansa felt all the blood drain from her head. Surely, she had misheard?

“That’s ludicrous,” she heard herself exclaim. She turned to Sam. “And Jon – he agreed to it?” Her heart was pounding in her chest, she had difficulty breathing or maybe she was breathing too hard because suddenly she felt slightly dizzy.

Sam’s eyes were soft. “He wasn’t himself, Sansa. He was–“ Sam was searching for words, opening his hands in a helpless gesture.

“He was lost without you,” Alys finished. Her words, so matter-of-factly said, made Sansa blush.

I love you, he had whispered against her hair. Not like that, her mind reminded her sharply. I can’t get my hopes up. I need a clear head.

“He was trying to protect the North,” Alys continued.

“He’s not getting married to her!” Sansa said with determination. “I won’t allow him to sacrifice so much.”

Alys smiled slightly. “Then we are of one mind.”

“I have a feeling that he won’t bind himself to the dragon queen anyway when he sees you alive and well,” Daella said brightly.

“Oh shush,” said Alys and the girl fell silent, cowed. “It’s not for you to gossip, girl.”

“And we have more pressing worries to think about,” Sam agreed.

Sansa sat up straighter, ignoring the strange exchange between Alys and Daella. “What is it?”

Sam sighed. “Well, there is no easy way of saying this – please don’t be alarmed, I mean, there is still a chance that – it’s not like, you know – “

Sansa might have strangled him if she had had any strength but thankfully Gilly intervened. “The Vale lords refused to join the fight. They said they’d follow only you, not a Targaryen queen and her love-sick Targaryen nephew. What?” she added at Sam’s disapproving glance. “They said much worse things than that.”

Sansa felt as if the air in her lungs had left her body completely. For a moment she felt dark blotches dance in front of her eyes, then her vision cleared and she threw back the covers.

“Daella, please bring me my green dress immediately.” The girl jumped and left the room.

“What are you doing? You just woke up!”

“And Jon, Arya and Brienne are all walking into a battle with a third of our forces safe in Winterfell! I have to speak to Lord Yohn Royce. Send him up, now!”

Sansa’s mind was spinning and came up with a couple different scenarios – one worse than the other. The others were watching her. Alys looked grim, Sam worried.

“Sansa, there is something else.”

Sansa wanted to scream. What else could there possibly be? Wasn’t it enough that Jon had agreed to marry Daenerys because he thought he would not come back, that Jon’s army was down substantially, reducing their chances of winning, reducing the chances that her family and friends would return to her…

“What?” she ground out between gritted teeth.

“The Vale lords – once Jon and Daenerys had left with their armies, they crowned you Queen in the North.”

“If you send your forces to help, the dragon queen will find out about this. His Grace would not like that,” Alys added.

“It would put you into considerable danger, earlier than anticipated,” Podrick spoke up unexpectedly. “Once she finds out that you are alive. Everyone thought that you were going to die and that it was just a matter of time…”

Gods, what a mess. Sansa shook her head. She was not worried about her safety.

“I still have to send the troops. Jon and Arya need all the help they can to defeat the Night King. It’s too risky not to send them help. And it would only delay the inevitable.”

“We will be defenceless once the Vale lords are gone,” Gilly reminded her. “The gatehouse is no more. Any other army can just march in!”

“If they don’t defeat the White Walkers none of that matters anymore. Please Sam, bring Lord Yohn up here. Gilly, will you see to Daella? Quick, I need to get dressed.”

Moments later she was alone in the room with Alys Karstark. The other woman was eyeing her with a mix of fascination and darkness.

“I’m glad you found your way back.”

Sansa felt dizzy again and let Lady Aly take charge of brushing her hair, dressing her and making her presentable in general. Daella fussed and Gilly tried to make her eat a few spoons of soup and in the middle of the women fussing over her, Sansa felt some of the fear that had gripped her heart dissipate.

When Gilly had let to fetch Sam and Daella to tell Bronze Yohn to wait in the solar, Sansa couldn’t help herself anymore. She turned to Lady Alys.

“Lady Alys – why are you so… well…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. So different? So forthcoming? Lady Alys had been nothing but coldly polite these past months and now she was fussing over her as if she was her long-lost sister.

“Why am I being so nice all of a sudden?” Lady Alys said, one eyebrow raised.

Sansa nodded. There was simply no way to be tactful about this.

Lady Alys gave her an ironic smile. “I guess you could say I see you as my King does now.” Sansa must have looked confused, because she elaborated: “After your fall… His Grace was at your side day and night. I realized how important you are to him. And that makes you important to me. I can serve him best if I serve you.”

Sansa felt Jon’s warm lips against her skin and tears began to form in her eyes. If anything were to happen to him… Once he came back, he could dispel the notions he had apparently put into people’s heads. As long as he only came back.

That night after an exhausting day talking to all the Vale lords and commanders Sansa collapsed into her bed. She refused the dream wine that Sam offered her and with Gilly and Lady Alys by her side she fell into a deep sleep.

The night was cold and wind ruffled her coat. Her eyes were sharp, she could see into the night – every little detail was crystal clear and Sansa realized that she was not in her own body anymore. She wasn’t the little bird either. Perched on the white branches of a heart tree she watched as a man stumbled towards the tree, put his hand on the crying face on the bark and lowered his head.

“Gods, you gave her back to me,” Jon whispered. He held a piece of parchment in his hands that Sansa realized must be Sam’s letter. She wanted to make herself known but her new body was unfamiliar and all she could do was watch while Jon bent the keen in front of the heart tree and bowed his head, murmuring a prayer, thanking the Gods that she was alive.

Behind him the woods rustled and with her new eyes Sansa could see people roaming in the dark. Sansa froze.  It couldn’t be. Just outside the clearing, in the darkness of the forest, people with unnatural blue eyes were wandering around. The dead crawled towards Jon. Just as she gave a warning Jon’s head came up. He jumped to his feet, his sword already drawn.

Dead men came into the clearing, women in rags, children with eerie eyes. They formed a circle around Jon. Too many, Sansa thought frantically, too many! But then Jon’s sword slashed through the air and the first man fell while the others lunged at Jon.

Sansa woke with a scream on her lips.