"Why have you come to Winterfell, Lord Umber?"
Small Jon stepped forward. "The Bastard Jon Snow let an army of wildlings past the Wall. We're farther north than any of you fuckers. Wildings come down, we always have to fight them first. I like fighting wildlings, been doing it all my life, but there are too many for us to beat back alone."
"So now you've come seeking help?"
"We need to help each other." Small Jon pointed to the northern window. "The colder it gets, the father south those goat fuckers will roam. Won't take them long to get here."
"You think a horde of wildlings can take Winterfell?" asked Harald.
"If they get Jon Snow leading them, maybe. He knows this place better than we ever will."
Ramsay looked from Karstark to Umber. "Pledge your banners to House Bolton. Swear your loyalty to me as Warden of the North and we will fight together to destroy the bastard and his wildling friends."
"I'm not kissing your fucking hand."
"Traditionally a bannerman kneels before his lord," said Ramsay.
"I'm not doing that either," said Small Jon.
"Why would I trust a man who won't honor tradition?"
Small Jon stepped forward, pressing his gloved knuckles to the table. "You father honored tradition. Knelt to Robb Stark. Called him King in the North. Was Robb Stark right to trust your father?"
"Then it appears we're at a bit of an impasse."
"Fuck kneeling and fuck oaths." Small Jon backed away and nodded to the man at the door. "I've got a gift for you."
"A girl, I hope." Ramsay grinned, glancing at his good father before watching Small Jon. "I prefer redheads."
"A girl, aye. A wild one." Small Jon laughed, pulling the sack from the woman's head, letting her look around frantically.
Ramsay got to his feet. "I like them wild."
"And the boy, nice and young. The way Karstark likes them."
Harald rose and Ramsay looked back, stopping him while Small Jon took off the boy's hood.
"Who is this?" Ramsay asked walking forward.
"Rickon Stark."
Ramsay stopped in front of the boy, bringing his hands together as he leaned forward with a slight smile. "How do I know that's Rickon Stark?"
Small Jon backed away, returning a moment later with a direwolf head impaled on a hook. Dropping it on the table, he turned to Ramsay, who smiled as he looked to Rickon. The boy's gaze had fallen upon Reek, who looked terrified in the corner. As though he'd seen a ghost.
"Welcome home, Lord Stark."
Sansa watched Jon look over the bloodied jerkin full of thin dagger holes until there was a knock at the door and Edd entered. "It's time."
Jon got to his feet, tossing the jerkin on the table and taking Longclaw. Sansa followed him, joining Brienne and Podrick outside, following them to stand in the crowd with the others, watching Jon make his way up the platform before the four men in nooses.
Standing beside Bowen Marsh, Jon told them, "If you have any last words, now is the time."
"You shouldn't be alive," declared Marsh, "It's not right."
Jon turned his head to meet the man's eyes. "Neither was killing me," he said, leaving Marsh shaken as Jon moved to Othell Yarwyck.
"My mother's still living at White Harbor. Could you write her? Tell her I died fighting the wildlings," he pleaded.
Jon moved to Alisser Thorne, meeting them man's eyes.
"I had a choice, Lord Commander. Betray you or betray the Night's Watch. You brought an army of wildlings into our lands. An army of murderers and raiders." Thorne looked to the wildlings among the crowd before sinking his eyes toward Jon again. "If I had to do it all over knowing where I'd end up, I pray I'd make the right choice again."
"I'm sure you would, Ser Alisser."
"I fought. I lost." Thorne nodded. "Now I rest. But you, Lord Snow, you'll be fighting their battles forever." With his peace said, Thorne raised his head, ready to face his fate.
Sansa watched Jon move to the youngest boy, his face twisted in spiteful indignation, seething with hate while Jon simply looked saddened by it all. Disappointed in the boy.
Jon walked to the rope, drawing Longclaw. He stared at it for a moment, the air tense before he took a breath, steeled himself and swung the sword. The board under them fell away and their bodies dropped, snapping their necks as they choked on their final breaths, their faces turning blue and bloated.
Jon exhaled as he looked at the corpses and walked to Edd.
"We should burn the bodies."
"You should," Jon said, removing his cloak.
Edd looked at the cloak Jon handed him. "What do you want me to do with this?"
"Wear it. Burn it. Whatever you want. You have Castle Black." Jon turned and descended the stairs, passing through the men in the yard with a steady stride as he declared, "My watch is ended."
Sansa wanted to follow, but decided to give Jon time to settle his thoughts. Time to settle her own. She returned to her room, Ghost joining her alongside Brienne and Podrick.
"What happens now?" She heard Podrick ask quietly when she entered her room.
Brienne didn't give an answer, and neither did Sansa. She wasn't sure what to do anymore. She'd been so sure that they had to reclaim Winterfell, but that had all disappeared when she saw Jon's corpse.
It didn't matter anymore, none of it did. Winterfell had been her home, but it didn't matter a much as Jon or Arya or Bran or Rickon. She'd take them all and run away, hide in Braavos so Arya could find another dance instructor, live out their days in warmth and peace far from the Boltons or White Walkers.
She made her way to his room later and found him packing his things, having changed into something shockingly not black. Jon looked to her and she smiled while Edd picked up Longclaw. "You look well."
"As well as can be expected for a recently dead man," Edd said walking toward the window.
Sansa entered the room, looking from the bag to Jon. Her heart sank at the thought of him leaving, but steeled herself. "Where will you go?"
Jon tucked his gloves into the bag and turned to her. "Where will we go."
She felt like she could breathe again, her lips sliding back in a contained smile as she corrected herself, "Where will we go."
"Home," he said placing a hand on the table as he turned to her. "We'll retake Winterfell."
"Jon." Edd placed Longclaw on the table, shaking his head. "I was with you at Hardhome. We saw what's out there. We know it's coming here. How can you leave us now?"
"I did everything I could," said Jon, "you know that."
"You sword a vow!"
Jon leaned forward to match Edd. "Aye, I pledged my life to the Night's Watch. I gave my life."
"For all nights to come."
"They killed me, Edd! My own brothers." Jon sighed. "You want me to stay here after that?" His eyes flicked to Sansa, taking a breath and standing. "I have family I need to protect south of here." Placing a hand on the man's shoulder, he met his gaze. "I trust you to keep my brothers here safe behind the Wall. And while you do I'll be heading south to reclaim Winterfell and try to find us help. I won't leave you here alone with this."
Edd frowned, any anger quickly leaving him before he nodded. Even if he wouldn't have tried to help, it was clear Edd trusted Jon, respected him enough to accept his choice.
Once he left, Sansa looked to Brienne who nodded and closed the door before moving closer to them.
Jon looked to Sansa as she walked to the table. "You're sure about this? We could run, go somewhere safe or warm or both."
"I don't think I'll feel either for a long time," Jon said pressing his hands to the table.
Sansa frowned, reaching for his shoulder. "Jon. Whatever you want I'll do, I swear."
Jon looked to her and saw she would give it up for him. She would find her safety not in Winterfell, but at his side wherever they went. Part of him wanted to accept it. Take a ship from Eastwatch and leave, but he couldn't. He'd made a promise to her before he died, let that be the reason he returned. To help her. To make her happy.
"I want to take you home," he said firmly, reaching over to pat the back of her hand on his shoulder.
Sansa smiled, watching Jon's hand slip away before retracting her own. "Then I should get to writing our letters."
"Will they be safe?"
"Brienne will ride south before heading to the Vale to meet with my aunt Lysa." She glanced back at Brienne, only noticing the unease in her eyes due to their months of familiarity. Turning back to Jon she continued, "We'll meet with Davos and the others to figure out the rest."
Jon looked to Brienne as though he would ask if she would be okay, but stopped himself and gave a nod to show his trust in her and Podrick.
"I've sworn to protect you, my lady," Brienne implored while following Sansa to her room.
"You know we'll need the men," said Sansa, "and we can't risk the Boltons shooting down the ravens. You're the only one I trust with this." Entering her room she sighed, sitting on her bed and looking to Brienne. "My Aunt is unstable, but she's still a Tully, she'll send us help and if she won't then we'll use what she's afraid of. Ask Petyr Baelish to help me and he will."
That unsettled Brienne, who squeezed the hilt of Oathkeeper. "Are you certain that's wise, my lady? Trusting him? The things you said of him, he doesn't seem worthy."
"I trust in his self interest," she said with a smirk. "And if I am his interest, then so be it. We can talk of trade and the like as well, but I doubt you'll need it. Lysa should come because her Tully heritage demands it, but if not then Petyr's desires will. If you absolutely must, you can try to suggest to my aunt that it's best she choose to help me so that Petyr doesn't, so that I won't owe him anything, but if you do make sure it's not so… obvious. Let me think and I'll find how to best suggest it."
Brienne smiled, impressed with her lady's guile as much as her bravery. Yet her smile faltered, something Sansa noticed.
"What is it?"
"I don't like leaving you here alone," she admitted.
"With Jon?" Sansa asked.
"Not him," Brienne assured. "He seems trustworthy, if a bit brooding perhaps, even before everything. Though I suppose it's understandable considering." She walked toward the window before turning to Sansa. "The others though… Davos and the Red Woman helped a man murder his own brother. With blood magic.
"And when Stannis paid for his crimes where were they? Already out looking for a leader with better prospects. And that Wildling with the beard," Brienne said incredulously, remembering how he'd stared at her the entire time they broke fast after Jon's resurrection.
"Jon isn't Tormund," Sansa said before she could continue, her hands pressed into the mattress behind her. "Jon isn't Davos or the Red Woman or Stannis for that matter. Jon is Jon. He'll keep me safe, I trust him."
Brienne looked at Sansa, her absolute trust in Jon seeming unshakable. She smiled somberly as she was reminded of another pair of siblings but assured herself she was wrong. They were wolves, not lions. "You must love him greatly."
Sansa blinked, sitting up. "Hm?"
"I know how much you want to return to Winterfell," Brienne answered. "You were willing to set that aside for him."
"He didn't deserve this," Sansa said looking to the floor. "Jon deserves better, but I'll do what I can to make sure we go home together."