Author's Note: I originally posted this story on archiveofourown, where it's completed. It's based largely on show canon to the point there are scenes directly from episodes in some chapters, but altered by circumstances.

It starts at Season 4, Episode 5 "First of His Name" and begins diverging from there. Generally any storyline that isn't being shown, bar the North and the Vale, is happening as it happened on the show until the characters show up in the story. There will also be some elements from the books integrated into the story, but portrayed as a show version of them.

The story is split into essentially three parts. The first, dealing with the moment it splits from show canon to around the end of season six is firmly a Jonsa story. The second part, dealing with season seven, introduces Dany and a relationship between the three. The second part is basically season eight and gets pretty nuts.

Chapter 1: Sword of the Crossroads

"Your mother always had a sweet tooth, you know?" Lysa Arryn said, letting Sansa take a lemon cake from the tray she'd brought. Pouring her a drink as she spoke of Catelyn getting fat before being put on a diet.

She'd seemed so sweet and caring until Sansa asked where the she got the lemons.

"He feels responsible for you," she said holding Sansa's fingers, cutting her off to ask, "Why? Why does he feel responsible for you?"

No matter how she'd answered, Lysa barely listened. She was hurting her fingers, Sansa fighting back tears as she pleaded for her aunt to believe she was a virgin, that Petyr loved her, that she was nothing more than a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns. She was nearly as shocked as she was relieved when Lysa got to her feet and hugged Sansa to her chest.

"Shh, shh, shh. It'll be alright. It will all be alright. You'll be a widow soon…" Lysa looked to the head of auburn hair against her chest, lighter than her own, just like her sister's, and she knew. She knew she couldn't take the chance. She couldn't lose Petyr, not now, not ever. She wanted to obey him, trusted everything would be alright if she did as he said, and yet she couldn't trust this girl.

"I bet you miss your family, don't you?" Lysa asked, her voice sweet again.

Sansa looked up, still shaken and uneased by the sudden shifts in her aunt. "I do. Every day."

"All of them?" Lysa asked carefully.

Though confused, Sansa nodded. "Of course. I loved all of them."

"Even the bastard?" Lysa's brow arched, managing to keep her tone from being too accusatory.

"Jon?" Sansa's brow knit, frowning. He was the only one left alive as far as she knew, the only one not taken from her, not lost or betrayed. With a hint of shame she nodded. "I was awful to him growing up, but I do. He's the only one left."

For a moment she thought her aunt was about to slap her, fighting back a wince before Lysa's hand settled against her cheek and she beamed. "Would you like to see him again?"

The fire in her aunt's eyes was unsettling, as though Sansa's answer didn't matter. Still, she nodded. "Of course."

"Then you will," she said firmly. "You'll go to your bastard brother. You'll go north, stay hidden away there, far from the rest of the world. Far from those awful lions." She stroked Sansa's cheek, sighing contently, satisfied with herself.

"Aunt Lysa," Sansa started, but Lysa cut her off.

"I'll send some men with you, ones who can keep you secret, keep you safe. It will take time, but you'll be safer there, at the edge of the world."

There was no fighting this. No arguing with her. That was clear from the look in her eyes, wide, joyous, frantic.

Pushing her lips up into a smile, Sansa nodded. "Thank you, Aunt Lysa."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Alayne Stone traveled slowly across Westeros, making her way through the Vale and Riverlands, skirting the edge of both to keep away from the Kingsroad. She'd hoped it would be easier in the North, when she was home. Instead it got worse not long after they slipped past Moat Cailin.

They had camped the night and preparing to leave after sunrise when they heard them. The barking. The screams. The men.

Two men, knights dressed down to keep from drawing attention, hurried toward the noise while two more stayed with her. They heard the yells, the clash of steel followed by pained screams.

With a shared glance the men at her side went into action. The larger one drew steel and moved toward the barks while the shorter one grabbed Sansa's arm and dragged her toward the horse they'd brought to hold their supplies. "Lady Stone, hurry. Leave. Go back through the swamps and they'll lose you. Go with the wind as much as you can, keep them from picking up your scent."

She couldn't find her voice. She wanted to ask if he'd join her, but she knew he doubted that as much as she did. He stood resolute, brave, sure he would die but willing to try.

Her knuckles were surely white beneath her gloves, clutching her reins harder than the thread of hope she clung to every day since she left the Eyrie. She had no place to go, no course to follow, no haven waiting for her. Only north. Only the Wall.

She could barely remember the path they'd taken around Moat Cailin, but she managed. Somehow she trekked through the bogs and mud, ignoring the bite of bugs. The shriek of it's inhabitants had twisted her stomach their first time through, but they were nothing compared to what she'd heard past Moat Cailin. The terror and pain in those women's screams.

Even once she had passed it, once Moat Cailin was no longer visible on the horizon, she rode. Surely it would be safer back in the Eyrie. With Petyr, who had saved her from King's Landing. If Aunt Lysa still wanted her near the Wall, then Petyr would give her better guards, let her sail their, whoever hunted through the woods of the North.

Her bag was emptied, her waterskin empty, so she made for the roads. Her hair was still dark, she could play at Alayne still, play the bastard girl who lost her way. Play on their pity if she needed to, if the silver stags left in her bag weren't enough.

With her stomach twisted in hunger, she made her way to a crowded in. Once she entered she made her way to a table and ordered something cheap and filling, deciding the rest would need to go to supplies. She smiled as a young girl came to her along her path, accepting the offered mead.

"Lady Sansa," a female voice called firmly, drawing her gaze to the tall blonde woman dressed as a knight. "My name is Brienne of Tarth." Stepping beside her table, she knelt beside Sansa. "Before your mother's death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word I would find you and protect you. I will shield you back and keep your council, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Looking past the lady knight, she saw Podrick Payne and her breath caught in her throat. "No, no," she turned back to Brienne, tears stinging her eyes. "You've come to take me back."

Brienne shook her head, "I swear I haven't, my lady. I swear, I am here to protect you. To help you however you need."

"I know him," she said looking to Podrick, who shrank where he stood.

"Podrick is my squire," she said, realizing what she thought. "He is loyal to me. And I am loyal to you, not the Lannisters or Baratheons. You." She reached for Sansa's hand, taking it gently. "I swear, I am here to help you however I can. You need only ask."

Brienne's earnest sincerity held Sansa's gaze. She'd seen plenty of people lie, their eyes alight with amusement at their false words, aloof and empty to keep from betraying themselves, cold and hard with false assurance. Brienne had none of that. Only a warm, pleading honesty that reminded her of home. Of Mother and Father. Of Robb. Of Jon.

Her throat shifted as she took a breath, nodding carefully. "If what you say is true… then I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and…"

Seeing her searching, Podrick supplied with a solemn smile, "meat and mead at my table."

She glanced at him before meeting Brienne's eyes again, continuing, "Meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new." With a breath she gave a quick nod. "Arise."

Brienne's face warmed, her jaw shifting as she got to her feet. "Where shall we go, my lady?"

She could have continued on her path. Returned to the Vale, her aunt. Asked for Petyr's help once again. But she knew it would be best to avoid being in his debt even more than she was. Best to avoid her aunt's paranoia over his involvement with her. Best to stick to her original goal.

"The Wall," she answered firmly. "Take to me to Jon Snow."