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Blindly, she hurries out of the tent into the biting cold. She gulps down the fresher air even as it burns her lungs. The tears she held onto as they quarreled start to fall when she reaches the edge of the camp. She needs to return to her own tent. She needs to at least try and rest though she knows it’s impossible.
There’s a tree standing a few feet away and though it isn’t a Weirwood, much less their heart tree, she kneels at its base, wishing for some sort of comfort. He has Rickon and he’s going to show Jon exactly what kind of monster he is tomorrow and they’re powerless to stop it. She thinks of their odds and she’s soon retching rather than praying.
When her stomach is empty, she props herself up against the other side, wiping away the sick and hot tears from her face as she thinks about all they’ve already lost. She feels like she just got him back and now she’s on the verge of losing him again. She doesn’t think she can bear to lose anymore.
“I won’t lose you, too,” she tells the night sky in a small voice.
Her fingers ache. She’s not sure she can feel her nose or toes anymore. How long has she sat here?
She needs a knife just in case. She had meant every word she said to Jon. Who will give her a knife? I won’t use it until I know for certain that all hope is lost.
A large white shape emerges from the trees before her. White with red eyes, his panting breath coming out in puffs in the cold air. He’s so quiet and there’s a wildness in Ghost that is different than what Sansa can recall of Lady. Just as Jon and I are different…but also the same.
Ghost pads forward until they're face to face his wet nose brushing her forehead as he sniffs her. His large tongue starts licking her cheeks.
She wants to push him away, too angry and frightened for the comfort she thinks but she can’t. She’s soon smiling against her better judgement.
“You smell terrible,” she teases the direwolf, “but I suppose I can hardly say anything tonight.”
“You should be in your tent. It’s not safe out here,” a voice says from just beyond Ghost.
She should’ve known he’d be with Ghost. Has he come looking for her especially? Had he sent Ghost to find her?
“I already told you no one can protect-“
“I don’t want to hear that right now,” he snaps. But his hand is gentle when he tugs on hers, drawing her to her feet. “Come on.”
She starts to follow him but she’s stumbling slightly from her frozen toes. He puts an arm around her and guides her back into his tent. It feels as hot as the hottest days of summer she can recall from Kings Landing in here after her hours out in the cold. She shivers and complains of the heat.
“Better than the cold. We must get you warm,” he says, his voice gruff and daring her to argue. She doesn’t argue.
He removes her cloak, boots and dress. He makes her lie down beside him, covering them both with furs. She opens her mouth to remark on this unfamiliar intimacy but he kisses her brow and tells her to be quiet.
“I won’t lose you, too,” she murmurs a few minutes later.
“‘I’ll do it myself if I have to,’ you told me.”
“I don’t want to win if it means losing you.”
“We’re too stubborn to lose,” he mutters and then pulls her closer.
Their bodies are so close together, like wolf pups snug in their den…or like lovers. Something prickles under her skin at that thought and she feels warmer than she did a minute ago.
She starts to drift and dreams of ravens flying and other birds, crossing the sky between herself and the moon.
When she wakes, she’s alone except for Ghost who snores in the corner. Jon had told her to keep Ghost, to keep him out of harm's way but she suspects he's told the direwolf to watch over her, too.
She thinks subconsciously she must’ve been aware of 2000 men preparing to march to battle but she’d resolutely stayed deep in her dreams where Jon’s arms still held her and kept her warm.
Outside, there’s a handful of men stirring, the ones Jon had left to hold camp and watch over her and the red priestess. From the South, a single rider’s approaching at breakneck speed and her handful of protectors draw their swords. In the distance, there are more riders coming, thousands more.
Sansa spies the blue falcon soaring against its white moon and yelps.