Sansa

It had been months since Jon had left Winterfell to beg of aid from the Mother of Dragons. The thought still left a bad taste in Sansa's mouth. Jon had already left his home to take the black and he had served his duty. He did not need to leave again. In the coming war, the North needed their leader more than anything, they needed their King.

Sansa had been doing her best to fill Jon shoes. She asked the allied houses for aid in which way she could; Wood from house Ironsmith, who's ironoak trees grew tall and prolific, smoked meats from house Hornwood and house Lake, and soldiers from any peoples house whos hands where big enough to wield iron. Sansa had little experience with war, even less with the dead, but she knew if they had any chance to survive, every resource counted. Every life counted.

Sansa walked along the wooded walkways of Winterfell, carefully watching over her people. The metal clanks of hammers on the dragonglass filled the silence with the smell of burning coals and cold. The Northerners were not a fearful people but you could see their unease. There were no smiles, no chatter. Just a stoic sense of obligation. The people knew what was coming, or at least had an idea. They knew that their lives and the lives of their families and houses may be ending soon. The long histories of the Mormonts and Hornwoods and Starks could be erased by what was to come. The North shivered for the first time since the First Men.

As she watched she saw Maester Wolkan approach in a hushed manner. Sansa could tell something was wrong but she withheld. "Lady Stark," Maester Wolkan said, bowing slightly in his robes, the sound of metal clanging softly as he did so.

"Maester, what news do you bring?" Sansa replied coolly.

"House Hornwood says they will be able to supply four barrels of salted carp and two of hog." the Maester said in a rather flat tone.

"That's good to hear, what of the men?" Sansa asked scanning Wolkan. She knew she wasn't going to like his answer when she saw how the corner of his mouth twitched before he spoke.

"Well... They've said they can only provide thirty men." Maester Wolkan said nervously. Sansa caught herself holding her breath for only a moment, resuming her breath back to normal before the Maester could even notice.

"We will accept thirty, will they need iron or will they provide their own?" Sansa asked calmly.

"They did not specify."

"Very well, do you bring any other news?"

"Yes, your brother Jon has sent word from Kingslanding. I have his letter right here." Did he not think to tell me this first?

"I'll have the letter, thank you," Sansa said, grasping the letter, unfurling it in anticipation.

To the Warden of the North

Queen Cersei has agreed upon a temporary truce to help in the war to come. When she saw the dead move, she swore that she would lend her strength to fight for the living. Queen Daenerys will be coming to Winterfell to prepare for the coming war with us.

Be well sister,

J.S

Jon your heart may be good but it is also to easily deceived. Sansa knew Cersei, she knew she would never risk her position to help her enemies, even if she died for it. Lanisters don't care for the lives of men, they only care for the lives of Lanisters, and not even all Lanisters. How could he be so naive after everything he's seen? How could he believe her after what her family did to our father? The only thing Jon and the Dragon Queen have done is to tell our enemies that we'll be weakened soon.

"You will need to tell the blacksmiths to double their current production using half dragonglass and half iron. Make sure they are well fed, they will take priority over everyone, even myself. And inform Brienne to work with the carpenters on the south road. I want barricades and spikes made of ironwood stretching as far out as we can get them." Sansa commanded in her cool tone.

A confused look plastered Maester Wolkans face as a choked noise bubbled to the surface. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "B-but my Lady, the dead are coming from the North," He said.

"This isn't for the dead."

Sansa hated strolling through the Godswood as much as her mother had. The cold silence left her with an uneasy feeling that she had never grown accustomed to. She was a summer child, and while she could bare the cold of Winterfell and the North, not the Godswood. But she knew she would find Bran here. He liked to sit and stare at the weirwood, pondering over his visions. Sansa didn't envy Bran, she knew what it was like to live in the past, and she had to become the woman she is today to break free of that curse. Seeing her father beheaded by command of her betrothed, losing her Mother and Brother to Walder Frey, trapped and tortured by the Lannisters and Ramsy. Sansa used to shutter at the thought of Joffery and shook at the thought of Ramsy. She had to learn not to shake, not to cry at the memories of her bruises or weep at the thought of Ramsy's defilement of her. She had to learn to turn those memories into strength. This was her duty, her people needed her, she could not break. She could not be the stupid girl who wanted everything, she needed to become the women her mother knew she could be. So she turned her vile treatment into iron and forge her memories into wisdom.

As expected, Bran stared at the weirwood, his eyes blank and lifeless. Sansa feared for her brother when she saw him like this; what if he became lost in the past? She could not bear to lose another brother. Sansa approached him softly, giving his coarse brown hair a single stroke. Minutes passed in the silence before Bran came back from his vision, his eyes returning to his normal stoic brown. "Sorry to keep you waiting," Bran said in his flat tone.

"That's okay," Sansa replied with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"What would you like to know Sansa?" Bran asked.

Sansa hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to communicate with this new Bran she was still getting to know. She took a deep breath."Well, I've been running the North in Jon's stead."

"Yes, you're a good leader. The people respect you," Bran said.

"They respect Jon," She corrected, letting her normal formal tone falter in front of her little brother. "I hear the mumbling from the Northerners about being lead by Lady Stark. They would rather have their King. Jon should be here."

"Jon is doing what he thinks is right, and you are doing what is needed for our people," These words were the only warmth Sansa felt in the Godswood. Bran may be the Three-eyed Raven, whatever that means, but in moments like these, she could still hear her brother, little Bran full of hope. Still, the warmth of his words was not enough to drown the dread Sansa felt in the pit of her stomach.

"But will it be enough? If the armies of the dead are truly as big as you and Jon say they are, we won't have enough men or resources to fight them. Even if we do win the war, Cersei will be at our heels ready to slit our throats now that she knows what we'll be facing. Tell me Bran, and be honest, do we stand a chance? Will our family be safe?" Sansa asked, desperation glinting in her eyes. Bran remained silent for a while, the winds whipping through the Godswood like a dark omen.

"I don't know. The past is easy to see but the future is fickle and a hard thing to predict. I don't know the fate of men," Bran stated. As hard as Sansa fought, tears still began to well in her eyes.

"Then why did you do this to yourself, Bran? Why do you live in the past if you can't tell us what to do?" Sansa pleaded.

"That's what I've been searching to find out. I've been looking for a way to put an end to the Night King but it is difficult for me to search without him finding me first. We know of the dragonglass and Valyrian steel but the Night King keeps his weaknesses well hidden. I am sorry, I am looking," Bran said, his voice monotonic and flat. Sansa let one more tear fall before she composed herself.

"It's okay brother, we'll find a way," Sansa said, her voice returning to normal.

"Perhaps. I do have other news." Bran said.

"What is it?" Sansa asked.

"It's about Jon."