Yes I know I've been away for a while after watching every major character assassination arc of Game of Thrones. With the exception of Arya maybe. HBO wanted 10 seasons. D&D ran out of material from GMMR and LotRs to use.

I have no problem of how it ended its how quickly it ended. It started with the Stark family and it ended with the Stark family. However Dany and Sansa could have been better because they have similar backgrounds. Jon turning into a man who can't think for himself. Disappointment all around.

Catelyn Stark's face was pinched in annoyance. She sat at a table filled with food, but empty chairs. Ned and the boys were supposed to finish up their morning drills some time ago. She didn't expect Arya to show up on time anymore. She was late for everything but Sansa was always on time. Yet here alone she sat. Even her baby Rickon doesn't find his poor mother interesting anymore.

Just then she heard the shuffling of feet coming toward the private dining hall. She knew it was Arya. Sansa wouldn't dare do something unladylike as shuffling her feet. Still it was unusual for Arya to show her face, before Sansa.

'She must have overslept,' she thought. Though she could not think of why. Her perfect girl retired early the night before.

Arya pushed open the doors to their private dining hall. "Morning," she grumbled.

Catelyn sighed preparing for the battle every time she asked Arya to do something. "Arya before you break your fast will you please go fetch your sister."

The familiar crease in Arya's brow appeared. "Why do I have to get her?"

"Arya the boys will be here in a moment and I want to break our fast together," she snapped giving no room for argument.

Arya continued with her pulled face grumbling about stupid airheads as she stumped away.

Catelyn smiled, knowing The Mother was testing her when she blessed her with Arya. And her daughter did like to try her. It was funny how Ned sees his sister when he looks at Arya, but she sees the remnant of the wild wolf she buried deep within her heart.

The darked haired girl walked the familiar path to the pampered princesses chamber, when a wicked thought came to mind. She lightened her footsteps as she approached Sansa's door. She stuck her ear to the door listening for any sound. Finding none, she smiled as she threw open the door banging it loudly against the wall. Arya frowned petulantly not getting response she wanted as she walked closer to the bed. Sansa still lay asleep unaware to the world.

"Sansa," she called out. Then, she tried again, this time a little louder. "Sansa! Come on, wake up!"

After receiving no answer, Arya felt something uncomfortable starting to settle in her chest. She started to shake her sister but there wasn't even a protest of annoyance. She drew back her hands that were now moist. Her gray eyes peered closer, and discovered Sansa's skin was blotchy, and she was sweating. She swallowed hard while backing away and headed straight back to her mother.

As a mother Catelyn Stark knew all the calls and cries of her children. Arya calling out to her was frantic; scared even if that was possible for her tiny terror.

"Sansa won't wake up and she's all sweaty," she panted as she arrived back to the dining hall.

The auburn haired woman told the maid to take the food up giving up hope of having a meal together. On the brisk walk to Sansa's room she hoped Arya was exaggerating, but arriving she realized she wasn't. She could smell the feverish aroma. She pulled back the furs on the bed and saw her thin nightgown was soaked along the collar. Catelyn repeated many of Arya's actions to wake her daughter but she remained unmoved.

Arya watch with worried eyes as her mother peppered slaps on Sansa's face to get her to wake but to no avail. What was worse was the fear her mother's voice started to take calling Sansa to wake. She pulled Sansa's body up in sitting position but her head lolled backwards, and arms remained limp as her mother tried to will her into consciousness. Just then there was hitching sound and she thought her mother successful but things became more dire.

The once limp body started to convulse and jerk awkwardly. The seizing and contortion was something she had never witnessed. Arya couldn't tear her eyes away and felt herself trembling. It wasn't until she was pulled from the room by the arrival of Septa Mordane.

"Go fetch the maester girl, quickly!"

Arya nodded absently as her Septa started helping her mother lay Sansa flat so she wouldn't hurt herself. She ran pass other maids who were also responding to Lady Stark's distress. As soon as she hit the outdoors of the Great Keep she lifted her dress and made a mad dash for Maester Luwin.

Jon stood in the training grounds as the Master-at-Arms Ser Rodrik chewed out the new recruits. It had become a sort of a tradition. He spotted Robb and Theon trying hard not to let smiles overtake them at the man's fake exaggerated anger. Even his stone faced father's lips seemed to curl on the end. Out the corner of his eye he spotted Arya running off to find her next adventure he supposed. Running from her embroidery lessons or from Sansa and her perfect circle of ladies more likely.

Robb,Theon, and Bran joined him when Rodrik dismissed the small garrison of men.

"Man that never gets old," Robb said as he tried hard not to laugh.

"I have tears in my eyes," Theon murmured as Lord Stark approached them with Rickon in tow who laughed because he saw his older brother and Theon laughing. Yet their laughter halted when Lord Stark interrupted them.

"I hope you boys are more discreet as my lady wife scolds me for training running over schedule," he told them with an aloof smile. The boys broke out in jape about not crossing the matriarch when the more sullen one of their group broke the happy moment with graveness vibrating through his voice.

"Something's wrong," he said.

Ned followed Jon's troubled gaze to see Arya racing back to the Great Keep with Maester Luwin on her heels. His steps were quick and with determination. Without a word Ned started making his own way to The Keep with the boys falling in line behind him.

Seeing the maids scurrying about as he arrived, did nothing to ease the tension that was rapidly building. He followed the commotion to his eldest daughter's chambers. Her feverish state was evident as he witnessed the slight jerks in her body slow to a stop.

Catelyn swallowed down a sob and rushed to his side. Tears threatened to run down her cheeks, as he tried to soothe his wife, by holding her close.

"What's happened," he asked. Cat filled him in on everything that transpired as they looked on.

Maester Luwin checked making sure the seizure had stopped completely before he carried on with his exam. Physically she seemed fine, but he found it most troubling that she wouldn't even stir to outside stimulation. He wouldn't be able to give a real answer until he's does an extensive examination. For now he needed to get this fever down which he believed is the root of the problem.

"Lady Stark I assume you had a warm bath prepared," finally speaking. "We need to move her now."

Ned immediately stepped to the bed carefully hauling his precious cargo into his strong arms. He walked the short distance from the bed to the small tub. Careful of her modesty he gently lowered his sweet one into the water. He let his eyes linger on her face even running his hand down the side of her face before he was shooed away by his wife.

His children waited for him all eagerly to hear news. "We don't know anything yet and there is no need to get upset of that which we don't know yet," he told them in a comforting voice yet he didn't know if he was trying to comfort them or himself.

Maester Luwin's methodical examination provided no insight to Sansa's ailment, which was frustrating. He found her eye response normal. He found no marks or bites of any kind. What troubled him most was her lack of response to any outside stimuli. He tried blunt, sharp, hot, cold and loud elements to rouse her, but she just kept sleeping. What's worse was the haunted look of the Lord and Lady when he could provide them with answers. They would have to watch Sansa closely for the next few days.

Catelyn sat vigil with her for two days which were the hardest, but she finally developed a routine. She bathe her child every morning because her fever refused to break, she regularly shifts her body through the day to keep blood flow and to keep her from seizing up. She put Sansa in a garment like diaper and placed lunar cloths used for monthly bleeds underneath her just in case. She had no shame in cleaning her daughter as if she was still a babe. She turns Sansa's head to the side so saliva would not build up in her mouth. She often suspects Sansa would be more mortified at saliva drooling out of her mouth than her mother cleaning her.

On the third day a layer of melancholy seemed to settle over Winterfell. Word and rumors spread about their Lord's daughter; how she still burned with fever and showed no signs of waking. For Jon it was just another day. Being a bastard he lived in a world where clouds always threatened their wrath. This didn't mean he doesn't care about his sister. Everyone's feeling was just the status quo for him. He could easily function in the face of adversity and tragedy.

His family were handling it all differently. His father was more brooding than usual. He was often seen in the Godswood and takes rest in his solar. Robb filled in the gaps for their father and his lady mother. More like he was doing work so he wouldn't have to think. After speaking with Bran it seemed the younger lord was handling it better than he thought he would. He and Bran also kept Rickon distracted for Lady Stark's sake. Arya seemed indifferent but he knew better.

He spotted her running into an abandoned pottery forge and decided it was time for a talk. Arya was headstrong. Her stubbornness can be very endearing, but now was definitely not one of those times. He knew she was hurting. She acted tough and she certainly was, but sometimes everyone forgets she's still a little girl.

When he entered, he noticed she was furious, that much was clear. He watched quietly as she threw broken pottery, dried paints, and old potting wheels; basically anything she could. Tears continually streamed down her cheeks as she cursed. His heart bled for her.

She hadn't stopped at his intrusion; it was almost as if she was expecting him to be there. He took a few steps towards her angry form.

Swallowing lump in her throat, Arya opened her mouth, but no words came out. Slipping an arm around her, Jon pulled her tiny body against his and held her as she cried. She buried her face into his tunic letting her gray eyes squeeze out the pain.

Arya realized how awful she must look after a moment. She had always been such an ugly crier. Sansa was the one more likely to cry and do it pretty.

"I must look like the seven hells," she chuckled softly, as she fixed her watery eyes on the broken table instead of him.

He smiled, deciding against his initial response to her statement. Saying 'I've never seen anything more beautiful' might not go over too well. Besides he was very attached to his cock. So he waited for her to speak.

"Is Sansa going to die?"

Tears came unbidden to his eyes at the haunting question. "I can't tell you that she won't." It wasn't the answer she was looking for but he wouldn't lie.

"We fought a three nights ago, and I wished something truly awful to happen to her."

Jon sighed at the guilt he heard coming from her.

"Arya sometimes we allow our emotions to take control at times and we say things we don't mean. You wishing something unfortunate to happen didn't make it happen. If that were true your lady mother would have have already wished me out of existence."

That brought forth a sad grin from Arya. "That's true," as more silent tears ran down her cheeks again.

Jon remained silent as he rubbed his palm up and down her back soothingly. He prayed for their sister's recovery.

Ned rubbed his temples in a slow, circular motion, hoping to relieve the tension there. It had been a never-ending of five days and nights. His throbbing headache was proof of that. Many ravens and messengers came in over the last few days. What was once many petitions for Sansa's hand are now for Arya, not a word of support except from House Mormont which is matriarchal. They acted like she was already buried in the crypt. They were clamoring over each other for Sansa to be married to their heirs for years.

It made him angry how they thought his daughters were interchangeable. In their eyes one womb is as good as the other to claim Winterfell in the possibility his sons fell. Even his most loyal bannermen sought more power. These past few days have forced him to look at these men differently. It has also forced him to confront something he didn't even know he was guilty of doing.

When faced with the real prospect of losing his daughter he began to recall moments from the very first moment he held Sansa's tiny body in his arms up to now. His memories lead to one painful conclusion; he knew next to nothing about his own daughter. There's no doubt in his heart he loved her but he didn't know anything beyond her love of songs, knights, and overly polite courtesies. Yet he could recall many affectionate memories with Arya. Memories where he actually spoke in length and taught her lessons about the world.

He did his best to spend time with all his children yet Sansa got lost in the shuffle along the way. Somehow he grew content with letting Catelyn and against better judgement that woman from the Faith of the Seven teaching his daughter about life. Sansa's behavior once good natured but mischievous was now meek and subservient. Arya was the only one who could get a rise out her these days. When Sansa would raise her voice she would be quickly reprimand about being a proper lady.

It pained him to know, his daughter was reduced to being completely submissive. She was the most obedient of his children, and arguably the most naive. He felt like Sansa saw the whole world as a pretty place. It was his duty to give his girl insight into the world of men. To prepare them for the challenges of life and a wider variety of methods of dealing with life. It was a hard thing to swallow, and a hit to his pride in realizing he failed Sansa. He would have to amend his oversight. That's if the gods afforded him that chance.

By the seventh day Maester Luwin nor any of the surrounding Measters found no answers concerning Sansa's illness. Although the fever was milder she still hadn't woken or responded to any stimulus. They were waiting on the raven from the Grand Maester Pycelle, but their good friend Luwin sat Lord and Lady Stark down and told them the tragic truth; something no parent wished to hear. He believed if Sansa did not wake soon her body will continue to lose nourishment and she would starve. That's if her body didn't give out to a lack of water caused by her fever. In essence he thought Sansa should be granted mercy before that happens.

Ned finished his nightly rounds mulling over the Maester's words as they weighed him down. He hated death, but as a man it was his constant companion as it is with most men. It touched his life so many times, in so many ways, that he was well acquainted with its different appearances. It took many forms, but its intentions were always the same. It seemed death would greet him again and this time it didn't even need the invitation.

His feet lead him to Sansa's chamber where he wife sat looking as if she aged in the past sennight. He slid in closing the door behind him taking up vigil next to his wife as he eyed his sweet one. The only feature he could recognize was her weirwood colored hair, not the color of her mother's hair as so many claimed. Her once shapely lips were cracked from dryness. Her skin was ashen. She had always been pale but it was a beautiful winter pale skin, and not this deathly pale imposter.

What angered him so was the helplessness of it all. He hadn't felt this useless since the day he watched Lyanna die. He was a man of war and this time the enemy was too great. There was nothing he could fight. He felt his jaw clench. He looked away, trying to gather his feelings and keep himself in check. Catelyn saw his facial twitch and felt her hand tightened around his.

"It's not your fault," she spoke in a broken voice. "This is my fault."

Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cat...no. Stop," he said, trying to hold back his own grief.

"No it is." she insisted as her husband started to rebuke her nonsense. "I broke my promise to the gods and now they are punishing me."

"When you returned from war with a babe in your arms. I cursed you for shaming me so. Afterwards you never came to my bed and you didn't demand your marital rights. Instead you courted me. Even the boy's presence wasn't enough to keep me from falling for you," she smiled sadly as another tear escaped. "But the truth is he stilled remained. You didn't send him away to be fostered. You wouldn't even consider it and every time I saw him I wondered where your heart truly lay."

Ned felt his emotions swell once more. His promise kept him in bondage causing unnecessary grief to ones who didn't deserve it.

"My anger over this woman threaten to strangle me so, until I start wishing your son was dead."

Ned's eyes flickered dangerously taken back by the confession. He was too bewildered to even speak as her words echoed over and over in his ears. Before he could form a coherent response she continued.

"Then he got sick with the pox. Seeing him so near death made me realize what a horrible person I was, to wish death upon an innocent child. While he lay there struggling for life I prayed. I prayed to the gods to save him and made a promise. A promise that I would do better by him, and to let you give him your name. A promise to raise him as my own. So when he recovered I tried Ned...I really tried, but I could not let go of my own jealousy."

He watched the emotions on Catelyn's face as the story unraveled for him. He saw sadness that she had displayed years ago over his assumed unfaithfulness. Her liquid eyes pleaded with him not to hate her.

"It wasn't his fault. He was a child who didn't ask to be born. No the fault lay with you and the anger reserved for you was taken out on a little boy. Now they are punishing me because I couldn't love a motherless child."

Ned looked down, pensive. A cold feeling began to grow and spread in the pit of his stomach as he realized how his lie caused a bigger ripples in his life and marriage then he thought. He knew it in his heart not trusting Catelyn was a mistake. To hear his fears confirmed hurt even more. He knew his beloved was wounded when he claimed Jon as his own. Even now he yearned to open up to her. But what good would it do now. It would only serve to cause more pain when it didn't have too.

More tears welled in her eyes, as he struggled with words to apologize. Instead he took her in his arms as she broke into a full sob until she cried herself to sleep. She had used all her strength to keep a straight face throughout the days as Lady Stark, but after speaking the Maester she was pushed past her limits and need an outlet for her inner turmoil.

Finally he stood up and pulled her up with him. A remarkable feat considering the dresses she wore. He supported her, and she leaned against him. He managed to open the door. There was one of his oldest maids who was stationed for the night, but out the corner of his eye he saw Jon and called for him.

Jon had exited Robb's chamber finally getting him to take proper rest. His brother had been skipping meal times and not sleeping forsaking his own health. A lot of his brother's feelings are unspoken like most Stark men. Yet they felt deeper than others are aware of. Other times our emotions are etched in our faces. Today they received unwelcome news. They knew Sansa dying was a possibility, but not in the form that it would come in. That's what happened today when father told them of Maester Luwin's conclusions.

He and Robb thought their father prepared them for everything but neither knew how wrong they were in their assumption. They didn't even know if it was something their father was prepared to do, because the decision rested solely on him now. Yet in a deeper part of his heart he knew his father would grant Sansa a peaceful death if he believed she was suffering. He would continue in the dire hopes she'd wake before it became necessary to do so. Lady Stark would be a different tale. As a mother she was fierce to behold. She'd fight even her Lord husband if she believed he posed a threat. He sighed as felt his heart clenched at the absence presence in his life. He shook his brief sorrow away when he heard his name called.

"Jon."

He looked up to see his father carrying a sleeping Lady Stark, and quickly went to him. The tired and glistening in his father's eyes were prevalent.

"Would you please watch over your sister tonight?"

As soon as the words were out the Lord's mouth the night maid protested.

"My Lord it's improper. Especially for him," she implied.

He is my son, his sister," Ned replied, enunciating every word tightly leaving no room for argument.

The maid scurried backwards forgetting she was dealing with the Lord and not his Lady. She had overstepped her bounds. "I beg your pardon, My Lord," she said excusing herself from their presence.

"I thought you might like to sit with her for a while."

Jon nodded understanding he was given an opportunity that may never come again. He knew he wouldn't be allowed to sit with her any other time.

Ned nodded and turned to the direction of the master's chambers.

Jon stepped inside Sansa's chamber and immediately felt the cool draft. He walked across her room and added more wood to the dying fire lighting the room just a bit for him to see. He was greeted with the pitiful sight of his sister he hadn't seen in days. She was frail and tiny in the huge bed. Dwarfed by the furs, she looked almost like a little girl against the mounds of pillows.

It reminded him of simpler times. He and Robb were knights running around the yard saving the fair maiden Princess Sansa. She would follow them around even watched them start their training. She would help them sneak sweets from the kitchens, like a good little minion before everything changed. One day the laughing and playing stopped. Sansa was kept in the house away from the them. At first they thought she was being punished. Yet she became more quiet. She no longer climbed in father's lap when he told them about Robert's Rebellion or the one who like to be tossed in the air pretending she could fly. What's what worse was she no longer spoke to him. The apologetic look in her eyes when she turned away from him often made him miserable. That was before he figured out what the word bastard meant. From there he understood Lady Stark's dislike for him something she and the newly hired septa pushed Sansa to embrace. He watched her become ensnared in fairy tales about the world that no one saw fit to correct not even their own father. He even found himself forgetting about her when Arya Underfoot filled the void Sansa left. Now their hearts are full of regrets.

Jon stood over her bed before he knelt down. He hesitantly ran his hand through her hair before he kissed her brow. Standing he sunk down into one of the vacant seats near the bed, trying to get comfortable. He watched the rise and fall of her chest a few moments before closing his own eyes falling into a fitful sleep.

Sansa felt like she was falling into a dark tunnel and didn't know when she'd hit the bottom and the light above was getting smaller and smaller with each passing second. A corner of her mind was screaming at her to wake up. She was so tired though. Maybe if she woke up from the sleep that was blissfully calling to her, the screaming voice would be gone. With all her will power she struggled to wake.

Ice blue eyes opened and closed again. They blinked again, trying to clear the cotton away her head seemed to be wrapped in. Her gaze finally came in focused. The ceiling was familiar, and the bed was too comfortable. She was dead wasn't she? She thought.

She desperately searched her memory for what happened. Stopping when her gaze landed on her left, she saw her dead brother.

'Jon,' she thought.

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