The Wolves In Winterfell

Chapter 5: Starman (dedicated to David Bowie)

Sansa quickly got her fur coat that she had made; as bitter as she still was at the men she would soon see, she had learned well and good by now the importance of appearance. She laid it down the bed, with the Stark wolf symbol face-front, in an almost reverential manner. She had no maidens in the room; she had insisted on dressing herself since returning home. She put her dress on, and fell into it, being careful so as not to irritate her skin too much. She looked at the bruises on her forearm, and looked behind her to the mirror, having her dress just slack enough to see the cuts and bruises, then looked down at her back to see what she could. They were healing, but had been deep enough to last. She wondered if many of them would scar. At least she no longer worried about being too sore to get up.

Sansa put on the Stark robe, tied the knot around her neck to keep the coat in its place, and walked out the door, seeing Jon approaching her room. He held out his hand as he approached her.

"Will you—join me?"

She could barely hide the smile whenever he stuttered talking to her, just like he could barely hide a blush.

As they approached the door to the Great Hall with Ser Davos trailing, Sansa said, "Jon, don't let any of these men try to justify their absence from the battle. You saved the North from a monster. You're the Lord of Winter"

"I appreciate the support, Sans, but I'm still a bastard. And you are still the only true child left."

Why must you be so hard on yourself?

"Which is exactly why I'm here." She looked at the beaten expression on Jon's face and his sad eyes; he looked like a man resolved to a bad fate. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Ser Davos cleared his throat audibly for their attention as he opened the door. "M'Lord; M'Lady." With that, they entered, and all took their seats at the Lords' Table.

~~**~~

Lyanna Mormont stood up, and when the little, brash spitfire spoke, the Hall shut up as her voice carried the room.

"Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly." She narrowed her eyes in disgust. "But you refused the call." She turned to her right. "You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover." She glanced the paunchy, balding, pathetic-looking man over. "But you refused the call." She looked straight in front of her. "And you. Lord Cerwyn. Your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still, you refused the call." She then turned to Jon and Sansa at the head table. "But House Mormont remembers! The North remembers! We know no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark!"

Sansa couldn't help but smile.

Lyanna continued, "I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my King. And he'll be my King from this day until his last." Lyanna sat down, and glanced at the older male Lords around her, daring them with her eyes to do likewise or otherwise. Sansa looked at Jon, who looked anxious, like he expected something bad to happen. Lord Manderly stood up.

"Lady Mormont speaks harshly...and truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another King in my lifetime. I didn't commit my men to your cause, because I didn't want more Manderlys dying for nothing. But, I was wrong! Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding! He is the White Wolf!" He yanked his sword from its sheath, and knelt to Jon. "The King in the North!" Lord Glover stood.

"I did not fight beside you on the battlefield, and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong, and ask forgiveness."