Full Summary:

Suddenly on her own, Sansa struggles to manage as she wonders who to trust and where to hide. Now, finally standing on her own, she comes face to face with the one person she'd never thought to see again - her husband.

Tyrion has managed to convince Danerys Stormborn that her nephews claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than her own. As the King keeps him close, the political games surround him once again, and this time he's playing on his own terms. Can he actually get everything he wants?

As King's Landing and Westeros struggle to pick up the pieces following Cercei's disasterous rule, everyone is trying to put their lives back in order. But Jon Snow's desperate pleas for help cannot go ignored.

The clouds have come, the snow is falling. Winter has arrived.

Author's Note: Hi, I'm MaryRuth. Last year my daughter challenged me to write GoT fanfiction and I gave it a try. I've never watched the TV show, so this is based on the books. It picks up roughly at the end of Dancing With Dragons. Hope you enjoy it, be gentle! I've got a good bit of buffer on this, will update weekly on Tuesdays.

Chapter 1

Sansa stared moodily down at the waves crashing against the stone cliffs. A light snow was falling, growing heavier by the minute, and ominous clouds hung low overhead. Below her, the streets of Gulltown were beginning to empty as everyone sought their evening meal, the comforts of family and hearth, or just shelter from the oncoming storm. The thought of family sent a pang of pain through her. But it wasn't as sharp as it used to be, not a sharp, searing pain. Just a deep, dull, ache, the kind that wouldn't easily go away. At least she'd stopped crying incessantly.

A soft knock at the door had her turning her head, as Gretchel hurried over and opened it, admitting Ser Lothor Brune. He nodded to her, speaking to the master and the other knight in the room, smiling and accepting a cup of hot spiced wine from Gretchel as he took a seat in front of the cheerfully crackling fireplace.

They all were silent for long moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Maester Coleman sighed loudly. "What are we going to do?" he asked quietly.

"I don't understand why that's even a question," the knight, Ser Harry, said with a small frown. "We'll return home, to one of the houses of the Lords of the Vale. What else would we do?"

"We can't." Sansa forced herself to speak, even as she kept her eyes on the street, watching the last few stragglers hurrying towards their homes. "That's the first place she'd look for him. We can't go back there."

"Look for who?" Ser Harry asked, his confusion obvious. "Who's looking?"

"Lord Robert," the Maester said quietly.

Sansa took a deep breath before turning away from the window. When news had come to them a few days before that Lord Petyr had been killed by a would be thief – and that the thief had lost his life as well – she'd been stunned, and instantly suspicious. At first she was relieved. No more kisses and too intimate embraces, no more seeing that look in his eye, like he was a starving man and she was dinner. But her relief had been momentary, over before it could fully form, replaced by a burgeoning terror. She was Sansa Stark - Lady Tyrion Lannister - and there was a bounty on her head. Only a few weeks ago, a mercenary had accosted her as she'd been out walking, trying to clear her head after a particularly grueling day of Robert's tantrums. Ser Lothor had appeared out of nowhere and killed the man before he'd known the older knight was there. Lord Petyr had kept the entire incident a secret but from a few of his trusted knights, whom he'd told that the incident was Cercei trying to get to Lord Robert. But that night Sansa had sat tearfully silent while Gretchel cut off her long hair, then deepened the remaining cap of curls and waves to black. The color made her look sallow and sickly, which is exactly what Lord Petyr had wanted. No one looked too closely at the sick, he'd said. In addition, Gretchel tightly bound Sansa's breasts every morning, until they were hardly noticeable. Lord Petyr had been the only thing keeping her out of the Queen Regent's hands. Now there was nothing and no one to save her, but herself. She'd lain awake all night, thinking. She wished that she had Tyrion's gift of strategy, but she didn't. She was scared witless, and she had no idea of what to do. But as she'd lain there, crying, she'd forced herself to think. And she'd come up with a plan.

"Why would anyone be looking for the little lord?" Harry asked, still obviously confused.

"Because he is Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East. He also no longer has parents or guardians," Ser Lothor said, his voice grave. "Which makes him a ward of the King. And the Queen Regent."

"Who needs all of the allies she can get," Sansa made herself say as she walked towards the group. She stopped and picked up a cup of spiced wine off of the tray, using it to warm her hands. "Her son's throne is in danger. The Vale is a stronghold, she needs to be in control of it. And the only thing standing in the way of that is a frail, sickly, nine year old boy. You've only just joined us, Ser Harry, so perhaps my lord father didn't have a chance to tell you. There's already been one attempt on his life."

The young knight's eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. "What? When?"

"A few weeks ago," Ser Lothor said gruffly. "Lord Petyr felt it best if too many people didn't know, so that there was no chance word would get back to the little lord. The last thing we need is for him to be frightened."

"I can't quite believe that my lord father's death is an isolated incident. And the only person who would benefit from Robert's death is Cercei," Sansa said quietly. She knew that Ser Harry was Robert's heir, he was a part of Lord Petyr's plan for her salvation. She was supposed to charm him so that he'd agree to marry her, then become her defender and champion to regain Winterfell. But although Ser Harry was certainly handsome, she felt uncomfortable with him. He treated her exactly the way he treated every other woman. He swaggered and sauntered, charming every woman he came into contact with. Sansa wondered if he felt the same as Lord Petyr – that it wasn't "if" Robert died, but "when." Was he so certain because he knew that he would soon become Lord of the Vale? How much had he been told? Not much, she feared, if anything. Lord Petyr's plan was to use her to take control of the North, she knew. But to what end? she wondered. Would he have them follow the Lannisters? He had to know that would never happen. Stannis Baratheon? It seemed unlikely. So what was his plan, once he'd rallied and gained the support of the Northern Lords?

"By law, we should be notifying the court of Lord Baelish's death, and taking the boy to King's Landing," the Maester said softly. "She's his guardian now.

"We can't," Sansa said insistently, stepping forward. "If we do that, she'll kill him. She'll make it look accidental, or perhaps natural - it's no secret his health isn't the best. She will be appropriately sorry, of course. She'll probably declare a period of mourning. But she'll also gift the Vale to someone else, rather immediately. She needs the Vale in her control."

"If the little lord dies, I'm his heir," Harry said evenly.

"Yes," Sansa said softly. "But to her, you are nothing. You might as well not even exist. The only name she's concerned about is Arryn. And if Robert Arryn is out of the way, she will gift the Vale to some ally of hers. That person's first order of business would be to dispose of you. And I know that you're a skilled knight, and you wouldn't make it easy for them. But how long would it take? How many battles would be fought? How many people would die? No," she said, shaking her head. "My lord father wanted no blood spilled in the Vale. It's why he came to marry Lady Lysa, so that there would be no fighting."

"And so that he would become Lord Protector, let's not forget about that," Harry said cynically.

Sansa nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "I don't disagree that my lord father's marriage was a strategic move on his part. But he wanted no more bloodshed."

"How convenient that Lady Lysa was killed so soon after their wedding," Ser Lothor said into his cup. "It made it so much easier for it to all go the way he wanted."

Sansa paused, surprised to hear the sentiment expressed by the knight. Lord Petyr had trusted him, she'd assumed that Ser Lothor was loyal. She'd been hopeful that he would take her side in this, since he'd been in King's Landing and had to know how treacherous Cercei was. The only way she could keep herself safe was to attach herself to someone else, and the only one left was Robert. If she could convince them that Cercei wanted him dead, that they had to keep him hidden, then perhaps she could remain hidden herself.

"He didn't want that," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "He cared for Lady Lysa very much, they'd know each other since they were children."

"Still. It was….convenient." The large man sipped from his cup.

"Convenient or not, it doesn't matter much now," Gretchel said. "Seems to me the only thing that matters right now is keeping the little lord safe. And if what Alayne is saying is true, what are we supposed to do?"

"How do we know what Alayne is saying is true?" Harry asked skeptically. "She arrived with her father, she's not one of us. She could go back to her own home, to her mother's family. So why is she so concerned about the little lord anyway?"

Sansa stared at him, her eyes wide. They had to believe her. "He's a child," she said, trying not to panic. "He's lost his father, his mother, and his step father, of course I'm concerned! And perhaps you're unaware, Ser Harry, but I was raised in a sept." She forced herself to keep her eyes on his, although her heart was racing and she was shaking in fear. "My mother gave me to the septa's when I was an infant, only days old. She gave them money to support me until she died, but her family refused to take me in, or to have anything to do with me. That's when the septa's contacted my lord father. So, no. I don't have a home or a family to go back to."

"Perhaps you're as strategic as your lord father," Ser Lothor turned and eyed her warily. "What is it you gain from this arrangement, Alayne?"

My life. "As I've said, I've nowhere to go," she whispered, trying to meet the knight's eyes. "The child needs a caregiver, and he's grown fond of me." He doesn't know what I'm up to, she realized with dismay. He can't trust me because he doesn't know what I'm doing. She should have spoken to him beforehand. She had to choose who to trust. But how?

"Let's say for a moment that Alayne is telling the truth," the Maester interrupted her thoughts. "Where would we go?"

They were all silent for a moment, thinking of war torn Westeros. "Seems to me across the sea might be the only safe place for him," Gretchel said heavily.

The Maester shook his head. "When the little lord and his mother left King's Landing by sea, he almost died. He was violently sick. The only thing that would stay down was his mother's milk, and we no longer have Lady Lysa to provide that service so…I think we need to stay on land."

"Land is a dangerous prospect as well," Ser Lothor said heavily. "I think young Harry may be right. We need to seek refuge from the Lords of the Vale. They'll provide protection for the boy, and the queen is too busy with other areas to send an army here."

"No, she won't send an army," Sansa said softly. "She'll send one or two men with instruction to kill him quickly and quietly."

"We can protect him against that," Harry said impatiently. "Especially if we're somewhere difficult to reach, like Gates of the Moon. Lord Royce would surely take in the little lord."

But would he take me in, Sansa had to wonder.

"Of course Lord Royce would take Lord Robert," Gretchel said. "Any of the lords would. Weren't they demanding that Lord Baelish give them the boy anyway?"

They all nodded, and although Sansa wasn't sure it was the best plan for her, she knew it was the best one for Robert. The Lords of the Vale would ensure his safety, and that he was well educated and provided for. Ser Harry rose from his chair. "I'll send word to Lord Royce," he said. "We should leave as soon as possible."

"No," Sansa said, stopping him. Everyone looked at her, Harry's annoyance obvious on his face. "If no one knows what you're doing, they're less inclined to try to stop you," she said softly. "I know I can't be the only one of us who does not believe my lord father's death was truly an accident. We don't know if there was anyone else involved, or anyone else still out there waiting. Lord Royce won't turn us away. There's no need to send word, we'll just go. We can tell him what happened when we arrive."

"I agree," Ser Lothor said, his eyes firmly on Sansa.

"As do I," Maester Coleman said.

Harry sighed. "It makes sense," he said grudgingly. "We'll keep our leaving a secret until we actually go."

"Which won't be until after this storm passes," Ser Lothor said, looking at the heavily falling snow outside.

Gretchel sighed heavily. "It's going to be a hard trip," she said worriedly. "I don't know if the little lord is up to it."

Sansa didn't either. "We'll have to do the best we can," she said quietly.

Everyone rose to leave, filing out of the door quietly. Ser Lothor was the last. "Gretchel, I'd like a word alone with Lady Alayne." She nodded, sparing a glance to Sansa before gathering the cups and tray, closing the door softly behind her.

He gestured to the seat next to him, near the fire, and Sansa walked slowly forward, glancing at him warily.

"I don't know if you remember," he said kindly when she'd settled into the chair, "but I was on the Merling King with you on the trip from King's Landing."

Sansa shook her head. "I was ill for most of that journey," she said quietly.

"I remember," he said. "You couldn't keep much food down. Lord Baelish wasn't sure if it was sea sickness, or your distress at everything that had happened. We knew what we were taking you from.

I don't know if I've ever told you, but I met your father – your true father - long before you all came to King's Landing," he said. "Years ago, you were probably just a babe. I'd been in the Barrowlands, trying to find work, and Lord Eddard and his men came into the inn I was staying at. It was snowing heavily, and they were trying to find rooms for the night. He was on his way home, he said. The innkeeper gave him rooms, and they all sat downstairs with everyone else, eating their meal and laughing and joking. Your father served his men, he would go and get refills of ale for them, even went back to the kitchen and got more bread for them. The next morning, we were all getting ready to leave at the same time, they heading north, me heading south. My horse had lost a shoe, and my money was tight but I knew I had to have a horse. But before I could say anything, I saw a coin fly through the air to the stable master. 'The knight's horse needs a shoe,' he said. The stable master came right over and took my horse, all the while smiling and saying 'Aye, Lord Stark, as you say.' " Ser Lothor looked awed at the memory. "Your father just smiled at me and said, 'It's hard enough being a man alone on the road, but a man alone, on the road, with no horse? That's an impossible situation. Safe travels, Ser Knight.' And they rode away. The stable master not only reshod my horse, he gave me a full satchel of food – bread, cheese, dried meat, and apples – to take with me because your father had given him so much."

Sansa smiled, tears filling her eyes. "Such a simple thing," she said softly. "But Father always said the simple things meant the most."

"I don't have a particular allegiance to the North," he said. "Or the south, or the east, or the west. But your father was a good man, and I was saddened when he was killed. And the last command Lord Baelish gave to me was to keep you safe. He paid me well to do so, and even though dead men pay no salaries, I'll still do my best."

"You're the captain of Robert's guard," Sansa said quietly. "You'll still be paid." She thought quickly of the package Lord Petyr had given her before they'd left the Vale, urging her to keep it hidden away, and their secret. Perhaps it was time she opened it. If there were gold in it she could use it to take care of herself, perhaps to secure some hedge knights for protection.

"I'm not interested in returning to the Vale," he said dismissively. "It's too cold there for my tastes. And while I agree that returning to Gates of the Moon is best for the boy, I don't know that it's best for you."

Sansa couldn't argue, since she'd thought the same thing herself.

"The way I see it Lady Sansa, you can go north to White Harbor. Lord Manderly was a friend to your father, and a loyal supporter of your brother."

"Lord Petyr said he'd joined with the Lannisters," she said, glancing up at him.

But Ser Lothor shook his head. "Don't believe everything you hear," he said. "Lord Manderly is no fool. He knows when to bow down and appear beaten if it's the only way to stay alive. And because the Lannisters think he's loyal, they wouldn't think to look for you there. He could keep you safe until this war is over and everything is settled."

Sansa sighed when he fell silent, then nodded slightly. She had nowhere else to go, and no one else to trust.

"Or." Ser Lothor said. When he didn't continue, Sansa looked up to find his steady gaze on her. "An army has appeared in the south, near Tarth. Rumors are it's the Golden Company."

"I've never heard of the Golden Company," she said with a small frown.

"They're late of Pentos, I believe," he continued. "They've taken several castle's, including Cape Wraith, Griffin's Roost, and some of the smaller estates as well. Word is they're headed to Storm's End."

Sansa didn't understand why he was telling her this. "Which king are they supporting?" she asked hesitantly. It couldn't be Lord Stannis if they were planning to take Storm's End.

"They haven't officially declared support for anyone," he said. He glanced around the room, as if they weren't alone, then leaned towards her and lowered his voice. "But the rumor is there's a Targaryen in their midst."

"The girl?" Sansa gasped on a whisper. "The one with the dragons?"

Ser Lothor shook his head. "A boy," he whispered. "It's said he's the youngest son of King Rhaegar."

"But he was killed," Sansa said, eyes wide.

"Don't believe everything you hear," he said again. "Unless someone knows the child intimately, a babe just looks like a babe. We all know that a babe was killed and its bloody corpse laid at the feet of King Robert, but who's to say it was Prince Aegon?"

Sansa just stared at him wide eyed for long moments, her mind spinning. "So," she said softly, slowly. "What do you think to do?"

"I think to go find him, and swear fealty," Ser Lothor whispered, again looking over his shoulder, even though they were alone in the room. "And I think it's not a bad idea for you, as well. Go to him, present yourself and ask for the protection of marriage. And in return, you will give him the North. Those northern lords named your brother King," he said in a rushed whisper. "They'd be giddy to have a Stark on the throne. With you by his side, they'd flock to his banner. And if we tell Harry and Lord Royce of the plan, I can't believe the Lords of the Vale wouldn't fall in, as well. The Lannisters have no love in this land."

"I can't marry him," she said instantly. "I'm already married."

"My lady, Tyrion Lannister is most likely dead, and if he's not he will be soon if he's stupid enough to still be in Westeros. And the Imp has never struck me as a stupid man. If he's still alive he's long gone, across the sea. And he'll stay there, because even when the Lannisters lose this war – and they will lose, make no mistake, that fool of a queen has no idea of what she's doing or what needs to be done – he's still a kingslayer and a kinslayer. No, my lady. I would think you're free to do whatever you wish. This boy king has a better chance than the others to take the throne, and although his grandfather was The Mad King, there are those who remember his father with love. I believe – and Lord Baelish did as well – that this boy could win it all."

Sansa stared at him, trying to think clearly. With Lord Manderly, she may have some protection – she remembered him well, a huge, fat man with a loud laugh and a ready smile. He always had a compliment for her whenever he'd seen her. And when it was all over – what then? Depending on who won the throne, she might still have a price on her head.

"Think it over," Ser Lothor urged her. "This storm won't blow away overnight, I'm sure you have at least two days, if not three." He rose, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "Whatever you decide, I'll see you safely to your destination, that I promise you."

She was still sitting, staring into the fire, when Gretchel returned. "Is everything alright, milady?" she asked hesitantly.

Sansa smiled. "Yes, it's fine. We just needed to talk about some things regarding my lord father." The women prepared for bed, Sansa sighing in relief when the bindings across her breasts were removed. But while Gretchel snored softly from her place near the fire, Sansa laid awake, staring at the ceiling unseeingly.

Think, she told herself sternly. You have to think! If she went to the new king, she could offer him the North. She was fairly confident that she could, because Ser Lothor was right – her brother had been crowned King of the North, they'd followed him literally to his death. Surely they'd rally behind their beloved Direwolf if she went to the Dragon? She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. She knew what they all thought of her – that she was a silly, stupid girl. And perhaps she had been, she thought sadly. But was there really something so terrible about a girl of ten and two who wanted everything to be pretty and perfect, like the songs and stories she so loved? New dresses and ribbons, platters of lemon cakes and an afternoon sharing needlework and gossip with Jeyne – those days were forever gone. Never again would her mother smile and patiently instruct her on the duties of a proper lady. Never again would she hear her father's laugh, or sit as he listened intently to her ramble about her day. Never again would she see her brother Jon. She remembered the way he'd proudly admired the slightly crooked embroidery work on the shirt she'd made for his name day two years ago. He'd hugged her tightly and declared it his favorite gift. He had proudly boasted of her skill, and had worn the shirt regularly, until he grown too tall for it. Even Arya was gone, wild, stubborn, headstrong Arya. And the babies…..she remembered afternoons playing with her brothers, running through the gardens with Bran, rolling a ball with Ricken. And Robb. Proud, strong Robb, who took very seriously his future as Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.

Sansa turned to her side as the hot tears fell from her eyes. She knew they all thought she was an empty headed girl but she'd been taught to be a lady, not a warrior. War and strategy were beyond her. She sat up slowly, wiping her eyes, trying not to sniff too loudly and wake Gretchel.

She was sad to think that Lord Tyrion was dead. He'd been so kind to her, and she'd been so brokenhearted by everything that had happened she couldn't even appreciate it. She wished she could have told him thank you, at the least. He wasn't like his sister and father, or even like Ser Jamie – although she supposed he was alright. She couldn't imagine Lord Tywin or Cercei being genuinely kind, but Lord Tyrion had been. She'd been so terrified and heartsick at the thought of marrying him, unable to see past his deformities to the man beneath.

"Tyrion. My name is Tyrion, Sansa." Then that sweet stumbling speech about how he could be kind. "I could be…I could be good to you."

And he had been, unfailingly. He'd refused to bed her, and treated her like she was fine china, always so careful. By the time of Joffrey's wedding she'd already felt slightly guilty about leaving him there to bear the brunt of Cercei and Joffrey's anger. And then to find out from Lord Petyr that she was guiltier than he, for she was the one who'd actually smuggled in the poison…he'd done that deliberately, she realized now. He'd probably been able to tell she was wavering in her decision to go, and so he told her that while her husband was innocent, she was not. And so she'd played right into his hands and gone along quietly.

But she couldn't summon any anger towards Lord Petyr. Regardless of what had happened, she was alive. And everyone kept saying that Lord Tyrion was dead, or about to be, but she wasn't sure. He was resourceful, and quick witted. If anyone was going to survive, it would be Tyrion Lannister. That's who I need to ally myself with, she thought in an unexpected rush of longing. Tyrion would know exactly what to do, exactly how to proceed. While all she could do was sit and cry.

Rising silently, she wrapped a blanket around herself and sat near the window, opening one of the shutters so that she could gaze down at the silent, white streets below. Beyond them, the black waves crashed against the shore, so dark they were indistinguishable from the clouds overhead. She sat there for a long time, watching the snow fall while trying to sort her thoughts, then finally returning to bed only to dream of a small man with golden hair and mismatched eyes, who held her hand as he guided her through a fierce battle to a newly rebuilt Winterfell that flew banners of deep blue, with a golden lion and a silver gray direwolf lying side by side.