They were still at the high table, talking and laughing amongst themselves, when Sam entered the great hall. They were so rarely allowed to be together this way, light and joyful and without duty. They were so rarely allowed to be together at all. He hated to shatter their tiny moment of peace, but the realms were far from stable and the bit of parchment in his hand couldn't wait. He took a deep breath, gathered his wits, and headed towards the table.

"Apologies, your Grace…" he called as he approached the dais, and before he could even form the next words, he saw it. He knew he must not have succeeded in hiding the panic on his face because he saw the moment Sansa realized something was wrong. The switch from the woman who laughs with his wife and plays with his children, who makes his oldest friend smile his truest smile—to the Queen in the North, so fierce and formidable that the Free Folk had taken to calling her The Red Wolf.

He saw too, the way that Jon instinctively leaned toward her at the slightest sign of distress. As if he could jump between her and whatever invisible threat had put her on edge. Sam knew, of course, that he would- no matter the cost. They all did. He had thrown himself in front of a dragon for her.

"Sam?"

Sansa had been relaxed in her chair a moment ago, light in her eyes and a smile on her lips as she listened to something Tormund was gesturing wildly about. Now, her back was straight as steel and that light had turned to an intense kind of focus as she noted the scroll he was clutching and gestured for him to sit. The rest of the table fell quiet as they took in the sudden change in tone and Sam could see the weariness in Jon's gray eyes again, the sadness that had only grown in all the years he'd known him.

"What is it?"

"A raven," he answered, "from the South."

"From The Dragon Queen?!" Arya's voice was laced with enough disdain that Sam sank back a bit at her words. "Jon's not due in King's Landing for another moon at least..."

"Not from the capitol…", Sam said quickly. He tilted the parchment so they could see the red wax sigil that had sealed the scroll, a sun pierced through with a spear.

"Dorne?"

Gendry's surprise was matched by the confused, furrowed brows of everyone else in the room so Sam started to explain.

"Yes, from the Princess-"

"Arianne Martell sent a raven?" Jon interrupted, "Why?"

There was a new tension in him now, a kind of defensiveness that was typically reserved for his aunts visits to the North. Sam didn't miss the questioning look Sansa gave him, or the way that, for the first time since he brought Daenerys Targaryen to Winterfell, Jon wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I'm not sure I see the problem," Davos said, glancing between the two before looking to Sam. "She's newly seated as the head of her house, it's customary to send a-"

"No!" Sam snapped. "I mean yes, it is customary-" he took another deep breath and tried again "The raven wasn't from the Princess Arianne, it-

Arya scoffed.

"But you just said-"

"Why don't we let the man speak, your Grace, then we may actually find out who sent the damned raven and why!"

Arya stared daggers at the secret Storm Lord, as she did whenever he brought up her own status as a princess, but he only smiled back at her. Sam would pretend that he didn't see the wink Gendry sent her when he thought no one was looking, or the way it seemed as if the corner of Arya's mouth twitched up with a suppressed smile of her own.

Turning his attention back to Sansa, Sam began once more, "The message came from the Princess Myrcella, your Grace, it's an invitation to Dorne."

"An invitation?" Jon demanded gruffly.

Ghost had been laying at the end of the table when Sam came in, and had barely opened an eye to greet him—likely sated from table scraps and the warmth of the hall. Now, hearing the threat in Jon's voice, the white wolf came to stand to the right of the woman he spent his days and nights guarding, opposite his master.

" Why in seven hells would Cersei Lannister's daughter want Sansa in Dorne?" Arya questioned. Her distrust was palpable, and a glance around the room told him that she wasn't alone in that unease. Cersei had been forced to turn her attentions toward Daenerys after she landed on Dragonstone, but she had never truly let go of the hatred she held for Sansa, and the killers she paid in Lannister gold had continued to come, even after Cersei's mysterious death in the Red Keep.

"It's a more complicated situation than even that, I'm afraid." Davos ran a hand over his salt and pepper beard and the look he shared with Jon meant the complication had something to do with the The Mother of Dragons.

Sam listened as his friend sighed heavily and recited in the same doleful tone he used when appeasing his aunt's demands that he hold court as a Targaryen Prince— "Queen Daenerys has called for all remaining kin and bannerman of usurpers to the Iron Throne return to court in King's Landing, where they may swear fealty and hear the Dragon's judgement."

"A few oaths she has accepted," Davos added, "So long as they were willing to give up their family names, some of the women and children have been offered pardons if another house is willing to take them in, or exile in the free cities if not." Jon shifted slightly as Davos went on, hands clenching around the arms of his chair, "But most have not been so lucky." The tightness of his jaw and the way he closed his eyes at the words let Sam know, Jon had been there for the these judgements and he could remember all those who had been unlucky.

"Ser Jaime escaped her wrath because he was sworn in to the Northern Queensguard before he could be brought before her. Killing him now would break the treaty, and after what happened during the sack of Kings Landing..." Davos cleared his throat and pressed on, shaking his head slightly as if the act could somehow rid the memory of that day from his mind, "She needs to appear as magnanimous as possible. She doesn't know who Gendry is yet, so for the moment he's not in any immediate danger, but if she was to learn the truth… I'm not sure what might happen. When Shireen refused to give up her father's name… well, she only made it off Dragonstone because of Jon, and the only thing keeping her safe now is her new betrothal and the association to our own Queen-"

"And Myrcella?" Sansa challenged, eyes trained on the former King in the North, "What are your aunt's plans for her?"

Jon flinched a bit at her tone, but he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze when he answered, "Before he died, Prince Doran sent requests to postpone Myrcella's return to King's Landing, the last said something about her health and the strain of travel. Daenerys wasn't happy about it, but being that they were one of the first of the kingdoms to back her war against Cersei, Varys and Tyrion were able to convince her to grant the time."

"Well…" Arya huffed, "Isn't that-"

"But," Jon added dejectedly, "When I go back, if she has not yet heard of Myrcella's intent to return to the capitol, she means for us to fly to Dorne. I can't imagine she'll be pleased about you being invited south."

"Actually," Sam interjected, "the invitation was addressed to you too, Jon. She's invited you both."

Now they were all looking at him as though he had grown another head. It was Davos who found his voice first, and Sam wasn't sure if it was disbelief or wariness that he heard when he said "What do you mean the two of them? What did the message say exactly?"

He handed the scroll over and the old knight read Myrcella's message aloud—Myrcella Martell, Princess of Dorne and Rising Sun of the West invites The Queen in the North, Sansa Stark, and The Dragon Prince, Jon Snow, to Sunspear on a trip to establish communication between those who would have been family and reunite friends who have found refuge in the South.

"Hmmm…" was all Sansa said, exchanging a look with Davos.

He nodded and made the same sort contemplative noise as he handed her the scroll to look over, "Yes, I think so too…"

"What?" Arya asked, annoyed, "Not all of us can see secret messages inside of secret messages."

"It's her wording." Davos answered. "She married Trystane Martell, so Princess of Dorne makes sense, but 'Rising Sun of the West'?"

"What?" Gendry questioned, looking between the Stark sisters and their Targaryen cousin, "Isn't it common for the nobles to have informal titles? Don't the people call you all this wolf and that wolf?"

Tormund snorted.

"Yes, it's common," Sansa answered, smiling fondly at the former blacksmith she had spent the better part of a year tutoring, "but Myrcella was a Baratheon in name before she married. The west were her mother's lands. And the rest, the bit about family, it could mean a number of things."

Davos nodded again in agreement, "Not to mention friends finding refuge. It certainly says a great deal while remaining rather ambiguous."

Sansa was turning her wolf's head ring between her fingers and tapping the scroll against the table, both motions Sam recognized as being signs that she was thinking through the options. Fight every battle in your head, she'd told him once, so you'll know how to keep from fighting them all in life.

He could still remember the way she had cried and clung to Arya the day Gilly had found the ring and given it to her. It was Robb's, Bran had said, the only thing left. She never took it off.

"You're not seriously considering accepting her offer?" Arya asked her sister incredulously.

"No."

Jon said the word with such finality, such decisiveness, that Sam actually forgot for a moment that the he was not the final authority in the matter. It was more growl than answer really, and he was suddenly reminded of those early days after the sack when Jon had taken Rhaegal and flown back North to keep her safe.

"You, Dragon Prince, may refuse your invitation," Sansa reminded him cooly, "but you cannot refuse on my behalf."

Then, seeing the look in his eye, the fear, she added gently "I cannot just ignore a request from a Princess of Dorne, Jon. I'll have the guard—

"Sansa…" Jon started, but she cut him off. "I would have liked to confer with Bran before making any final decisions, but I haven't heard from him in over a month... "

"Actually, that's the reason I was a bit out of sorts about the whole thing. Bran sent word." Sam's face went hot with embarrassment, he had meant to mention this sooner, "I don't normally even go to the rookery until mid-afternoon, but a rider came just after dawn with a message. Bran left the Wall weeks ago, he and Meera are on their way back home to Winterfell. His message said to look for the raven today and to wait for him…"

Sam knew his next words would only solidify the groups apprehension, would move this southern trip from something that may happen to something that was inevitable, so he paired the news with a small, weak smile to soften the blow.

"He's to make part of the trip with you."

The quiet agitation that had simmered in the room since the message had been shared only intensified with the mention of this being dreamt by the raven who was also a prince, who was also their brother.

"Well then," Sansa said simply, "it appears our decision has been made."

"This could be a trap," Arya warned, "And even if it isn't, we can't just leave… you know the words as well as I do, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"I do know that," Sansa leaned back against her chair and clasped her hands together, "And you're right, we cannot leave. "

The realization dawned on Arya a few moments after the rest of the room had guessed where this was going, and it seemed as though time had stopped in Winterfell's Great Hall as the men who had lived through some of the deadliest battles the kingdoms had ever seen, braced themselves for Arya Stark.

"No! Absolutely not! You can't expect me to just let you go… not without me. It's not safe! What if-

"Family, duty, honor" Sansa interrupted. "You are as much Tully as you are Stark and your family needs you here. I need you here, and as I reminded Jon, my guard is more than capable. Please, Arya—I try not to ask anything of you, but I am asking you now—please, stay. Be my regent, protect our home, take care of our people in my stead."

"You know I can't run a castle Sansa! I wouldn't even know where to start. A trip like this could take months, why can't Davos-"

Sansa held up a hand, "Ser Davos is Hand of the Queen- a role you rejected, I'll remind you, so he'll be coming with me. You know Rickon won't leave Shireen, and Shireen won't leave Bear Island so, if Bran has plans of his own, that leaves only you. Gendry has spent months sitting in on every meeting, learning all he can about how to be a lord, he'll stay here to help you."

"Aye." Gendry's grin was sharp and boasting as he looked to the younger Stark sister, "Don't worry, Hero of Winterfell, I'll show you how to be a proper lady."

Tormund choked on a swig of the goat's milk that Sansa made sure to have on hand during his trips 'down south', but he had enough sense to keep his eyes averted when Arya's head snapped in his direction.

"Careful, Lord Baratheon," Sansa cautioned, looking over the message once more, "if I am to make the journey to Dorne I'll be taking most of the people who keep her from stabbing you."

Now it was Davos who snorted.

When she looked up at him, eyebrows raised, Gendry had bowed his head in what Sam supposed to be some kind of concession. Sansa inclined her head in acknowledgement and the look they shared made Sam feel as though there was something else being said between them. Between the slight flush in his cheek and the smile in her eyes it seemed more teasing than admonishment.

"I need you, please, to go to Ser Brienne and ask her to meet me in my solar with Ser Jaime after their morning rounds. Tell her what's happened, but tell her I'd prefer to be there when Ser Jaime learns we've received word from his… family."

Gendry nodded and stood from the table. With one last glance towards the Princess of Winterfell he strode from the hall and out towards the yard.

"We'll need to get word to Rickon," Sansa said turning to Davos, "as well as my family in the Eyrie and Riverrun. I'd like to send more soldiers to help guard my brother while I'm away, but I know that he'll refuse."

Tormund chuckled. "Well, we ain't knights, but the wild little prince seemed at home with the free folk during the war, I'm sure I can find a group willing to watch over the lad until you get back. I'll go myself it makes you feel better."

The folk still did not kneel, but after Sansa had declared all the lands from Last Hearth to what was left of the wall theirs without fealty, they had taken to greeting the Northern Queen with a hand to the heart. Tormund however, overcome by the gift, had embraced her warmly. It put the guard on edge, but Sansa had only laughed and waved them away. Now that things had settled down he addressed her somewhat more formally in public, but the affinity between the two leaders 'kissed by fire' was known amongst the Northmen and Freefolk alike.

"Thank you Tormund, there's no one I'd trust more to keep him safe."

The big man stood to join Davos, but stopped to pat Jon's shoulder as he passed before bending down to press a light kiss to the top of Sansa's head.

"The North remembers, hmm?"

As the two men left the hall together, Sam realized he'd been left alone at the table with the Starks. He loved them all, and Bran and Rickon too, but being alone with them here, after this news… He knew they were remembering their last two invitations south, and the grief that came with them. It was though he could feel their pain, their sorrow, feel the ghosts that haunted them still.

Arya hadn't spoken since Gendry had left to find Brienne, and now, as her sister turned back to her- she stood, turned from the table, and left without a word to anyone. Sansa only sighed and watched her go, then she nudged the wolf at her side and Ghost trotted off in the direction Arya had gone.

Clearing her throat, she looked to Sam once more, "Would you please speak with Gilly and Master Wolkan about what's been discussed this morning? Ask them both to compile a list of anything they may need while I'm away, I'd like to sit down with them both within a week to plan for my departure."

Sam nodded, "Yes, your Grace, also... I wondered if I might ask—"

"You may ask me anything Samwell Tarly, so long as you honor the only command I've ever issued you."

"Sorry. Sansa," he ammended, "I wondered if I might ask to travel with you. I haven't heard anything of my mother or sister… I'd like to try to find out what happened to them."

"Of course, Sam. Winterfell is your home now, too. You don't need my permission or approval to come or go, as I've told you, but if it's alright with you, we'll ask Brienne to choose a few of the men to go with you."

He nodded agreement and turned to Jon. He'd been still and silent since attempting to dissuade Sansa from the trip and remained so now, but Sam could see the flurry of emotions swimming in his eyes. Panic, worry, fear… he could see them all, and something else too. Not anger or rage or fury, but something like it. Something almost primal that he couldn't pinpoint exactly, but whatever that something was, Sam knew that Jon would not let Sansa make this trip alone.

"Sam?" Sansa asked, breaking him from the thought, "Would you please give me a moment alone with your former Lord Commander?"

Sam inclined his head and stood to leave and as he neared the hall's great wood and iron doors he heard her ask Jon softly, "What will you do?"

As he turned to pull the doors closed behind him he saw Jon take her hand atop the table, running his thumb gently over her knuckles.

Then, just as the doors shut, he heard the Dragon Prince tell the Wolf Queen with unrestrained tenderness, "What will we do?"