Author's Note: There's not enough Jorah love out there so I will spew it until it catches on. 3

Jorah Mormont had only been back in the north for a day when a Stark threatened his life.

"My father would have killed you as a slave trader." An auburn haired lady wearing a large gray fur studied him, her eyes clear yet curious. "Yet you dare step foot in Winterfell."

"Yet here I stand." Jorah bowed his head briefly, then looked up. "Lady Sansa, I presume."

Her smile broke through. "A Mormont through and through. You're as brave as the stories say. Were my father alive, he'd hear no excuses. He'd have your head." Sansa spoke without malice, but a smile twitching at her lips. The glint in her eye clearly wanted to hear his retort.

"I beg your pardon, m'lady." The knight dropped to a knee. Activity in the courtyard slowly but didn't stop. Folks were mildly curious to see the newcomers, but he was the least interesting of all. Dragons! The silver haired queen! Southerners! An old northern knight was no spectacular sight to behold.

Jorah took a deep breath and enunciated carefully, respectfully. "I've earned pardon from Robert Baratheon, Daenerys, your brother. Still, I beg it of the Lady of Winterfell." His head was bowed low but his voice carried clearly.

"Ser Jorah. House Stark has long forgotten your youthful transgressions. I've heard of your deeds. You've more than won my trust." Sansa offered her hand and pulled Jorah to his feet. "Welcome back to the North."

Jorah rose. "Thank you, Lady Sansa." He held her gaze for a moment, surprised to see her standing nearly as tall as him. There was hardly any Stark look to her. No, Jorah thought, this was certainly Cat Tully's daughter. Beautiful, dutiful, and more cunning than any believed until she brought down Littlefinger.

Sansa tilted her head curiously and Jorah realized he was staring. He bowed once more and turned to leave.

Sansa watched him walk for the door. Her heart thudded out of time once. "Ser Jorah?" The words were out of her mouth before she had a further plan.

"M'lady?"

Caught off guard once again at the intensity of his gaze, she struggled for a response. After a moment, she burst, "Is it true you unhorsed Jaime Lannister?"

Jorah chuckled. "It was a long time ago. Fortunately we're on the same side of things now."

"Oh." Sansa shifted. "My father never liked him after the business with the Mad King." She caught herself just as Daenerys passed by, her long white cloak trailing over the air behind her. Sansa's eyes grew wide and she curtseyed deeply to the queen. "Forgive me. I-"

"You're forgiven." Daenerys said airily. "Let none of us be judged by the feats or failures of our fathers. Or how we were raised hearing the tales," she added for good measure.

"I'm sorry," Sansa replied softly. "You're right."

The queen merely smiled. Snowflakes landed in her hair and disappeared amid the white locks. "If you'll excuse me," Daenerys said. "Tyrion has requested me."

"A council meeting?" Jorah asked gruffly. "I wasn't informed." Tyrion, he thought. As much as they'd been through together, he couldn't help but mistrust him. Lannisters.

"Oh, no," the queen replied. "Of the personal sort, I think. It's a welcome change." She smiled. "Battle plans and talk of war can continue tomorrow. Tonight we'll enjoy the feast the Starks are so kindly putting on." She smiled at Sansa again. "Thank you again for hosting us."

"We don't really have a choice," Sansa replied stiffly. "Winter is coming."

Daenerys nodded solemnly, then forced a smile for Jorah. "I have no need for your protection here. Today is about leisure. Rest. Relax."

"I don't remember how. It's been a long time, Khaleesi," Jorah chuckled.

"Perhaps Lady Sansa wouldn't mind accompanying you for the afternoon?" Daenerys suggested with a coy smile. She clapsed Sansa's hands in hers. "Jon tells me you've always loved stories about adventure and knights."

"When I was a girl and dreamed of silly things," Sansa scoffed. "But they're just songs and stories."

"Ser Jorah would disagree," Daenerys replied.

He raised an eyebrow at Daenerys. "The lady doesn't want to hear an old man talk about his glory days. Besides, my tales are mostly those of an exile in Essos."

"A knight," Daenerys argued. "An exiled knight, maybe, but a knight in my service."

"I wouldn't mind hearing about your adventures in Essos," Sansa ventured softly. "Maybe you could join me for lemon cakes in the solar."

"I'd never say no to lemon cakes," Jorah replied.

Daenerys continued on her way, a smile at her lips and twinkle in her eye.

Sansa was sitting in the courtyard, her back rigid and face tipped skyward. Flecks of white spotted her long black cloak. A week had passed since the company arrived in Winterfell. The Night King's army was weeks away.

"Might I join you, Lady?"

Sansa didn't need to look up. She'd know Jorah's voice anywhere by now. When the war councils ended, they always seemed to find each other. Sansa enjoyed Jorah's calm presence. Whether it was reading or telling stories of their experiences during war, she never felt the strain of putting on the formal Stark air. He was an easy companion and she cherished him in no time. Jorah felt the same. Sometimes she brought him treats from the kitchen; Jorah taught her Dothraki words.

Jorah sat beside her, careful to keep distance between them.

"I've missed the snow," she sighed, her breath a puff in the cold air. "My mother hated it, even though she never said. She missed the rivers and I never understood why. Now I do."

"Home is home," Jorah agreed. "It's easy to forget how bitter the cold in the wind when you think you can never return. And when you finally do, it doesn't chill as deep as before. I told myself I didn't miss Westeros, the North. I'd read about the cultures across the Narrow Sea and convinced myself I was lucky to be able to live among them. The Dothraki were everything I hoped, but they won't live an easy life."

"You're lucky to have had the adventures."

"I am," Jorah nodded. "But to be able to sit here with you, watching the snow in my homeland?" He took a deep breath. "It's worth more than any foreign treasure or tale."

Sansa blushed. "I wanted so badly to go to King's Landing. It's horrid there."

Jorah chuckled. "I was never one for cities, myself."

A gust of wind stirred up snow from the courtyard. It whirled up and spiraled this way and that. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, but it never hit her face. Jorah was holding his cloak aloft, blocking the flakes from her. She opened her eyes and chuckled sheepishly. Smiling knowingly, Jorah let the cloak fall back over his shoulder.

Sansa tugged at her sleeve and bit her lip in thought. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," he replied. "Anything." In his voice was the truth that he would tell Sansa Stark absolutely any secret or truth she wanted to know.

"What do you fight for? You've been away and exiled from your home for so long. When battle comes, what will you defend?" She held her breath. The question had been on her tongue for a few days, but it seemed improper to ask. Now that it had been uttered, she regretted it. There was a very specific answer she dared to seek out.

Jorah considered the question. "It was never about a land for me. It was about those I love." He gazed upward and Sansa followed his line of sight.

Her chest tightened. The queen was walking with Jon, her silver and white gown standing in stark contrast to the dark-clad Starks. She laughed and touched Jon's forearm.

Sansa looked back to Jorah. "Daenerys."

"Yes."

"You'd die for her." It wasn't a question, but an accusation.

"Yes."

"You love her." An edge settled in her voice that she didn't bother trying to hide.

"Yes." The answer came without a second thought. Jorah turned to face her. "I serve Daenerys Targaryen and have for many years. We have come through many trials together. I watched her grow from a child to a queen."

Sansa nodded. "I see." She stood abruptly and cleared her throat. "I'm sure I'm needed somewhere."

Jorah silently watched her go, a realization pushing to the front of his mind. During his time at Winterfell he'd worked to ignore it, but Sansa's reaction was damning evidence as any.

Sansa slept soundly and looked like a goddness with moonlight falling across her skin.

Jorah approached her quietly, loath to wake her. For now, her world was on hold. Rest was hard to come by these days as war loomed. For a moment longer he stood in the cold room, envious of her in her furs. He remembered his own youth on Bear Island on similarly chilly nights.

"Lady Stark," he whispered, touching her shoulder and quickly backing up a few steps.

Sansa jerked awake. "What?" she blurted. She took brief note of Jorah and rubbed her eyes. "Ser Jorah. What's happened? What's wrong?"

"You won't believe." He nodded toward the window. "Look, my lady." Jorah drew back the heavy curtain and gazed outside. After a moment he smiled and looked back to her. "They'll answer to none but a Stark."

Sansa hesitantly moved to the window, looking to him for reassurance.

A pack of direwolves circled near the northern wall. Black and grey and brown, they were a mix of large and slender, tall and stocky, raggedy and smooth coated but all with bright eyes.

Sansa sucked in a shocked gasp. "They're beautiful." She leaned out the window, eager for a closer look. "Where did they come from?"

"Up north. Even beasts can tell what's coming," Jorah said. "Neither fire nor clang of steel will frighten them. Guards shot arrows, but the wolves came back. They're not afraid of us, but what lies behind them."

"And you think they'll answer to me? I can't scare away a pack of direwolves."

"Not frighten them off," Jorah said. "Tame them." He pointed to a gray wolf in the middle of the pack. "She's the alpha. Small but fierce. The others look to her." Jorah studied Sansa's face, admired how her eyes were wide in the darkness. The lady was excited, not afraid. "How many Starks have had direwolves sleep at the food of their bed at Winterfell?"

"Lady was just a pup when we found her and her brothers and sisters. I trained her." Sansa looked out the window again. Yes, the wolves reminded her of a simpler time. A better time. "Why not Jon? Or Arya?"

Jorah held her gaze. "I thought you'd want to be the one."

Sansa didn't allow herself to read into the sentiment. "Maybe they smell the dragons."

"Maybe," Jorah agreed. Something in his voice lost the gruff quality it usually carried. "Or maybe they sought you out." He'd seen a woman walk out of a fire with baby dragons. The wolves coming for a Stark wouldn't be unbelievable. "Queens and their creatures," he murmured.

"I can't go out there." Sansa drew a fur tighter around herself. "I'm not a wolf charmer."

"I'll keep you safe." Jorah touched the small of her back.

She drew away and sat on her bed. "This is madness! Ser Jorah, have you been drinking? You want me to go out there and what, speak to them?" She was indeed staring at him like she thought him mad. "I'm not Daenerys. I can't just commune with nature and walk into a blizzard and come back with a pack of wolves."

Jorah pursed his lips and studied her. "No. You're not Daenerys." He sat beside her and took her hand. "No one's asking you to be."

Snatching her hand away, she huffed. Outside a lone wolf tipped its head back and released a low howl. Soon the others joined in and an eerie chorus of baying echoed in the chamber. She held her breath. The sound was beautiful and terrible.

"These are strange times, Sansa." Jorah left her and stood at the window once more. "Perhaps I was wrong to come to you. I can find Jon, if you prefer. Forgive my intrusion." He bowed and crossed the room in a few easy strides.

"Wait."

Jorah looked back, his hand on the door. "M'lady?"

"You'll protect me?"

"Of course. I'd die protecting you."

Sansa said a silent prayer to steel herself. "I'll meet you at the gate shortly."

The wolves quieted. Their eyes glowed as they paced and sat, watching the gate attentively.

Jorah watched them in return, wondering if it was foolish to have stirred Sansa from sleep to see the wolves. By the rights he should have sought out Jon. He didn't have to wonder why he chose her instead.

Two days past Sansa asked if he loved Daenerys and was aghast at his answer. Of course he loved her. Any good ruler earned the love of her subjects. Perhaps Jorah longed after Khaleesi at one point, but that time had long since passed and been replaced with a deep admiration of her as a ruler, a supernatural being, a queen. Not that any of that mattered. Sansa was young and beautiful. He was a weathered old man. Any fleeting or lingering thoughts after the Stark woman were ill-suited and fantastical. Jorah tried to convince himself he chose her to tame the wolves because she needed a victory of her own.

As she strode down the stairs to join him, he knew that wasn't the case.

Donning her cloak and furs, Sansa gave the order for the guards to raise the gate. Jaime Lannister was one of them and shook his head. "This is folly," he scoffed. "What purpose is being served by letting wolves in to tear our people to shreds?"

"They won't," Jorah replied as Sansa passed him and stood at the gate. "Lady Stark gave her order."

She glanced back at him before turning back to the guards. "Raise the gates."

"As you command." Jaime grimaced and nodded to the other guard.

The steel gate slid upward but neither Sansa nor the wolves moved. Instead they studied each other cautiously. Jorah drew his sword and took a few slow steps forward to join Sansa.

"You're mad," Jaime called. "Both of you."

Jorah scowled. "I'll keep you safe," he muttered to Sansa. "I'm right here." If it came to it, he wouldn't stand a chance against so many wolves. The beasts were huge, nearly the size of bears. Should they turn, he could hardly promise Sansa's safety and knew better than to hope to escape alive. Something told him that wouldn't be the case.

Sansa stepped outside the wall, one bold step. "Nice wolves," she called in a sweet voice. "Hello, beauties."

A slender wolf plodded forward. Jorah put himself between it and Sansa. The wolf hesitated and showed its teeth.

"Let her come," Sansa said, gently pushing him behind her. "Let her come to me."

The wolf did. It plodded forward, ears twitching in interest. The wolf was a large was Lady had been. Its snout reached out and snuffled at Sansa's skirts. She didn't flinch, instead, she offered her hand. "Here, beauty."

The wolf nudged her hand, sniffing intensely.

Jorah watched in wonder, just one of the pack. The wolves were sitting or lying, noses turned toward their alpha. He was doing the same. Two powerful females familiarized themselves with the other while the others watched, absolutely mesmerized.

"Bring food for them," Sansa called up to the guards. "Water. They'll stay outside the gates. They don't mean us any harm."

The wolf wasn't startled by her voice. She sat and looked up at Sansa, tail flicking back and forth.

"You'll draw more of them in!" Jaime replied. "No one will be able to leave Winterfell. The villagers-"

"No one needs to be north of our walls. And they aren't going to attack," Sansa replied. She reached out fearlessly and scratched the alpha behind the ear. "They won't attack us, at least." Kneeling, the looked into the wolf's eyes. "We'll take care of you if you take care of us. It's the living against the dead. Serve us well and you can stay in my chamber. I have furs you'd love to curl up against."

The wolf blinked and continued to flick its tail back and forth slowly.

Sansa stood and smiled. "Go back to your pack. I'll go back to mine. Come, Ser Jorah."

Jorah watched in wonder as the wolf and the woman turned and headed back to their respective camps. He fell in step behind her and was barely within the walls when Jaime let the gate slam closed.

"You're mad," Jaime called again. "Your man's going to get food for them, but you're mad. Starks and their wolves!"

Sansa smiled. "Yes." She gestured to Jorah to keep up with her as she strode back to her room. "That reminds me. Ser Jorah. You think me a queen?"

Jorah raised an eyebrow. "Daenerys is the rightful queen."

She hmmed. "Earlier you said 'queens and their creatures.'"

"Did I?" he paused. He could see his breath there in the night. After years in the desert it seemed intolerable, but he was a northerner. He refused to let himself shiver in her presence. "Queen in the north, they called you. A wolf queen born of ice."

Unable to continue, Sansa abruptly spun to face him. He nearly ran into her. "No one talks to me like you do," she said. "Jon could have seen to the wolves, if it took a Stark. Or Arya. But you came to me." She ignored the heat in her cheeks. "Why?"

Jorah studied her face. "I don't know." Her face was close. Too close. He cautioned a step back, but she stepped forward, keeping the same amount of space between them.

"Maybe you have no allegiance to your house and I'm not your liege, but I command you to tell me. Why did you come to me?" Sansa held her breath. Something had awaken in her there in the moonlight.

He saw it clearly now. She had the shell of a Tully, but the heart of a Stark. "I care for you, Sansa," he whispered.

"The last man who told me that sold me to the Boltons," she snapped. "There must be something more."

Jorah scowled. "Petyr Baelish. The only person he loved was himself." He stared into Sansa's eyes. "What are you asking of me, my lady?"

Sansa pursed her lips. "I… don't know."

He knelt and kissed her hand. "When you figure it out, I'll be back on the walls. I don't trust the Kingslayer with the wolves. I'll see no harm comes to them."

"Jorah." She couldn't stop herself. "Have you heard the tale of Florian and Jonquil?"

Jorah chuckled. "I do. Tyrion has called me to put on the motley more than once."

"Tyrion was a kind husband," Sansa replied dreamily. "He knew all of the stories. Florian is my favorite. Or was, when I was a girl. I dreamed of seeing real knights. And now here one has come to my room as I slept. I never would have believed it. Or anything that's happened to me, really."

"You've lived enough for a hundred lives," Jorah nodded solemnly.

"So is Tyrion right?"

Jorah tilted his head.

"Are you Florian?"

Jorah leaned at the door. "My lady, any man, knight or fool, would be lucky to call you his Jonquil. Good night."

The morning battle was upon them, Sansa stormed out into the courtyard where the soldiers were mounting their horses and strapping on their armor. She found Jorah alongside Jon. She threw her hands out and gave him a shove. Hardly moved, Jorah stared at her, bewildered.

"You can't make me stay behind," she snarled.

"Of course not," he replied. Confusion wrinkled his face. "What's wrong?"

Jon stared between them. "What's this? Sansa?"

Sansa flicked her wrist at him, shooing him away. She narrowed her eyes at Jorah instead. "You aren't going to bid me stay?"

He adjusted the reins and shook his head. "Not unless you wish to remain here."

"I won't be a burden," Sansa argued.

"I never said you would." Jorah raised an eyebrow. "You're a perfectly capable rider. Sansa, what's the matter?"

She considered the thought. "I'm not like Arya. I can't fight."

"Every army needs a team of advisers in the field." He fought a smile but failed. "You don't need to be like Arya. You're precisely who you need to be, Lady."

Daenerys strode by, leather armor on her arms and her hair tied into braids and braids. She nodded to Jon and Jorah, then continued on her way, her face grim.

"Your queen fights," Sansa replied. "I won't be the only lady left behind. I know that's what you're thinking. Poor Sansa. She can't use a sword or do anything of worth during battle."

"I've spent my life surrounded by strong women," Jorah replied, still nonplussed by her theatrics. "I think that qualifies me to point out that strength isn't just about a sword and valor in battle." He paused. "A lesser man would have lost hope a dozen times during your time with the Lannisters and Boltons. Trust yourself, Lady Sansa. I do."

Jon sighed. "But you do have to stay. There must always be a Stark-"

"a Stark in Winterfell," she finished. "But why me?"

"Because until this morning you never showed any interest in coming out to fight. Bran's gone, Arya's fighting, and you just confessed that you cannot fight," Jon said. He rolled his eyes to Jorah. "Stark women."

"Easy," Jorah smiled. "Wasn't it Sansa who rode in to win you the Battle of the Bastards?"

Jon stared at Jorah for a moment before swallowing his pride. "Yes. It was." He bowed slightly to Sansa. "Winterfell is yours."

Sansa nodded. "I'll stay. But if things get bad, I want you to pull back."

He nodded and followed Daenerys. He would be riding a dragon into battle. The gates were open and soldiers were riding out, falling in behind their commanders.

She was still trying to decide what to tell Jorah when he swung onto his horse and joined the other riders heading for the gate.

Panic welled up in her gut. "Ser Jorah!" she called desperately.

"For Winterfell," he called back before he disappeared through the gate and out of sight.

For the better part of twenty four hours all Sansa could see was the occasional swooping of dragon tails and blue and red fire lighting up the sky. The villagers murmured to one another about what they thought happening but she tried to ignore it all. It reminded her too much of sitting behind barred foors with Queen Cersei during a battle that seemed a hundred years ago.

At dawn, a full day later, a silence fell and the first riders returned. They were exhausted and bloodied, and still too far away and too few to be able to tell whether it was a victory or a crushing blow.

"Raise the gate!" Sansa called desperately. "Raise the gate! They're coming home!"

The men spilled back in, clamoring for water and blankets to warm them. The villagers moved quickly to accommodate the soldiers. One man fell off his horse in exhaustion. Another seemed shocked at what he'd seen and couldn't speak. Her direwolves were mixed in with them. Long red gashes ran along their snouts and flanks and Sansa wondered what kind of new horror was out there besides the white walkers.

"Good Derryn," Sansa called to a young man walking beside a wounded soldier draped over a horse. "Derryn, tell me."

"The losses are great, Lady Stark," the soldier said. "But victory is ours. The queen lives. Jon Snow lives."

She squeezed her eyes shut and said a silent prayer. "Thank you. Thank you. Come in. We'll dress your wounds. Food. Water."

More riders filed in, each looking worse than the last. Their expressions read anywhere from relief to horror and shock, blank nothingness and wild expressions of post-battle euphoria. None of the faces were the one she was seeking.

Two dragons soared overhead, circling lower and lower. The wolves looked up in interest, then went back to licking their wounds or lapping up water the villagers set out.

"The Queen has returned!" a few men called. "Lord in the North!"

Sansa's heart thudded harder. If Daenerys was back, Jorah should be here. He would never be far behind his queen. Sansa scanned the faces again. The wounded, the living, the young and old. Jorah wasn't among them.

"Derryn," Sansa called again. "Where is Ser Jorah?"

The man shook his head. "I haven't seen him, Lady Stark."

She picked up her skirts and ran to the gate, where men were still walking in, unhorsed but unhurt. Her fur slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the snow but she didn't stop. "Jorah?" she called. "Jorah?"

He wasn't there. He didn't say goodbye. The thought that he wasn't going to return made her hands and feet feel numb and tongue feel heavy.

"Jorah?" she called desperately, stumbling through the snow. Her head whipped from soldier to soldier. "Jorah!"

In an instant she collided with someone. The soldier pulled her into a crushing embrace. The moment he spoke, Sansa knew it was her knight.

"Sansa," he breathed in relief. Like the others, he was covered in frost and blood, but he seemed unhurt aside from a thin red line slashed across his cheekbone.

The tears flowed before she had a chance to hold them back. "You didn't say goodbye!"

Jorah pulled back and took in her lovely face. "I couldn't. Not to you. I don't mean to leave you again."

She suppressed a sob. "You northern men are so stubborn."

The losses were great. Only half the party returned. The great host of northerners and islanders, southerners and wildlings was diminished. Camp seemed empty. Spirits were as high as they could be following such great loss of life. What was gained, though, was a future for living men.

The council met, a few members short, but gathered around the long wooden table in their respective spots. Jorah touched the empty chair beside him. Bear Island had lost many fighters, including all his cousins save Lyanna. She finally excused herself from a meeting to react as a child should to such grief.

"Jorah Mormont," Jon's voice boomed. "You are to be rewarded for your valor," he announced. Jon had done the same with other fighters and knights. Beside him, Daenerys was looking on, learning what it meant to be a Westerosi ruler. "What would you ask?" Jon continued. "I'm afraid I can't offer Bear Island back to you."

Jorah studied him. "If this is peace and Daenerys truly means to retire me, I only want a quiet life. A horse. A dog. A family."

The queen smiled. "You make it sound like a bad thing. You've served me for years in the desert and across the sea and in battle and through treachery. Enjoy the peace, my bear. You'll still be my most trusted adviser, but this queen's guard seems plenty capable of keeping me safe. And you know, the dragons."

"As you say, Khaleesi."

Jon cleared his throat. "If she agrees, I would offer you Sansa's hand in marriage and a high station in House Stark." Jon looked to Daenerys. "If Her Grace finds that acceptable."

Beaming, she nodded enthusiastically. "Most acceptable, I think."

Jon raised a hand to slow the conversation. "That's the highest station I can grant you."

Jorah drew a breath. "If she would have me. I'm a good husband. I'll treat her like the wolf she is."

Arya rolled her eyes from her seat. "Sansa's not a wolf. She's a pretty flower."

"No," Jorah said. "She's a wolf. Smart and clever. She's a survivor and I won't have anything forced on her. If she wants the marriage, I'll happily be hers. If not, you'll not hear another word from me. She's been through enough."

"I think she'll have you," Daernerys said with a smile.

"I wish otherwise, for her sake," Jorah sighed. "I'm old. She deserves a young man."

"I've had young men," a voice came from the other end of the hall.

"What timing, Sansa," Daenerys greeted her. "We were just discussing our proposal with Ser Jorah."

"I heard." Sansa turned kindly to Jorah. "If he finds the station acceptable, I shall marry Ser Jorah in the godswood," Sansa said calmly.

Jorah stared. "Are you certain?"

"I've never been more certain."

Jon cleared his throat. "It was her idea."

Jorah stared at Jon, then looked to Sansa. "I've been married twice. I'm old."

Sansa met his gaze. "I've been married twice and engaged once more." She smirked, daring any to challenge her. "Young, old, royal, bastard. What does any of it matter? I want a kind husband. A true knight. Maybe it's foolish but I still believe there could be a song written about about my great love with my true knight."

Sansa wore white fur and a long intricate braid Jorah suspected Daenerys had something to do with. She strode down the aisle like a breeze of fresh air and joined him, her hands sliding into his.

"There's still time to turn back," Jorah murmured. "You owe me nothing."

She nearly snorted. "I could tell you the same thing. I'm marrying a knight and lord! I'm afraid I don't have anything to offer you but my heart." She blushed at the words and looked up at the big weirwood tree. "Are you certain?"

He brushed a few flakes of snow from her hair. "More than anything in all my years."

The maester cleared his throat. "Are you both prepared to proceed?"

"Yes," they answered firmly at once.

He turned to Jon and motioned for him to begin the ceremony.

Marriage suited Sansa and Jorah splendidly.

"I thought I was supposed to be glowing," she sighed, still abed even as the morning light crept through the window. Jorah had already returned from the kitchens, a tray of breakfast in his hands.

"Why are you so kind to me still? I'm hideous," Sansa sighed. While that wasn't true, Sansa had grown and puffed up in her ankles and face. It was as if the child doubled in size overnight.

"No," Jorah replied, bending to kiss her cheek. "You're a wonder." He slid the tray onto the bedside table.

The direwolf at her feet, Beauty, snarled low. She made her nest on Sansa's feet, curled up in the furs on the bed. Since Sansa's pregnancy, the wolf had been a monster to anyone who tried to draw near. Jorah usually got a free pass unless Sansa was feeling especially ill. Then the wolf picked up on her discomfort and bade all, even her husband, to stay away.

A baby dragon chirped at his shoulder and peered down at the wolf.

Sansa stared. "Her Grace let you take a dragon?"

He chuckled. "It won't leave me alone."

"It will be good practice for being a father."

Jorah cringed. "If our baby breathes fire and flies, I guess so." He stroked the dragon's head and smiled when it began to sing.

The wolf cocked its head and moved closer to Sansa, its massive head resting on her feet and eyes locked on the tiny reptile.

"Jon asked a favor of me," Jorah said.

"What is it?" Sansa buttered a piece of toast and greedily gobbled it down.

"Travel to Essos in a year's time."

Sansa froze, a second piece of toast halfway to her mouth.

"What do you think?"

She sniffed and let her knife clatter back onto the tray. "I can hardly tell you not to go if it's Jon's order." She crossed her arms and huffed. "So kind of him. At least I'll have the maids here."

Jorah laughed. "I'm not going unless you come with me. I can tell Jon no if you don't want to travel so soon after the child is born."

She blushed and traced spirals on her swollen belly. "I thought you meant to leave me here with the baby."

He sat beside her. "Leaving you to go to war was the worst thing I've endured in my life. I swore I wouldn't do it again and I don't mean to, war or peace." Sansa was in tears when Jorah quickly leaned in and wiped them away. "Don't cry, my lady. I thought you would want to see all the palaces. The dress. The delicacies. The sweetest lemons in the world."

"I'm sorry to hear the baby wasn't a boy," Jon said brusquely.

"I'm not," Jorah replied gruffly. He looked down to the baby in his arms. "Son. Daughter. It matters naught. You've met Lady Lyanna. My daughter will-"

Jon clapped Jorah on the back. "That's precisely what I meant. The North can't handle another Mormont lady. Lyanna terrifies me." He peeked at the child. "She looks strong."

"Strong enough," Jorah agreed. "My first wife died in childbirth. I didn't want to risk the same again, but Sansa wanted the child so badly. I couldn't deny her a thing." He studied the baby's face. "And now I fear there are two Stark women who own my allegiance."

Sansa appeared in the hall, her maids at her sides.

"You should be resting," Jorah scolded her. "Why did you bring her all this way?" he snapped at the maids.

Sansa smiled a tired smile. "I'm fine. I'm well. Just tired." She reached for the baby. "I want to see her."

Jorah eased her into a chair and lowered the baby into her arms. "What of a name? Have you had time to think? Catelyn? Robbyn?"

"I thought Jonquil." She smiled and touched the girl's dark auburn hair. "I want her to remember that there are good men. Even at the end of the world, you can still find a good man."

Jorah nodded. "Jonquil Stark."

"Mormont," Sansa exclaimed. "Jorah. She's your daughter! You doubt me?"

He chuckled. "You hold the higher station and house. You don't want her to have your protection?"

"She'll be raised in the north. No one will wonder who her parents are." She leaned against him. "She's perfect. This is perfect."

"Yes," Jorah agreed, kissing the top of her head and beholding his wife and child. "It is."