Chapter Text
"The raven sent to the Wall has returned, your grace. Unopened," said Maester Wolkan cautiously.
Sansa pursed her lips in silent worry, a yawning pit of black terror opening in her stomach. She curled her nails into the arms of her chair, allowing the pinch of pain to ground her in the moment. She could not waste time on idle speculation of what might be. It was her duty to discover the truth of what was.
"That's the third one, isn't it?" she asked, despite knowing the answer.
She had penned the letters herself, her first before she was even crowned. Pardoning Jon for what she did not consider a crime, and begging him to come home. When they took back Winterfell together, Sansa had never envisioned herself living out her days there alone. Especially not after Bran and Arya returned.
She understood why she could not have them. But that did not make Sansa any less lonely. The lone wolf died, but they were determined to build their own packs. Sansa already had a pack, and she wanted it to come home. There was no reason she had to live without Jon, and she would not, if she could prevent it.
"Leave me," she said quietly.
When the door closed behind him, Sansa placed her trembling hands to her lips, and began to consider her options.
It wasn't really a choice. Sansa rose to her feet sedately, wandering from her solar into her private chambers, and stoically reached for her wardrobe. Her warmest furs soon joined her riding dresses on her featherbed as she laid out the clothes she would need to ride North.
*
Sansa's journey North was less fraught this time. Slower too, with so many retainers accompanying her. She had been forced to stop at Last Hearth, to be greeted enthusiastically by her bannermen. It would be unfathomably rude to spurn their hospitality, and ride on without enquiring how the restoration of the ancient castle was faring.
Sansa had gifted Last Hearth to House Lake. They were loyal yet lowly vassals to the Umbers, who had a very distant connection to the now extinct House. It was a sound political move. They had only a small wooden keep on the shores of the Long Lake as an ancestral home. House Lake were fishermen by trade, and would be extremely loyal to Sansa for raising them up, and granting them such a large swathe of land.
When at last she was able to move on, her heart felt lighter for having visited with them. Torrhen Lake was enthusiastic yet gentle, and sweetly proud to announce he had managed to secure a betrothal to Wylla Manderly. Sansa was glad of it. The North would need many alliances to share its remaining wealth about and begin new trading deals with the Six Kingdoms, as well as the Free Cities of Essos.
But those were considerations for another day. With every hoof-fall, Sansa's wider worries dropped away, until there was only one, pressing her ever onward.
The Wall was as majestic as she remembered it. It caught Sansa's breath, even at a distance, to see the glittering ice shimmering in the sunlight. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
When they arrived at Castle Black, she had another reason to hold her breath. The gates hung open, unmanned, lazily swaying in the breeze. Her guards urged her to stay back whilst they scouted the keep, and it took all of her control to force herself to do so. Sansa wanted to spur her horse to gallop and scream Jon's name at the top of her lungs. But it would do no good. The castle was as abandoned and bereft of life. She did not need her men to confirm it, and when they did, she could only nod grimly.
The men wanted to return home. They were frightened, Sansa could see, in every twitch of a mouth and tightening of hands on reins. Likely they feared a plague or the return of the Others. But Sansa knew better. The Night's Watch had been scattered, and many never returned North after the battle for Winterfell and the dawn. It was a defunct order now, and Sansa had done nothing to bolster its ranks in the short months since the defeat of the mad queens.
"Find suitable lodgings," she ordered, "Gather up any spare clothing and other useful supplies. We will recupperate here for a sennight."
She knew the horses needed rest, and the men needed time to grow comfortable in the abandoned castle. It did not take long before the familiar routine of clearing snow drifts, lighting fires and sweeping away the cobwebs eased the men. Idle minds ran rampant, Sansa knew, but men with tasks to undertake were easily distracted.
Once the work was underway, Sansa made her way to the ramparts and surveyed the ancient castle with a critical eye. It would not take much to make Castle Black a viable holdfast. Defensive walls and a gatehouse for the Southern entrance. Transforming the barracks into alternate rooms. A castellan to oversee the work. It would not be too difficult, and Sansa had every faith that she could achieve it.
There was no one to share her thoughts with. Not the first time, Sansa wished she had not urged Brienne to remain in the South with Bran. But the fact remained that the Reach, Stormlands and Dorne were filled with men who no doubt thought themselves a better option for King than a boy who could not launch a dynasty. Sansa could not have slept at night, without knowing that Bran was being cared for by true knights like Brienne and Podrick. The decision was the right one, and she knew wasting time lamenting her lack of companionship was self-indulgent. Sansa shook off her melancholy with determination, and returned to the relative warmth indoors.
*
There were few marks upon the maps of Beyond the Wall. The Haunted Forest, Fist of the First Men, Hardhome; names Sansa had heard tumble from Jon's mouth with ease. But no man in her service had ever set foot there.
"It is folly to venture Beyond the Wall without a guide, your grace," said Hugo Wull, the Captain of her guards.
"I know it," Sansa admitted softly, "But there is no other choice."
His eyes shone with sympathy, but Sansa could tell he was ultimately unmoved.
"Jon Snow has left, to join the wild folk," he said, "He has friends among them; he will be safe."
Sansa said nothing.
Safe, yes, but would Jon be happy? For a time, perhaps. And the same would no doubt be true for her. But they would never see each other again if she let him go now. The wounds they had struck one another would fester instead of healing, and soon they would forget their regard for one another entirely. Sansa did not want to settle for bittersweet memories, tainted by their parting. She wanted her brother back.
"We ride in the morn, the day after tomorrow," she said firmly, "I shall hear no more on this matter."
Hugo inhaled roughly, but made no further protest. He bowed stiffly and took his leave.
Sansa sagged into the squat, ugly chair beside the fireplace in her borrowed chambers, and stared into the fire with unseeing eyes. She knew it was foolish, to risk the safety of her men on a likely fruitless mission. But she could not bring herself to abandon the hope of seeing Jon again. She could not resign herself to a life bereft of her family.
Sansa was not afforded the quiet evening of contemplation she had been expecting. Less than a half-hour after Hugo had left, he returned, panting.
"Your grace, please come," he asked of her, and Sansa quickly acquiesced.
She marched alongside him until they reached the covered walkway, and there she demanded to know the reason for his agitation. When he told her, Sansa broke into a run, down toward the gated opening in the Wall, where uneasy men were clutching their bows.
"None of that," Sansa barked, "He is not to be harmed."
She marched through the tunnel, quickly followed by her guards. But Sansa knew she would not need them. Emerging on the far side of the Wall in a flurry of snow, Sansa felt a huge smile break out on her face. Even in gloom of early dusk, she would recognise that snowy coat anywhere.
"Ghost!" she called out joyfully.
The silent, one-eared wolf who had been waiting patiently for her arrival, took off in a trot toward her. When he was close enough, he lay down, so that Sansa could fall to her knees and smother the shaggy direwolf with her affectionate hands. She even pressed a heartfelt kiss to the top of his muzzle.
"You are in dreadful need of a bath and brush," Sansa chided him.
Ghost gave a funny sort of twitch, like a silent, unimpressed snort. But Sansa knew him to be a good boy, who would sit still for her if she asked. She continued to run her hands through his thick winter coat, her heart soaring. Her road no longer seemed treacherous at all, not with such a wonderful companion.
"Now we have our guide," said Sansa loudly, finally rising to her feet with a satisfied smirk.
Her guards exchanged relieved and reluctantly impressed looks. Ghost was always an impressive sight, and he had grown even larger since she last saw him.
"Come, Ghost," she said, reaching up to offer one last pat on his fuzzy head. "There's fresh rabbit."
Ghost remained at her heel as they returned to ancient castle together, licking his chops as though he understood her words. Sansa grew in confidence with every step. His appearance seemed like an omen, sent to show her that her choice to ride North had been the correct one. Now she could only pray that Jon would feel the same.