Chapter Text
There was a strange sort of peace, Sansa thought, when battle was already joined. When all that was left was to win or lose, and there was no time left to worry about either.
She'd been so scared during the Battle of the Blackwater. She remembered singing hymns uselessly to try and comfort herself, comfort everyone around her. She'd been a prisoner then, helpless either way. Fear and false comfort had been all she had. The Battle of the Bastards had been different. There'd been anger for that one. Horror, despair, ferocious determination. She'd been fighting then, not simply cowering. Her fear had transmuted to harder, angrier things.
She felt those still. She nursed them close to her breast. But there were other things now.
Family. Comfort. Triumph. Hard-won determination. All those things. But also more. Also peace, the sort that came from despair. To face the dead was not a war of victory or defeat, but a war of life or death. There would no captivity when it was done, no marriage. Only death, endless and soulless. That was a sort of comfort, in its way. They would win or they would die. There was nothing else to look for until it was done.
She could face death for her family, she thought. Death was a simple thing, really. She could face it as easily as anything else. Yet there was still some part of her that didn't think they were going to die. Not now. Not when they had finally come together again.
Not when she finally had her family beside her.
There was strength in that. Like their father had said, there was strength in family. All the world might come for them, but at least they'd die by someone's side. Someone that loved them. Someone that cared. Someone that would fight to their last breath right alongside them.
There weren't many Starks left. Sansa swore now, on the blood of her father and her mother and her brothers, that those who remained would be bought very very dearly indeed.
And it wasn't just family, now. Or at least, not family by blood alone. There were allies. There were friends. There were lovers. Some ... some who were all three. People to protect. People to fight beside. People to trust with protection in their turn. They weren't alone anymore. None of them. The Starks did not fight this latest and greatest war alone.
She was glad to have finally spoken to Daenerys. She hadn't been sure what to make of the woman. She knew Arya had liked her, of course. Daenerys -Dany- had saved Jon, and ridden dragons to do it. Arya was naturally going to like her. And Jon, well. Jon was in love with her. He was never going to be an impartial judge. Sansa had feared, because of that. Jon wasn't that far from Robb at the end of it. People made mistakes because of love. They were blinded to things, and trusted when they shouldn't.
Daenerys wasn't Joffrey, though. She wasn't Cersei or Ramsay or Littlefinger. She was a hard woman, yes. She was a dangerous woman, most definitely. But she didn't play games the way the others had. There was something in her that did match Jon well enough in some ways. A bluntness. She wasn't the sort to play games when there were more important things to be worried about.
And she hated the Night King. She was fire and she was fury, and she hated the Night King. He had taken her child from her. As selfish as it was, Sansa was a little bit glad of that. Love wasn't always reliable, but there were few motivations as pure and unflinching as vengeance. Daenerys would see the Night King destroyed. Whatever happened after that, she would not falter in this war. She would see their enemy seared from the face of this world.
And after that, well. Perhaps her good sister would stand with them then as well. She did love Jon. Sansa had seen that too. Maybe when it came to it, Dany really wouldn't betray them.
Sansa hoped so. For Jon's sake. And for Tyrion's.
She needed to talk to them, she thought. Jon, and Tyrion. And Arya, and Bran, and Arya's Gendry too. Daenerys. She needed to talk to all of them. Before the Night King came, before war fell finally down on them and all that was left was to win or to die. They needed to come together, as a family, and talk.
Davos should come too, then. And Sam. Brienne. Maybe Jaime. As much as Sansa didn't trust the man, he was Tyrion's brother, and Tyrion did love him still. The man would be her good brother, before too much longer. She probably should speak to him.
But family. Family first. Jon and Bran and Arya, Tyrion and Gendry and Dany. Then the others. Then the lords. There was much to arrange. But family first. And then the war.
Tonight. She would gather them all tonight. In Dany's rooms, maybe, if the queen was amenable. They could pretend it was a council of war, and they wouldn't be wrong, precisely. There would be much discussed and decided. Sansa wasn't blind. She knew they had all been making their own private promises for days now. It was time to have them in the open. It was time to come together, time to be family, and to make their promises for all to hear.
So. Dany first, then. Daenerys, to ask permission and agreeability. Or Tyrion? She should at least warn him, since she had set this all in motion for him. But ... No. Daenerys first. It was only good manners to warn the queen, and ask her alliance in this venture.
Then Jon, and likely Davos. The old knight was sensible and kindhearted, and not inclined to bandy secrets about. It would do no harm to have him there. Or Brienne, she supposed. Then Arya, after that. If Sansa could find her. And then Gendry. She would need some time for that. She hadn't spoken to him yet. She would need to give him a few assurances, before she dropped the rest of the family on him.
Then Bran. He was out in the weirwood again. Sansa wasn't sure how much of the last few days he'd borne witness to. His eyes were turned north these days. Hunting the Night King. But he was family. He should at least know these things.
And then Tyrion. That would give her time to ... to reassure him. Or persuade him. Or simply spend time with him. Yes. The others first. She would come to her husband last.
Right then. Daenerys should not have gone far. And with luck, she wouldn't yet have found her Hand's company again.
She hadn't. Sansa had barely left her solar when she found her, out on a walkway watching the sky. Looking for her children, perhaps? Sansa glanced skywards herself, and caught sight of one of them circling high above Winterfell. She didn't see the other.
"Rhaegal," Dany said quietly, spotting her. Sansa blinked at her, and she smiled sadly. "The dragon," she explained. "It's Rhaegal. He keeps watch for his brother, Viserion. They were together for a long time. Drogon was always closest to me. Rhaegal and Viserion clung to each other instead. Now Viserion is dead and turned against us. Enslaved by our enemy. Rhaegal keeps watch for him. Though whether to kill him or to try and save him, I don't yet know."
Sansa stared at her. And then she tipped her head back, and stared at the dragon as well. He was hard to see through the snow. Just a dark shape, circling through the emptiness overhead. A shadow searching for the brother he had lost.
Family. The remnants of a family. Sansa felt for them, suddenly. Hard and fierce and true.
"... I don't think there's any salvation for them except death," she said softly. Looking at Dany, letting the sorrow and regret fill her eyes. "The ones taken by the wights. From what Jon tells me, the only thing left for them is death. I'm sorry. If he wants to free his brother ..."
"I know," Dany said. Flatly. She turned away, to watch the sky, and wrapped her arms around her chest. "I know. I think they do too. He was taken from them. He was unmade. They know how to answer that. We all do."
... Yes, Sansa thought. Yes, she supposed they did at that.
"We will destroy him," she offered, knowing it was the only comfort likely to mean anything. "Once the Night King's dead they all go free. So we'll kill him. All of us. He threatens too much now. He's taken too much already. There's nothing left but to see him dead."
Daenerys looked at her, a storm behind her eyes, and then she smiled, and nodded quietly. "Yes," she said. "We shall see him dead. Yes."
It should have been frightening. Or shameful. But there was much to be relied upon in a promise of vengeance, when it was pointed at a shared enemy. And when those enemies were at the gate, Sansa thought, there would be few better to have by your side than this woman.
"... Would you do me a favour, your grace?" she asked. A little abruptly, maybe, but Daenerys took no offense. She only turned slightly, and looked curious instead.
"That would depend," she said, but only mildly. Sansa smiled crookedly at her.
"I hoped to gather my family tonight, your grace," she explained softly. "After the evening meal. Both ... Both old and new. We have much to explain to each other, I think. Myself, my sister, my brothers. You, your Hand. Davos and Brienne, and my sister's beloved as well. I ... I wondered if you might be amenable. And, if you were, if we might ... if we might perhaps gather in your chambers?"
Daenerys ... blinked at her for that. Nearly blankly. Sansa wasn't sure she'd ever seen such a stunned or unguarded expression on the woman's face. At the temerity? She didn't look angry, though. Or was it perhaps ...
"Family?" Daenerys asked quietly. So quietly. "You ... But why my chambers? Would it not be better in yours?"
Sansa shook her head. "Yours are bigger, to start," she said practically, and then hesitated a little, and explained the other reasons. "And as well, I want ... There are rumours. Questions of loyalty, in a good many directions. Perhaps it might prove something if you came to me, but I would prefer to present a united front before the North. I want to prove we value you, but also that we are not afraid to face you on your own ground. That you would welcome us even in force. If there are rumours about tonight, I want them to reflect that we came together, all of us, and spoke together as family. That we made decisions for a mutual good."
She hoped they were making decisions for a mutual good. But Tyrion had plans. He'd told her that. And for all Jon's idiocy, neither he nor Daenerys had given her reason yet to doubt that he'd made a good and necessary choice. They'd needed allies, so desperately, and Daenerys had so far proven herself quite a good one. Marriage wasn't the worst way to seal it.
Especially not when they loved each other.
"... I want us to come together," she continued finally. Watching the woman, watching the play of expressions around those violet eyes. "I want to speak to my family, and my family's family. Now. Before the Night King comes to kill us all, or to die by our hand. I would have our promises known, your grace. Before we test them in fire and blood."
And Daenerys digested that for a moment, and Daenerys nodded slowly.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, you're right. We should make things known. We should know who it is we fight and die beside." She paused, and then added: "Might I make a suggestion, then? Jaime Lannister. You might summon him also. Your husband-to-be has plans for him yet."
Sansa grimaced, and nodded reluctantly in her turn. "I thought he might," she sighed. "But the man did come north, I suppose. He chose Tyrion in the end. I suppose I can't fault him for that."
Daenerys snorted. "He chose life in the end," she corrected, not quite icily. "Whether he holds any loyalty beyond that remains to be seen. But my Hand loves him. Enough to shout in my face for his sake. If you would have family tonight, my lady, and all our promises in the open ... perhaps it might do no harm to invite him, and see what promises he might make in his turn."
Sansa narrowed her eyes, but nodded slowly. "All right," she said. "I suppose better to test him now than later. Though he may hide, when faced with all of us."
Dany smiled darkly at her. "Then perhaps you should waylay him personally first?" she asked sweetly. "Or I can, if you'd prefer. You have your family to gather, and it is my Hand he stands to honour or betray. I could collect him for you. If you'd like."
Sansa blinked, and then smiled blandly and sweetly back at her. She felt a warm little fizz of conspiracy. "That's all right, your grace," she said mildly. "He might be as intimidated by you as by all of us. I'm told I'm somewhat intimidating myself these days, but I suspect I'm less so than the Mother of Dragons. You can leave the one-handed lion to me. Let's leave him some room to be brave, hmm?"
Dany laughed. "A fair point," she conceded lightly. "All right. We'll leave Jaime Lannister to you, then. Shall I gather my Hand, instead?"
"No!" Sansa blurted, and too rapidly. Dany blinked at her, and she flushed a little in shame. She did not back down, however, and after a moment she thought she saw a glimmer of warmth and understanding in the other woman's eyes. Daenerys inclined her head with a tiny smile, and did not quibble further. Sansa flushed redly, and sought to deflect her. "You could ... You could gather my brother, though? If you had time. You could gather Jon and Davos for us."
Pure deflection, of course, but not a bad idea when she thought about it. Maybe Arya could gather Bran, too. That would leave time for Sansa to speak to Gendry and Jaime both, and for similar reasons as well. Yes. That might be a good plan after all.
Dany's smile did not abate, but she inclined her head more gently now. "If you wish it," she said, and oh. Sansa saw a hint of something there. Something gentler and warmer than the fire and fury and vengeance she had relied upon so far. There was a softer thing inside this woman. Something that might, truly might, value Jon as he deserved to be valued.
"... I do," she said softly. Studying the woman with more open understanding. "Gather my brother for me, your grace. I'd be grateful."
And perhaps Daenerys heard something of the weight of it, the warmth and the permission of it. She tilted her head, eyes wide and startled, and studied Sansa intently for a moment. Then she stood back a step, and offered Sansa a slight bow.
"And I would be honoured," she said, and straightened with a smile to hold Sansa's stunned eyes warmly. "I will happily take the excuse to see your brother again, my lady. Shall we, then? I to hunt mine, and you to hunt yours?"
Sansa blinked a bit. "I'm not sure 'hunt' is the word you should be using," she said faintly. "But yes. You to yours, and me to mine. Good luck, your grace."
"To you first," Dany grinned. "You'll need it more. Until tonight, Sansa Stark. Good luck!"
As she left, she took one last look skywards, towards her dragon. Her child. Then she brought her eyes back to earth, and looked to Sansa's brother as well. Family. Old family and new. Oh yes, Sansa thought. Yes, they did need to speak. They did have a job to do.
So then. Arya, first. Arya she could send to fetch Bran. Maybe Brienne along with her. Then to Gendry. Then to Jaime.
Then to Tyrion.
She had a long afternoon ahead of her indeed. Best get to it, then.
Arya and Brienne were easily found, at least. They'd been training together more ardently since Jon had returned with Daenerys. The dead were coming. None of them were content to be idle. Sansa found them in one of the training courtyards, both fierce-faced and grinning, their movements quick and decisive and brutal as they danced around each other. Unfortunately, they had an audience as well. Pod and Bronn and Jaime Lannister, and Tyrion too. Oh, bugger it. But all right. All right. Sansa could still work with this.
They'd be busy for a while. Arya wasn't close to finished yet, and knowing Brienne they'd take some time to improve the others before they left. Pod, at least. And both she and Arya seemed to want to put manners on Bronn. Yes. They might give her a bit of time yet.
Gendry first, then. While they were busy. Gendry first. There was no harm in that. She had promised Arya she'd reassure him. Now was as good a time as any.
And he would need reassurance. Jon had apparently managed the start of one, about as publicly as possible, but she meant for the boy to face the rest of their family tonight. He was probably going to need some fairly potent reassurance for that.
Was this cruel of her, she wondered idly? Would it be more cruel than kind to invite him? But Arya would want it. Jon, too, she thought. He had stood and announced his approval of their courtship before all of Winterfell, after all. He would want Gendry to be present. And, well. There would be no calmer moment after this. There was only war from here on out. If they were intimidating now, they were only going to get more so. Better to do it to him now, when he had better chance of surviving it.
She nodded to herself. Yes. Better now than later. All right.
She turned around, and headed back to the smithy courtyards. They were doing good work, actually, given the weight of the demand on them, and the strangeness of the dragonglass. She and Tyrion had been tracking that. The Dothraki had been the first priority, given that they were likely to be the first line of running defense, and the smiths had managed to outfit almost all of them so far. The ones in Winterfell, at least. They were now well on their way to arming the Unsullied and the Northern households as well. They'd done well under pressure. She might do well to pause and mention that, while she was here.
They turned to look at her, as well. Work paused as she appeared, and the entire courtyard eyed her warily. Was that Jon's doing, she wondered idly? He had made a fine show yesterday. Well then. She could add to it today.
"I'd like to thank you all," she said, loudly and clearly into the blooming silence. "Our forces are nearly completely armed, thanks to your work. When we face the armies of the dead, we will do so with your weapons in our hands, and I have no doubt we will triumph. You've done well, and under a great deal of pressure. You have the eternal thanks of House Stark for that. And indeed the North, and all living men who hope to see another day. I thank you."
People glanced at each other. Warily, worriedly. And then wryly, with a certain amount of faith and good humour.
"You'll forgive me for saying so, my lady," one older man started, "but most of us do count ourselves among those living men. I think we all know it's win or die in this fight. We'll do our part, your ladyship. We'll make sure the North doesn't fall, nor anything else behind us. You have our word on that, and gladly."
Sansa drew a breath, and smiled at him. "I have no doubt," she said warmly. Looking around the courtyard, taking in every northern and southern face among them. "I won't lie to you. It is win or die. There's no retreat from this. If we lose here, then all the world falls. But we're not going to lose. Not again. This place is my home, and I will not lose it again. No army of the dead is going to change that. We're going to fight. North and south, man, woman and child, and dragon too. We're going to fight, and we're going to win. For ourselves, and for our families, and for all those who helped us, and all those who didn't as well. And when we do, I promise you, we will remember those who stood beside us."
And they would, too. If she had to write down every name herself. Even if there would be reward for it beyond living to see the next dawn, she would ensure that all who fought for them in the long night would be remembered.
The old smith looked at her, and the old smith saw that. He must have, some little bit, because he bowed to her. He bowed, and all around him bowed as well. And it was wrong. It was so wrong. She wasn't a king or a queen, she was only barely a lady after Ramsay had been through with her. This, this sort of thing, this was for Jon and Dany, not for her. But she was of the North. She was Sansa Stark. So she bowed back, and offered her fealty in exchange for theirs.
Win or die. Victory or death, and they weren't alone anymore. No one here would face this greatest war alone.
"I, ah. I'm looking for Gendry Waters, as well," she said, when they'd all straightened up. "I need to speak with him, regarding ... Well. The matter my sister and my brother discussed yesterday. Does anyone know where I can find him?"
Expressions wobbled, at that, wariness creeping back, and protectiveness along with it. It would seem the boy was well regarded, and not just by Sansa's family. No one offered him up. It was the boy himself who stepped tiredly out to meet her.
Or young man, rather. Not a boy anymore. He winced, at the sight of her. Ducked his head to avoid meeting her eyes. But he stood forward, and announced himself readily.
"I'm Gendry, your ladyship," he said. "I'm here. No need to look further for me."
He looked so nervous, Sansa thought. Exactly as Arya had said. Not even Jon's public approval seemed to have dented it much. But it was her he was afraid of. If Arya was right. It was her, and her disapproval, that Gendry feared the most.
She still wasn't sure why. She was neither king nor queen, as she'd said. The Lady of Winterfell, yes, but if both Jon and Arya both claimed him publicly, she was hardly going to gainsay them.
Though that wouldn't have stopped Cersei, she admitted. Joffrey's approval or lack of it, or Robert's either. Cersei would just have gotten rid of him quietly when no one was looking. An accident. People had those. No one would have had to know, even if most of them might have suspected it afterwards. But Sansa wasn't Cersei. That wasn't the sort of thing she would stoop to. And she would never hurt her family that way.
Not that he'd know that, maybe. But that was what she was here to explain to him.
"You don't need to look so worried," she said, a bit more quietly, but still loud enough for those worried about him to hear. "I'm sorry to disturb you at your work. I simply needed to speak to you before tonight."
He twitched warily. "Tonight?" he asked. Sansa bit her lip, and gestured to a sheltered corner of the courtyard. Not privacy, but at least some semblance of it. And he could still be seen, and those around him could reassure themselves that she hadn't ... what, eaten him? Cut him to ribbons for daring to love her sister? Regardless.
She caught the eye of the elder smith once more, and he gruffly gestured for the rest of the courtyard to get back to work once more. Hammers started up, the ring of metal and the dry snap of flaking dragonglass. It would be enough to cover their conversation.
He followed her over readily enough as well. More in resignation than hope, perhaps, but he at least had the courage of his convictions. He stood squared when she turned to him, his chin raised even as his eyes cast down in deference. He still had his hammer with him. For some reason, maybe only that she had just come from Daenerys Targaryen, but Sansa didn't read that as a threat. More absent-mindedness than anything.
"You really don't need to worry," she said, letting herself soften slightly. She'd armoured up to face her people, she realised. Maybe he had had reason to be leery of her. She let herself soften now. She let her shoulders slump, and leaned towards him slightly, enough that he finally raised his eyes. She smiled encouragingly at him. "Arya spoke to me, before even Jon. They both trust you. They both love you. You have nothing to fear from me."
He bit his lip. He didn't believe her, she could see that. She could see him deciding how much he dared say so, as well.
"... I know I'm not of the right blood, your ladyship," he said quietly. A little sideways to the point. "I'm nothing a lady like Arya deserves. I'd hoped ... I had hoped to earn it. To fight for her, for her family. To prove ..."
His voice failed him, his chin dropping back down onto his chest, and Sansa felt a strange creak in her chest. She wondered, idly, if she'd looked like that when Cersei questioned her. If she'd looked so scared, and shamed, and ready to take a blow. She must have, she thought. She knew the feelings far too well for it to be otherwise.
"... Do you know what my sister deserves?" she asked quietly. Dangerously, maybe, with something dark and broken running beneath it.
He looked up at her in alarm. Gendry Waters. Her sister's beloved. He looked at her with worry, and slowly shook his head. Sansa laughed bleakly. She reached out, and touched her hand lightly to arm still holding his hammer. He seemed to realise it then. He dropped the thing hurriedly. It thumped, as it hit the mud and the snow, and Sansa smiled crookedly at him.
"She deserves someone who will love her," she answered, small and soft and raw. "She deserves someone who won't look at her as a lady, as a thing to be bought and sold. She deserves someone who will cherish her, and protect her, and let her live the way she needs to live. Someone who will understand that she has seen things, and done things, and become something else in the face of them. Someone who won't hurt her for it. Someone who will value her, as more than a means to a lordship. That is what she deserves, whether it takes the form of a lord or of a smith. Is that you, Gendry Waters? Can you be that for her?"
"... Yes," he breathed, and almost absently. Almost distantly, as what looked like hope and determination both surged through him. "Yes, my lady. I swear it to you. I know ... I know who she is. Not all of it, but some. I know what she's seen. I wouldn't ever hurt her for it, and not just 'cause she'd promptly kill me. I promise."
She wasn't sure if he'd meant to joke, there. She wasn't sure if it was meant to come out so rueful and warm. His expression froze in alarm immediately afterwards. But that was proof, maybe. That was proof he did know Arya as she was, and love her for it as well.
She wasn't sure what was in her own expression at that either. Whatever it was, he took it amiss. He babbled hastily at her.
"Look, my lady, she isn't ... I thought she was a boy when I first met her. She got in a fight, and I stepped in. I only found out who she was later, and she ... She fought for us. She got us out of Harrenhal. She wanted us to be family. I didn't ... I was too much of a coward then. I let her down. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to fight for her, the way she fought for me. I want to fight for her brother, for her family. I'm tired of --!"
He cut himself off there. He stopped himself. Sansa thought she might be able to finish it anyway.
"You're tired of being helpless," she said softly. "You're tired of being a pawn in everyone else's wars. You want to fight for something of your own. For a family of your own."
He flinched, slightly. But he nodded. And so did Sansa.
"I know how that feels," she said, calmly and tiredly. "And Arya does love you. Jon does too. I don't know you very well, Gendry, and after all I've seen I'm not particularly inclined to trust my family to those I don't know. But Arya trusts you, and when it comes down to it she's often a better judge than I am. I'm not sure she's wrong about you. I want to hope she's not."
"I'll never hurt her, my lady," he promised vehemently. "I know how it feels to be hurt. So does she. Better than me, I think. I want to be better for her than that. I want to show her there's more to ... That it doesn't have to be like that. That it doesn't all have to be about ... about war and blood and hurting, that people can be happy. That they can be safe and they can be happy. I want to show her that. I don't know how, but I do ... I do want to."
Sansa laughed breathlessly. Like it had been punched out of her. She shook her head.
"I don't know either," she said. "Gods, I don't know. I'm not sure if it's possible anymore. Though I want it to be. For all of us. I want that to be possible."
He stared at her. His hand half reached out towards hers. Politeness stopped it. Propriety. But he saw her pain, there. He reached out to her because of it. Sansa straightened herself in the face of that. She firmed both her spine and her purpose.
He was good, she thought. Arya trusted him, Jon trusted him. He was good. The least she could do was give him a chance to prove how much.
"We're gathering tonight," she said, more firmly if maybe a little more distantly. He straightened too, and she did her best to smile and soften it. "The family. I'm trying to arrange it now. I think you should attend. We're, um. We're meeting in Queen Daenerys' chambers. After the evening meal. The family, and those we love. You should be there. Arya chose you. You should come."
And he stared at her for that like she'd hit him between the eyes with his own hammer. He looked like he'd nearly swallowed his own tongue.
"In ... In Queen Daenerys' ..." he stammered. "My lady, I ... I couldn't ..."
She didn't laugh at him. Not quite. She wasn't that cruel. "You fought well enough beside a king," she noted gently. "You hope to marry a king's sister, too. You probably should get used to speaking with royals at some point."
He stared at her in open horror, and Sansa realised that he was, he truly was, not pursuing Arya for her status. He wasn't chasing her because she was a lady, or soon to be the sister of the king. He wasn't chasing her to own her, or use her, or build his influence through hers. The opposite, if anything. He'd wanted to build his influence for himself, by his own deeds. And the knowledge that Arya was sister to a king seemed the opposite of an incentive to him.
Well then. He really was going to need reassurance, wasn't he?
"Don't worry," she said, patting his arm gently and knowing it for useless all the while. "It's family, that's all it is. We're going to be family. All of us. Arya will defend you, whatever happens. As will Jon, as will I. Bran, probably, once he catches up to things. And Ser Davos will be there. He'll mediate for the rest of us, if anything happens. You need only come, Gendry. Don't worry. Arya will stab anyone who looks at you funny. I promise that between us, you'll emerge unscathed."
He dared wear his scepticism openly for that. Sansa near delighted in it. But he softened, finally, and seemed to consider the offer properly, and not just the horror of it.
"Would you truly want me there?" he asked quietly. "I'm not your family yet, my lady, and I'm certainly not the sort to parade before kings and queens. Are you certain you should want me?"
Sansa met his eyes firmly. "If Arya has her way," she said, "you'll be a Stark of Winterfell soon enough. And these are Winterfell's walls. No Stark shall walk among them and flinch for fear of anyone's disapproval. We are all that is left, now, and we shall choose our family as we please. Yes, I want you there. My sister does, so I do too."
He stared at her, and then he dropped his head. It wasn't hiding now, though. It was a bow, and a promise too.
"Then I'll be there for you, my lady," he said, looking back at her. "For Arya too. As long as any of you need me, I'll be there for you."
And Sansa looked at him, and did not weep. "And we for you," she said. "And we for you."
Never alone. None of them. Not ever, ever again.