The castle waits in silence. The halls are empty of people, the candles extinguished, throwing the whole of their small piece of the world in darkness. Still the people of Winterfell lie awake in their beds, waiting. They wait for the chill reminder of the war, and they wonder if it is not the dead that are the lucky ones.

Everyone is awake, from the King to the prisoners in the dungeon, they wait.

The King lays awake in his bed, rubbing his eyes to ward off sleep. He cannot close his eyes or he will fall into the nothingness that threatens to claim him. He wants to fall into that nothingness, but it is far worse to fall asleep then it is to stay awake.

When the moon is highest in the sky, it starts. Loud and haunting screams fill the halls from the dungeons to the kitchens. Those who are not required to rise from their beds at the screams pull pillows blankets over their heads in hopes of blocking the blood curdling noise.

Quickly the King rises from his bed at the sound, not stopping to dress as he never changed into his bed clothes. He no longer runs to the source as he did the first fortnight, but his steps still fall in haste.

When he gets to her chamber the guards let him in without a word. He sighs to himself when he sees her, asleep on her bed, screaming and covered in a thin sheet of sweat, even in the cold of her chamber.

Slowly, he climbs into her bed, shushing her quietly as he gently lifts her body to rest against him. He wraps his arms around her and rocks her softly as he whispers into her ear. Over and over he repeats his name and that she is safe, that he will protect her. Finally she begins to quiet and the subjects of Winterfell fall into sleep.

"Sansa," he whispers when she is awake enough to hear him.

"Robb," she whispers in return, turning slightly in his arms so she can see him.

"You're alright sweet sister," he murmurs against her forehead.

She curls into his arms for a moment before ripping away from him. She sits at the corner of her bed, leaning forward like she is about to empty her stomach, and gripping the sides of her bed.

"I cannot erase what I have done," she cries, tears pouring down her porcelain face.

"You were a little girl Sansa, with no knowledge of what would happen," Robb soothes, hoping that maybe he will get more then a few winks of sleep for a change. It is truly exhausting to be the only one who can quiet her.

"What does it matter when he is still dead?" she asks him.

He doesn't answer her; instead he joins her at the edge of her bed and pulls her close.

"We have all done wrong sister, it is what we do now that defines us. Lay down and sleep. It will all look better in the morning," he promises her, laying her down before joining her beneath the furs.

Moons turn and her screams do not stop. The people of Winterfell say nothing, but few sleep and fewer still sleep well. The castle will fall completely if he does not find a way to keep her quiet.

It is his wife that bitterly gives him the suggestion.

"You spend half the night in her bed anyway, so why bother come to mine at all?"

Any other day or life time, his small council might have been outraged with the idea, warning him of Targaryen and Lannister whispers that would arise from such an act, but they are as desperate as anyone to get Princess Sansa to sleep through the night. They say nothing, and so Robb agrees.

He tries in that night. He allows Sansa to fall asleep in his arms. While he falls into sleep with her, the rest of his castle remains awake as they always do, waiting for the screams to fill the halls. None come.

The next morning, the Northern King awakens to find that he is well rested for the first time since finding his sister.

The castle is bustling with new found energy. Without the nightmares to haunt her, Sansa shines brightly. She glides through the castle with a large smile on her pretty face, whispering sweet words to children and curiously watching wood carvers and blacksmiths in their crafts. She speaks to anyone and everyone. The people blossom under her attention, so no one speaks of what is needed to keep her that way.

It isn't until many name days later when Queen Jeyne remains baron and Robb remains in his sister's bed that the whispers start. It is only then that the small council warn him of Targaryens and Lannisters. They tell him that the people whisper that he loves his sister more then his wife. They tell him that the people call Sansa Queen instead of his lovely southern bride.

Robb cannot say they are wrong. Sansa is of the North, no matter how fish she appears, and the people love her for it. She is a Queen because she loves her people, taking time to speak with them and learn with them. They are suspicious of Jeyne, for being of the south, for being part of a vassal house of House Lannister. She is not open and devoted like Sansa.

The people whisper of Targaryens and Lannisters, yet they do not fault the two eldest Stark children should it be true. As the last two Starks, for whom family is everything, it is understandable. So they do not question when Robb does not return to his wife's bed, or when Sansa – many name days later – bares a fatherless son whom Robb names crowned prince of the North. They do not question because they know what it was like before, how Lady Sansa screamed for her life every night, and how only someone of her blood could quiet her.

They are the last two Starks of Winterfell, and together they survive.