Jon

"We have less numbers than Ramsay Bolton. Our allies are but small houses that spare few men. The Free Folk may well be our only strength. We need more men!" Sansa said exhaustive.

"We've rallied all of the loyal Stark bannerman and none will come to our aid. I have nor the title or right to take Winterfell." You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again.

The sound of horses and men filled the cold air at the Gift with clatter and talk. Thick clouds obscured the sun in heavy snowfall darkening their settlement. I have no right, he thought.

Abruptly entering the tent Ser Davos curtly bowed. "My lord, my lady. I present Lord of Ravenwood, Almont Firestone."

"My lord, my Lady Stark," Lord Almont bowed.

Tall, pale, and balding he stood weary in face. "I hope you can forgive my refusal. Bolton soldier's run admist Ravenwood. Wreaking havoc wherever they go... I wish to present a friend in need a gift. For such times calls for justice. For our families... gravely demand 'em."

"What is this gift you speak of? Why should we trust a turncloak?" Sansa asked albeit cold. Far from the Sansa, Jon knew as a child. Her hardened exterior so biting and cold.

"Never were we aligned to such barbarity. The Lannister's were believed to have slaughtered the remaining Starks. Leaving your loyal men to cower behind their stone walls. Though I tried raising arms after my eldest had passed, I was met with another death. No one came. My young son skinned alive beyond the gates of Ravenwood for my rebellion. No sword was lifted in aid to me, your family name, and certainly not my son."

Now distraught of feeling, Lord Firestone paced the small quarters. "I've come to aid House Stark once again as loyal subjects." His gait ended with a loud inhale. Bellowing the winds of his breath to a descending kneel. "My life is yours, my sword is yours, now and forever."

"That hasn't stopped some subjects from spying on us," Sansa scoffed.

"My family and I are indebted to the Starks for saving our lives in past times. I wish no harm but peaceful summers and winters." Lord Firestone said stiffly.

Jon leaned forward, "you are a fighting man? A water dancer my father told me. We could use you in our ranks." Sansa eyed her half brother sharply.

"I am, my Lord Snow. He was a great man. He must've told ya of the Mountain of the Moon?"

"He wanted to raise his banners to join the rebellion, but was complicated by the fact that Gulltown, the Vale's chief port, had stayed loyal to the Iron throne. My father had to cross the Mountain of the Moon. Where he met you. He said you helped him."

"I did. It was a bloody way down." Sighing of the memories, he smiled. "The clansmen were the least of our problem as you know. Those fucking foothills on those mountains are dangerous. If not for my skill, we'd would've been the meal of a shadow cat on those peaks." His cheeks red now, faded to the paleness. "I propose an alliance in such partnership."

"My lord?"

"My daughter marries you. At first sight. I've lost my son fighting with the Young Wolf, and lost another by that Bolton monster. My daughter is the last..."

"We're at war. There will be no time for a wedding when war is on our backs. I'm just a bastard. I bring nothing to your family, my lord." Jon said sullenly.

"No time to live but now. The quicker the wedding, the longer of strategy. Bastard or not you have Stark blood, just as your sister. I'm Dornish boy, such thing means nothing." Lord Almont said heartily.

Silence filled the tent with unease. Would father approve? "My sister is heir to Winterfell."

"You are just as Stark as me. You should take it. I don't know armies or of ruling... I just want to be back home." Sansa said.

"I'll give you 2,700 men and her dowry, along with my lands should I die in the battle."

I would not need to steal her if I wanted her love. She might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow hadn't dared dream again since Stannis offered him lordship to Winterfell. I could name him Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought guiltily.

Looking to Sansa once more, she nodded. "Yes, I-I consent." May the Gods forgive me.

Narella had been in Jon's life, briefly, when he was a boy, maybe eight. He remembered her running with Theon, Robb, and himself through the Godswood playing. Much to Lady Catelyn's dismay. Will she remember the bastard?

In the colors of House Firestone, his betrothed rode before him. Such colors of white and maroon, stained her golden bronze face of melancholia. Her long, thick, curly ebony hair fell down to her bottom in a wild tumble. Framing her beauty in such a wild estate.

Lady Narella Firestone had caught Jon's eye the day she had traveled with her father to Winterfell. He had caught a glimpse of her over her horse. She smiled so prettily, Jon looked down at the basket of fresh vegetables from the market he was carrying, blush tinging his cheeks. Never a noble girl would of minded such boy.

"My Lady Firestone." Jon greeted as she approached.

Her doe eyes wide and alert, "my lord. It is a pleasure to see you once more." Jon helped her from her horse. Leading her toward his tent. Well aware of her shivering body he wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. They'd only have the moment before they would be whisked away in matrimony.

"I'm sorry for meeting under these circumstances. I'd sooner wed in Winterfell, under the heart tree..." Looking upon the map on the table, she looked to him, as if in doubt.

"It is not your fault, my lord. Believe it or not, it is safer here than home has ever been. Roose and Ramsay, made sure of that."

"I'm sorry for what you endured, my lady..." Pretty words. She is to be my wife. "After the war, I'll show you how life should've been."

"Please, call me Narella. I-I want us to know each other now. A-after our wedding night..." she said shyly.

Mustering up his courage as he drew closer to her. "I would be delighted, please call me Jon-" the sound of the tent flap opening was heard, as Ser Davos entered.

"-My lord, my lady. It is time."