Snow fell silently from the sky, blanketing Winterfell in a soft layer of powder. Sansa Stark stood at the railing overlooking the courtyard, her mind a thousand miles away in King's Landing. Behind her a small, dark shadow darkened the wooden walkway. Sansa did not notice its presence until the shadow had reached her side, but soon stirred and looked without surprise at her younger sister. A small smile quirked her lips. "Still as silent as you were the last time we saw each other."

Arya returned her smile. "Announcing one's presence rarely requires fanfare."

"Indeed. It seems you have mastered an art that very few even realize to be of value." Sansa returned her gaze to the niveous courtyard. For a few minutes the sisters stood side by side, staring out at the unsullied scene below. Sansa spoke first. "Tyrion is in King's Landing installing Gendry as the rightful ruler."

Arya nodded. "That seems a wise choice. He is Robert's heir after all." She paused then added, "And it might be good to finally have someone on the throne that has never desired it."

Sansa nodded. "That was the thought Tyrion and I had as well. Daenerys left no heirs, not that a Targaryen has any true claim to the throne- Daenerys had not properly installed before she fled. Gendry was the logical next choice since his blood still has a claim. Joffrey is gone, not that he ever had a drop of Baratheon blood to begin with. Tommen, as well."

Sansa shook her head, the revelation of Joffrey's true lineage still a shock. "Regardless, Gendry will not be on his own. Tyrion has volunteered his services as Hand of the King, at least until Gendry feels prepared to choose one himself. Though, I doubt he will find a better, more loyal man than Tyrion Lannister."

Arya noticed the way that Sansa's face gentled as she spoke of her former husband. Oh, how time has changed us all, she thought.

Sansa's demeanor changed as she continued. "We wanted someone who would pursue the justice and peace our people deserve. They have lived far too long in poverty and violence." She straightened. "It is time for peace," she said firmly, steel behind her gentle words.

"And what of the North?" Arya said quietly. "Are we to be ruled?"

At this, Sansa shifted uncomfortably. "Part of the negotiations with Gendry include the freedom of the North."

"And who will rule?" Arya asked. She already knew the answer, but peevishly she wanted to make her sister say the words aloud. "Who will be the ruler in the North?"

Sansa tilted her chin authoritatively. "I will. I will be the Queen in the North."

"As you should be," Arya said softly. She was proud of her sister, the woman she had become since their childhood. No longer was Sansa the fawning, doe-eyed girl who had left Winterfell all those years ago. Beside Arya stood a woman, strong and bold, confident in her own strength and abilities. Beside her stood a queen.

Neither sister spoke for a long time. It was finally Sansa who broke the silence that had settled between them, as thick as the surrounding snow. "I am sorry that I did not pursue Daenerys. When I heard the news I-" she broke off, her words choked by the lump that had suddenly grown in her throat.

Arya saved her having to explain further. "I know, Sansa." She looked at her sister with uncharacteristic pity. Giving an embarrassed laugh, Arya said, "I actually had quite the opposite instinct. When I heard that Daenerys had killed Jon and taken you hostage, I immediately prepared to come and save you. Bran stopped me."

Sansa looked at Arya, confusion clouding her expression. "Why would Bran stop you from coming to help me? He knows as well as any of us the importance of preserving the remaining Starks, of keeping our family together."

Arya smiled. "He is also the Three-Eyed Raven. He saw the bigger purpose." She tilted her chin thoughtfully. "I think he saw that Tyrion would rescue you and persuade you to help him clean up the pieces of our broken land. That meant that it was up to me to go after Daenerys."

Sansa was silent for a moment as she absorbed this information. "So then, were you successful in your mission? Did you avenge our brother?"

"I did. Daenerys is dead. But... I found someone at Dragonstone." Arya's face went blank, as unreadable as a new scroll. Try as she might, Sansa could not comprehend the meaning behind Arya's words.

"What in seven hells does that mean?" Sansa's exasperation at her sister's cryptic words clear in her voice.

"It means that evidently the Greyjoys were right. What is dead may never die..."

Sansa's confusion grew, as did her aggravation. "Arya, for once would you drop the mysterious pretense and tell me what you found at Dragonstone? Why must you always do this? You always have to be a little sh-" She was cut off by a gruff voice behind them.

"I believe the saying is 'What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger'."

Sansa whipped around to see Jon Snow framed by the arch of the stairway. Or Jon's ghost. Because how could-

The ghost smiled. "Isn't that what Theon would constantly tell us when we were growing up?"

Sansa stepped closer to the apparition, sure that it would melt away into the frosty air at any second. But it didn't. Instead, with each step Jon's face became clearer, the creases in his forehead, the crinkles next to his eyes sharpening into focus. "This can't be real," she whispered, reaching one gloved hand out to rest against his cheek. And still the apparition did not disappear.

"But it is," he whispered back. "I am here."

She shook her head, denial still clouding what her eyes were telling her was real. "But Tyrion, he- he saw you. You were dead!"

Jon's smile disappeared, his expression becoming somber. "Yes. I was."

Sansa stared at him. "Then how...?"

"That is a very long story, dear Sansa."

Again, she shook her head. "If you are indeed real, then that means-" She looked at him. "That means the throne is yours. The King in the North has returned."

"Actually," he shifted uncomfortably. "That is precisely what Arya and I want to talk to you about. I do not want to be king. I have never wanted to be king. I have something else I am meant to do, something given to me by the Lord of Light."

Sansa gave a stunned laugh. "I apologize, brother, but could you repeat that? Do you mean to tell me that you have a mission from the gods?"

"Not a mission. A purpose."

"And what purpose is that?" Sansa asked, still in disbelief.

"I will still serve and protect the North, just not from its throne. From where we have not dared go before." Jon pulled his sword from its sheath, presenting it to Sansa to inspect. "This was given to me by the Lord of Light, to protect our lands from enemies unknown, from threats still undiscovered."

Sansa turned the sword over in her hands, the weight of it greater than any sword she had ever encountered before. Its blade seemed to glow from within, the smooth steel lit by an elemental flame.

"The Watch was an essential part of our defenses. The deep North is home to great and ancient powers. The fall of the Night King was not the end of those powers. Our people need protection from whatever still lies out there." Jon clasped Sansa's hands between his own and peered into her face earnestly. "Growing up in Winterfell, I was the bastard. Though I loved this place, I always felt my status as an outsider. I have never felt more at home than I did during my time beyond the Wall, with the Free Folk. I want to return there, to stand guard, to be that protection for our people. This is what I am meant to do, I have seen it."

Sansa stared at him. Her initial reaction had been to say no, that he belonged here with his family. However, his fervent pleading caused the words to freeze in her throat. She remembered their upbringing, the way Jon and Robb had always competed against each other, her mother's cold shoulder, the trips Jon made into the forest every time their father was away from home. She now realized that those trips had been attempts to escape the emptiness he must have felt when his one connection to the Starks was no longer present.

And it was true, he did not share their father's blood with any of them. The man they had grown up believing was their half-brother was not even that. His Targaryen blood seemed to burn fiercely, having driven him away from them all his life. Perhaps it was fitting that the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen would spend his days in the land of burning ice and eternal winter.

Slowly, she backed away, unclasping her hands from his, leaving the sword in his grip. "The gods are not to be denied it seems. The Seven Kingdoms will spend decades rebuilding from this civil war. It is wise to appoint a protector of the northern border." She gazed at him sad, but proud. "You shall be that protector. Winterfell will provide you with whatever supplies you need."

Jon returned the sword to its sheath at his side and bowed. "Thank you. Your Grace." With one last lingering look, he backed away and left.

Sansa turned back to Arya, not bothering to hide the solitary tear that had escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. Arya pretended not to notice, but instead stepped nearer to her sister, allowing her elbow to brush her sister's.

Sansa stared out at the snow, seeming to be in deep thought before she addressed Arya. "Where will your loyalty lie in all this?"

Arya paused before answering, "I am loyal only to myself and to the Many-Faced God."

Sansa nodded thoughtfully. "I would expect nothing less. But, will you help me with something?"

Arya replied without hesitation, "Always."