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Chapter 64 – Storms on the Horizon
The wind cut across the moors as Jon Snow rode hard, the white direwolf Ghost gliding silently through the snow beside him. Nymeria Sand, sharp-eyed and ever watchful, kept pace easily atop her swift desert mare.
Behind them rode the small escort that had found them at the edge of the Neck — men bearing the direwolf sigil of Frosthall, weather-worn and Essos-hardened.
The lead rider had spoken quickly.
"Milord," he said, bowing low to Jon. "Lord Cregan is in Winterfell and summons you there. Milady too."
Nymeria arched an eyebrow. "What happened?"
The rider shook his head. "Not sure, milady. Only that Lord Stark summoned his family, and a second rider came to us a day later. He bore new orders — to gather your sisters, milady, and a hundred of our men. Men who've served in Essos. Lord Cregan's instructions were clear. He's preparing for something."
Jon narrowed his eyes. "He's going back."
Nymeria turned her head sharply. "Back where?"
"Essos," Jon said simply. "And if he's calling the old hands and the Sand Snakes… something serious is brewing."
Nymeria studied him. "What is his Essosi story? What am I missing?"
Jon smirked faintly. "That's not my tale to tell."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course."
And without another word, she dug her heels in and urged her horse forward — riding hard toward Winterfell, and toward the man who made snakes coil around the heart of winter.
---
Winterfell – The Children of the North
The great hall was quieter than usual.
The younger Starks — Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon — stood in front of the hearth while Ned, Robb, and Cregan stood opposite them. The tension was thick, something unspoken hanging in the air like the stillness before a blizzard.
Cregan leaned against one of the stone pillars, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Robb stood with a solemn grace, while Ned rested his hand on the back of a carved chair.
Sansa was the first to break the silence.
"Father… what's going on?"
Ned exhaled slowly. "A raven came from the capital. From the Hand himself, Lord Jon Arryn. He wrote of a… proposal."
Arya tilted her head. "What kind of proposal?"
Cregan spoke, voice low but clear. "A political marriage. They want Sansa to wed Joffrey Baratheon."
There was silence. A stunned, deafening silence.
Then—
"What?!" Arya exploded, her eyes blazing. "You can't be serious!"
Sansa stepped back, her lips trembling slightly. "You… you didn't even tell me? You just talked about marrying me off like I'm some… some piece on a board?"
Robb stepped forward. "Sansa—"
"No!" Sansa snapped, hurt flashing across her face. "How could you? I trusted you! You're my brothers!"
"We didn't agree to it," Cregan said, calm but firm.
Arya still looked furious. "We're Starks of the North, not soft-bellied lords to be passed around. We're not things."
Bran and Rickon looked between their sisters and their father, confused and slightly worried. Even little Rickon picked up the rising anger in the room.
Ned raised both hands gently. "Enough. This is becoming something it isn't. No one betrayed anyone."
Robb nodded. "You weren't traded, Sansa. We refused it before you even knew."
Sansa blinked. "You… refused?"
"Yes," Ned said softly. "We told them no. I only called you here because you deserved to know the truth. Not from rumors. From us."
There was a beat of quiet, the flames of the hearth crackling as the tension faded.
Then Cregan grinned and added with a wink, "Good lords… the way you all reacted, I half expected you'd kill us first and ask questions later."
Sansa flushed red, embarrassment blooming on her cheeks. "You could've led with that," she muttered.
Arya, in contrast, puffed up with pride. "Damn right we would've. No one sells off wolves without losing a hand."
Bran gave a quiet snort of laughter, and Rickon clapped like he'd just seen a mummer's show.
Cregan ruffled Arya's hair. "That's why I like you, little wolf."
Robb looked over the gathering with a smile that was half fondness, half relief. "It's settled. No one's being sent off to King's Landing, not without her say. We protect our own. Always."
Sansa gave a small nod, still a little embarrassed, but the hurt in her eyes had faded. "Thank you… for choosing me."
Ned placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're not a tool, Sansa. You're my daughter. My blood."
"And a Stark of Winterfell," Cregan added.
They all nodded — even Arya, though she looked like she still had more fight in her.
And in that moment, they were no longer lords and ladies or warriors and wolves. They were a family.
---
Winterfell – The Heart of the Pack
The gates of Winterfell stood open in welcome.
Jon rode through first, Ghost padding at his side, his red eyes alert. Behind him, Nymeria Sand's banner fluttered, and the Frosthall veterans greeted the guards with nods and familiarity.
Cregan was waiting in the courtyard.
He looked tired. Worn. Yet no less commanding, even as his black cloak whipped around him in the cold wind.
Jon dismounted quickly, Ghost immediately trotting to Kael, who lounged beneath the weirwood, tail flicking.
Cregan raised an eyebrow. "Took your time."
"You sent no raven. Only your men. I assumed it was serious."
Nymeria approached without dismounting. "And it is?"
Cregan gave a sharp nod. "Come. Inside."
---
The Wolf's Den – Plans of War
In the great solar of Winterfell, the fire crackled low. Robb stood by the hearth, arms crossed. Ned sat at the table, fingers steepled. Sansa and Arya were absent — likely tending to the younger ones.
Cregan poured a cup of dark tea as Jon and Nymeria took their seats.
"I received a message from Essos. The Company of the Rose sent word," Cregan began. "Their spies report that Tywin Lannister has hired the Second Sons through intermediaries. He's aiming to disrupt our trade routes. Destroy our partners. And perhaps cripple our influence before the war even begins."
Nymeria's lips thinned. "So he plays dirty. Typical."
Jon frowned. "You're leaving?"
Cregan nodded. "Soon. I've already sent for our most experienced men. You'll stay here, Jon."
Jon blinked. "What? No. I should be there. I know the terrain, the outposts, the people."
"And I need you here," Cregan said firmly. "Frosthall must operate smoothly. Robb will lead the North — but you? You're the one who keeps the gears turning. The soldiers listen to you. The merchants trust you. Robb needs you, and so do I."
Jon leaned forward. "And who'll watch your back?"
"I have the Sand Snakes," Cregan replied with a half-smirk. "And I have myself. You know I'm hard to kill."
Robb gave a short laugh. "He's right about that."
Jon wasn't smiling. "You always go off alone."
Cregan met his gaze. "Because someone has to walk into the fire before it spreads."
For a long moment, Jon said nothing. Then finally, he sat back, jaw clenched. "You'd better come back."
"I always do."
Nymeria finally spoke. "And if you don't, I'll avenge you before your wolves get the chance."
Cregan gave her a slow, appreciative smile. "That's why you're coming."
Robb watched the exchange, then turned to Jon. "We'll reinforce the merchant cogs. Make sure the routes are tighter, more guarded. We can't let Essos become our weakness."
Jon nodded. "I'll send new orders to the captains in Whiteharbor and Saltcliffe. Rotate the escorts. Add archers. No lone ships from now on."
"Good," said Cregan. "And if anything moves toward the coast... I want the sea to burn before they reach our shores."
---
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