V.

Ned knew he wasn't at his best. He wasn't quite in a fugue state, but it was something close ever since his foster father Jon had received the raven with the king's seal.

First, it was the information from his father that Lyanna was missing – Robert was furious, nearly foaming at the mouth as he too, suspected Rhaegar after the incident at Harrenhal. He had stormed up and down the Eyrie, a literal manifestation of his House's words: ours is the fury. It took Ned and Jon several hours to calm him enough to try to figure out some sort of plan.

Then, they received the second raven from his father: Brandon had gone to King's Landing to demand Lyanna back from Rhaegar, instead of heading to Riverrun to collect his bride. That hadn't gone well when they learned that he had been taken prisoner instead, along with his squire Ethan Glover; two young Lords from the Vale, who had been sent to Riverrun on Jon Arryn's behest, Kyle Royce, and Jon's heir, Elbert Arryn; and Jeffory Mallister, the heir to Seaguard.

The last missive Ned received from his father was to inform him to meet him and guards from Winterfell at the Inn at the Crossroads, and that he was continuing to King's Landing to parlay with the King.

Ned thought it was futile; even Jon Arryn had nearly had kittens at the idea. Robert was kept under lock and key at the Eyrie, but he had already begun mobilizing his forces by calling his banners and sending daily ravens and instructions to his younger brother, Stannis.

But Ned was a dutiful son and journeyed with Jon to the Inn, where he... was thrown a bit off- balance at the sight of the two young adults at his father's side, a place of preference and respect meant for the heir and family.

The young man was older than him, and, possibly, thought Ned, older than Brandon who had just turned twenty. He had a long face, the Stark looks, and with the grim turn to his mouth, Ned almost thought he was looking at a future vision of himself. Except – this man had the bearing of someone who knew who they were and what they were capable of and if people missed that, the wolf's head pommel of the sword strapped to the side of his mount would rectify any mistakes.

The girl, however – Ned sucked in a breath as soon as he saw her. Older than Lyanna, who was just five-and-ten, but so similar in manner and bearing with a wild grin on her face despite the pouring rain. She didn't care she was soaked to the bone, but unlike his sister who wore dresses and kept to the Northern style of female frippery, this woman wore tunic and trousers and had her own blade.

And father didn't seem to mind, realized Ned, glancing between them even as Jon tried to get Rickard to turn back north instead of south to King's Landing.

Then he and the man who looked like Ned turned south, the girl with them took off toward the Saltpans, and Ned was going north – to home.

It was a harsh journey, with his father's men urging them and their horses to the brink and yet the journey still took a month to complete. But things didn't improve upon arriving at Winterfell – while he was expecting Ser Rodrik and Ben to greet him, maybe even Walys, he was instead met with a tall, redheaded woman in black and grey. She stood at the head of the procession, indicating the highest rank – even above his brother.

What is going on? wondered Ned again, not for the first – or last – time.

"Lord Eddard," began the woman with a thin smile. "Welcome back to Winterfell."

"Ned!" grinned Ben from her side, barely three and ten, and not even coming up to the woman's shoulders. "There's so much you've missed down in the Vale!"

"I—" Ned's grey eyes darted between the two. He knew his father said to trust this redhead, but... "My lady, my apologies but... who are you?"

Ben rolled his eyes. "Ned, this is our cousin—"

"We don't have any Northern cousins," interrupted Ned, blinking.

"Yes, we do, this is Sansa, from father's sister who married into House Royce," explained Ben with exasperation. "And you must have met Jon and Arya earlier—"

Ned was confused. "The two with father?"

His cousin, the Lady Sansa, nodded her head.

"They're from mother's side of the family," explained Ben, again, seriously.

I've never heard of them before in my life, thought Ned with a frown. Father's never mentioned them once.

He cut a sharp look at Sansa.

"I understand you have reservations, my Lord," she began carefully, her voice a high chirp, "But I assure you – we mean you and yours no harm. I swear it on the Old Gods and New. I am happy to swear before the heart tree, as well."

Ned relaxed fractionally with that. "Very well, my Lady."

"Shall we go inside? I'm sure you want to rest from your journey," the woman said, turning partially and gesturing for Ned to follow her.

His mouth dropped open. The gall of her! To lead him into his own home! Acting like the lady of Winterfell! What was going on?

He glanced at Ben, but his brother bounded up after the woman, trailing after her and shooting question after question as they discussed – whatever it was – and behaving utterly besotted. Ned would have no help there.

But he resolved to keep an eye on Lady Sansa, regardless.

Despite his suspicions, his cousin Sansa was more than capable of taking care of Winterfell, having fallen into the position of Lady of Winterfell with ease that made Ned almost embarrassed for Lyanna when she would return. The servants and staff all seemed to adore Sansa, who ran Winterfell with a tight fist and a welcoming smile, and somehow, she seemed to know everyone's names, their families, and the general coming and going of everyone else.

"How long have you been here?" asked Ned, trying to keep suspicion from his voice.

"Oh, about two and a half moons now," replied Sansa, even as her blue eyes swept the great hall, carefully picking out the men-at-arms who needed more ale, or who finished with their meals and was jauntily singing along to a song, or the few men who were too far in their ale.

That's it? thought Ned, a frown on his face. How had she managed so quickly to win everyone over?

A seed of suspicion – of her perhaps being an agent of the Targaryen's – planted itself in Ned's head. He narrowed his eyes and decided right then and there, he would keep a close watch on Sansa.

He asked Benjen first, about her. He cornered Ben between the kitchens and a dark hallway, using his older age and frame to box his brother in, but it didn't seem to intimidate Ben at all.

"She arrived with our cousins Jon and Arya, Ned, I told you this," said his exasperated younger brother with a heavy eye roll.

"Why have we never heard of them before?" demanded Ned. Ben shrugged. "I don't know, perhaps father is estranged."

Ned opened his mouth to reply, but Ben cut him off. "Just back off, Ned! Sansa's wonderful and she's doing a great job here. I swear, ever since you went south, you see plots and assassins in every dark shadow."

I do not, Ned wanted to protest, but Ben squirmed his way around him and disappeared down the hallway. That avenue for information was lost to ned now, he mourned. So, he straightened his tunic, tilted his chin up and strode down the hallway in search of his next target.

Ser Rodrik Cassel was next on Ned's list of people to go to, to learn more about Sansa Royce (Stark? Royce? Something else? Who the hells knew – it wasn't like the girl introduced herself with a surname, nor did his father say anything). The young man was knighted for acts of valour during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, one of the few Northern men who had done so, and Ned knew he could trust the man.

"The Lady Sansa?" Rodrik's face scrunched up in thought. "Well... she and her cousins Jon and Arya arrived together. Early morn, I reckon. Maester Walys indicated that Lord Stark was in his solar with them for some time before announcing them to the household."

So, the cousins from different geographical places arrived at the same time? Suspicious, thought Ned, a flicker of triumph in his stomach. "Anything else?"

Rodrik was trying to grow some type of beard, but it was just whiskers for now, sparse, and yet he still scratched at his chin. "Lord Stark seemed very taken with them all. Almost immediately so; he and the man – Jon – would spend hours sparring." Rodrik sighed happily, stars in his eyes. "That man is gifted, milord – absolutely gifted. Lord Jon has a Valyrian blade and knows how to use it —"

Ned's brows furrowed. A Valyrian blade? Jon – from his mother's side of the family? The Flints? How?

"—and the youngest girl, the Lady Arya, Gods above!" continued Rodrik, rapturously and completely ignoring Ned's confusion. "That girl knows how to wield a blade as well—"

"She does?" sputtered Ned.

Rodrik realized he had gone on about the two and came back to himself. He nodded. "Aye. She has a thin blade herself, and called her technique 'water dancing,' though I'd not heard of such before..."

"And their cousin?" Ned grit his teeth as he bit out, "The Lady Sansa."

Rodrik nodded slowly. "Yes, Lady Sansa. She took over the ledgers and staff almost as soon as she arrived, and my Lord Stark was more than happy to allow it once he saw the changes she had made. In fact, we even have more food and grain than before – not sure how the lady did it, mind."

"It's winter," said Ned, dumbfounded. "And we've more in our stores? But... with what coin did she spend? What is the state of our treasury?"

"Can't rightly say, milord," replied Rodrik with a shrug. "Perhaps you can ask her? Or Maester Walys?"

Ned nodded, his mouth a hard line. "Aye, that I will. My thanks, Ser Rodrik." "Erm, aye, of course, milord," blinked Rodrik, "Only..."

"Only?"

The man – about a decade or two older than Ned, at least – looked bashfully at the ground and cleared his throat. There was a tiny blush on his cheeks. "I didn't get the Lady Sansa in trouble, did I?" At Ned's look, he hurriedly added, "She's a proper lady, milord, she rightly is – and she's done so much good for Winterfell and Wintertown in just the few moons she's been here—"

"At ease, Ser Rodrik," Ned hurried to interrupt the man's rambles. "The Lady Sansa is not in trouble."

... yet, finished Ned mentally.

Rodrik's look of relief made Ned's stomach turn. "Oh, good." The man bowed. "At your pleasure,

milord," and then left.

Ned's eyes followed the man as he wandered away. On to Walys, next.

Ned didn't find Walys next on his mental list of people to interrogate about the Lady Sansa. He found Sansa with Old Nan in the great hall.

Nan was seated by the fire in the hearth, her gnarled hands still somehow nimble enough as she

knit something – probably for her son – with Sansa seated next to her, working on the stitching of some kind. Around them were a few ladies from the kitchens and household, some working on repairing linens and drapes; a few others were, like Sansa, working on stitching but for clothing.

The gaggle of women made Ned sweat, and he was about to turn on his heel and find Walys when Nan and Sansa both looked up at the same time and spotted him. Sansa's face lit up, and Ned could objectively admit that she was a rare beauty with her long, auburn hair and blue eyes. Her face was long, and Ned supposed that was the Stark look in her, compared to her tall height and thin lips which were not Stark-like at all.

But with all his suspicions toward the woman, Ned was thankful he did not lust after her. That would be awkward.

Nan cackled and drawled, "Young lord. Join us. I was telling the lady some of our stories, wondering if she had heard them in the south."

Alarmed, Ned glanced at Sansa and back. "Nan, those really aren't meant for Southern ears—"

"Pish-posh," said Sansa, waving a hand. "Nan had just finished telling me about grumps and snarks. Quite amusing and wonderful stories to be told in the dead of a winter night."

She glanced at the main doors with a tiny, rueful smile. "Well, perhaps during a winter's afternoon," she amended.

Ned gulped when she turned her blue eyes on him. "Surely you know some stories you can share, my Lord? I do so long to hear more."

Nan's eyes, dark, stared hard at him and Ned found himself sitting in a seat one of the kitchen girls vacated for him, near Sansa and Nan. "I, erm – well, it's been some time—"

Nan sighed. "Oh, has the young lord forgotten the stories of his land? Has his time south softened him to the North?"

Ned squirmed, and muttered with eyes cast aside, "I remember some; they're just not meant for a lady's ear."

"A lady's ear?" snorted Nan, shaking her head. She reached out and patted Sansa's knee, looking at the woman conspiringly. "This is the North, my lady, and here, there is no such thing as a story that shouldn't be told."

"Oh?" Sansa's lips quirked and she glanced at Ned. "What story is this that you remember, my Lord? I think I wish to hear it."

"Aye, which story, my lord?" echoed Nan, shrewdly. "The Nightfort? The Blood Sacrifices? The Children?" She paused and slid her eyes from Ned to Sansa. "Perhaps a story for when the white winds blow, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north."

"Nan..." Ned's voice went quiet and trailed off as she continued to speak, mesmerizing him just as easily as she did when he was a child. Opposite, Sansa equally held a thralled look on her face, although there was something sad about it.

"Let us speak of fear, and the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry," continued Nan, her voice thin and reedy. "When the white walkers move through the woods."

Ned forced himself to scoff. "The Long Night is a story. There is no such thing as the white walkers."

"Do you discount all stories as nothing more than tall tales, my Lord?"

Sansa's voice cut through Ned directly, making him jump and look at her in surprise. "My Lady...?"

The woman was looking at him, something sad and stern at once, and Ned wasn't sure how to read it when she spoke, a bit harshly to him. "Perhaps the Long Night is nothing more than a story. Yet, when history becomes legend, and legend becomes myth – we should not forget." She put aside her stitching and rose, making all the other women around her and Nan look up and stop what they were doing, too.

Looking down at Ned, Sansa said, quietly, "After all, the Wall was built for a reason, was it not?"

With that final parting shot, Sansa turned and left, the kitchen and household women following her just as quickly as they gathered up their items, some even shooting Ned dirty looks for interrupting their down time.

When they had finally left, leaving him and Nan alone, he turned to her for an explanation. She only cackled and patted his hand. "Oh, my sweet child. You're in over your head, Ned."

He sputtered, trying to drag denials from his mouth, but Nan cackled again and dismissed him, leaving Ned to get up and wander away from the great hall in equal parts confusion and annoyance.

What just happened?

Walys and Rodrik brought Ned the news early in the morning a few days later: there had been wolf sightings in the Wolfswood, and several farmers had already come forward the other day about their livestock being decimated. Westeros and the North were still in the midst of winter's grip despite the false spring they experienced during the Tourney at Harrenhal, and the loss of any potential meat was devastating.

As the Stark in Winterfell, it was Ned's job to organize a hunt to cull the wolves, as much as it would pain him to do so, given his sigil.

He was organizing a company of riders and their provisions for a week, at most, Benjen included, when he spied Sansa walking toward them, the hem of her grey dress damp from the snow and two patches on the front of her dress wet circles.

Catching Ned's eyes, Sansa laughed. "My pardon, my lord. I was praying in the Godswood this morn."

"You pray in a Godswood?" blurted Ned, blinking at Sansa.

Sansa nodded. "It's a peaceful place, tempered by great and terrible beauty."

Apt, thought Ned, his mind driven to the image of the weeping face carved in his family's heart tree.

Sansa stood curiously a few feet away, hands clasped in front of her as she tilted her head to the side, looking at the men running around, preparing leather satchels, and a few readying their horses. "Are you going somewhere?"

Benjen took that moment to pipe up. "There's wolves in the woods! We're going after them!" Sansa looked askance at Ned, brows meeting. "Hunting wolves?"

"We think a pack has attacked several farms nearby," explained a slightly abashed Ned. "We're going to hunt it down."

Sansa pursed her lips, nodding once decisively. "Please wait, my lord. I will join you promptly." "You--? Join?" Ned's eyes bulged.

"Am I not to join, my lord?" asked Sansa, eyes hard.

Unable to find a perfectly good excuse quick enough, Sansa only waited a moment before disappearing into the castle to change; when she returned, she wore a black dress with a grey cloak. The colour contrasted severely with her pale face and her red hair, and against the grey of the cloak, Ned thought her hair was like blood on the snow.

Tongue thick, Ned unable to explain anything to the men joining him on the hunt as to why Sansa was coming along. They took their cues from him, but Sansa was good company, not complaining about the feathery flurries or the brisk wind that whipped at their hair and cloaks. She and Benjen spent most of their time talking, and Ned, overhearing, was surprised at the depth of knowledge Sansa had of the North. It was almost like she grew up loving the land from birth, instead of being born in the Vale.

It was Rodrik who spotted the wolf first: it flashed a black shadow through the bare trees ahead of time, hidden partially by the low, sweeping branches of the pine trees. There was a cry by one of the men, and the hunt was on as Ned spurred his horse forward.

They dodged through gaps between the trees, and under low-hanging branches. Sansa was neck-to- neck with Ned, something that vaguely impressed him when he wasn't focused on the black blur ahead of them. He did twist back enough to shout at her to be careful when he managed to dodge a branch, but she did not, leaving a thin, whip-like cut across her cheek.

Then, at one point, Ned lost the black wolf. He found a clearing in the Wolfswood, and drew his foaming horse to a halt, wheeling it around as it cantered. Sansa pulled up beside him, eyes peering ahead into the thicker trees, while Benjen, Rodrik, and others burst through the gap he had made.

"Where did it go?!" gasped Rodrik, eyes wide. "And Gods above! Did you see the size of it? That's no wolf!"

"What is it then?" asked Benjen innocently.

Ned was grim when he replied, "A direwolf."

"South of the wall?" scoffed one of the men-at-arms. "Preposterous!"

A growl interrupted them, and Ned whirled around to see the black wolf – the black direwolf – slink out from underneath several low branches that protected it from the drifting snow. It peeled back its gum, revealing long, sharp yellow teeth as it snarled.

Ned unsheathed his sword, sliding from his horse's back as he did so. The men behind him followed except two who slowly drew arrows, and strangely, so did Sansa, who was unarmed. "My lady, stay back—"

But Sansa caught the wolf's eyes and it stopped snarling. Her face went slack even as she took a step forward, her boots crunching on the snow. The wolf watched her as she approached.

Ned froze when Sansa stretched a hand out—

"Lady Sansa, no! Come back, my lady!" cried Ned, breaking whatever spell the wolf was under. It barked at Sansa, once, twice, and then turned, and raced back under the branches and through the trees.

But this time, Sansa hiked up her dress and crashed after the wolf. Rodrik swore, even as Ben cried, "Sansa! What do we do, Ned?"

"Follow her!" shouted Ned, eyes on Sansa's snowy footprints. The girl was fast, he realized, ducking under a branch and then weaving around a fallen log as he kept his eyes out for signs she passed by. Between her tiny prints, there were four massive paw prints but no blood. The wolf was leading the woman somewhere, and Ned had to stop her before the worst happened. His father would murder him if something happened to his cousin!

Ned spotted Sansa's bright hair first and heard her second. She stopped before a cave entrance, calling out prettily, "Oh, is this where you're hiding...?" just as ducked into the dark maw.

"Sansa!" cried Ned, plunging in after her. He vaguely heard confirmation of the men behind him.

A few steps in he froze, eyes wide.

Sansa was on her knees, cooing softly to a pretty, sable direwolf pup. The pup itself was on its hind legs, yipping excitedly with its front paws on Sansa's chest, tipping the girl to the cavern floor. She was crying and laughing at the same time as the pup licked at her face, anywhere it could reach.

"Lady! Oh, my precious, adorable Lady!" the redhead was crying.

At that, a pure white pup bounded from behind its mother, a large grey beast, along with a rompish, growling brown pup, each joining their littermate in covering Sansa with wolf slobber.

Ned's mouth dropped open, and his sword dipped as his hand went limp at his side. Benjen appeared behind him, gasping loudly at the sight. He reached out and grabbed Ned's cloak tightly, winding his hand in it as he breathed, "Gods, Ned. Are those – are those direwolf puppies?"

"Aye," muttered Ned, counting the three that were all over Sansa; there was a grey one, similar in colour to its mother, a pure black one like its father, and another sable one that was ambling toward Benjen, sniffing at his boots.

Six direwolf puppies. Two adult direwolves.

"Gods above," breathed Rodrik as he ducked into the cave. His sword was trembling. "We should leave quickly and quietly my lords. Then, we can slay the beasts—"

"No!" shrieked Sansa, standing up so quickly the puppies took a tumble. The sable one she called Lady turned to the men and began yipping. She reached and scooped the puppy up in her arms, clutching it tightly.

Ned's breath hitched and he stopped breathing. "Sansa, Sansa, please, put the direwolf down... we

don't want its parents upset..."

Sansa scowled but refused to drop the wolf. The albino and brown pup who had been playing with her huddled at her feet, sitting back on their haunches and watching Ned with careful, bright eyes that were far too intelligent for his liking.

But the parents – the direwolves – they weren't attacking at all or moving from where the mother lounged near the back of the cave, her mate at her side. It took him several moments where his blood rushed in his ears to realize that while he and the Stark men were being watched, none of the animals made to attack them.

"How dare you?" seethed Sansa. "How dare you even consider slaying the Stark sigil?" "I—" Ned's mouth shut.

The wolf at Benjen's feet whined pitifully, and Benjen, far braver than Ned, copied Sansa by reaching down and cuddling it in his arms. Then he turned his eyes on his brother and Ned was slammed with two wide, brown orbs glittering at him.

"Ned, you wouldn't hurt him, would you?" Benjen's lower lip quivered.

"No, he wouldn't!" declared Sansa, beaming at Benjen. "Look – he's chosen you! Eight wolves, one for each Stark!"

A part of Ned wanted to protest; Sansa was a Royce, or whatever house her mother married into – not a Stark – but... Benjen began excitedly talking about his pup, staring adoringly at it.

Ned sighed. Something heavy landed on his foot and he looked down to see one of the pups, the grey one, had come up to him in the meantime, and was now batting at his shin, whining at him. The pup fell back on his rear and stared up at Ned.

His lips did not twitch. They didn't.

"I suppose we can take care of them if their sire and bitch allow us," allowed Ned eventually,

trying to ignore the grey fluff chewing on the edge of his cloak. Sansa beamed. "I'm sure they'll be fine with it."

Between Sansa, Ned, and Benjen – Rodrik absolutely refused to help in any way – they stuck the puppies out into the leather satchels that once carried food (now placed elsewhere in other bags) while the black and brown adult direwolves followed at a sedate pace behind them. Despite their pace at the groups' back, the horses were spooked, and they ended up leading the horses by foot back to Winterfell.

A distant part of Ned was wondering how sideways things had gone since those ravens from King's Landing. Since his arrival back in Winterfell to find the strange lady interloper had taken over it with his father's blessings. Things were strange enough; nothing else would make things stranger.

Upon their entrance to the ancient castle, Walys appeared, a nervous tick on his cheek indicating his unease. He had a scroll in his hand that he held out promptly to Sansa. "My Lady, this came for you from the capitol."

Sansa blinked, and took the scroll; Ned saw the moment Walys realized there was a wolf pup tucked into the bag at Sansa's side in the way the man blanched and tripped over his feet as he

hurried backward.

"Oh. Oh, dear," said Sansa, causing Ned to turn to her. "What? Is it Father?" he urged, stepping closer to her. Sansa looked up. "Oh, no, it's Jon. He's written."

She cleared her throat and read the letter out loud for the benefit of those in the bailey: "'Dearest Sansa: If convenient, please come to King's Landing as soon as possible. Plans didn't go accordingly. I am now King.'"

Ned's knees wobbled and, although he would deny it, he swooned the tiniest as blood rushed away from his head, settling somewhere low just as his stomach dropped from under him, as well.

"There's more," added Sansa unhelpfully, turning the scroll over. Ned spied the hurried, harried scrawl on the back, added as a post-script. "'If inconvenient, please come all the same. Much love, Jon.'"

{TBC...}