Third Person POV
299 AC, The Swift Gull – Morning
The Swift Gull cut through the waves of the Narrow Sea, its sails snapping in the brisk wind, the deck swaying gently under the rhythm of the tide. Below deck, in a cramped but clean cabin, Sansa Stark stirred, her auburn hair tangled, her blue eyes fluttering open. The unfamiliar creak of wood and the faint tang of salt in the air jolted her awake. She sat up, her silk gown rumpled, and glanced around, her heart racing at the strange surroundings—rough-hewn walls, a small porthole letting in slivers of light, and the unmistakable roll of a ship at sea. Beside her, Jeyne Poole lay on a narrow bunk, her brown hair splayed, her face peaceful but pale.
Sansa shook Jeyne gently, her voice trembling. "Jeyne? Jeyne, wake up! Where are we? This… this isn't the Red Keep. Are we prisoners still?"
Jeyne stirred, her eyes blinking open, confusion mirroring Sansa's. "Sansa? I… I don't know. My head's all fuzzy." She sat up, clutching the bunk as the ship swayed. They stumbled to the porthole, peering out at the endless expanse of grey-blue water, waves crashing against the hull. Jeyne's voice quavered. "We're on a ship, Sansa. How did we get here? Last I remember, I was in that cold room, trying to sleep…"
Sansa's breath hitched, her hands trembling. "I was in my chamber, dreaming of… of home. Someone must have taken us. But who? The Lannisters? Or…" Her voice trailed off, hope and fear warring in her chest. "We need to find out. Come on, Jeyne."
They steadied themselves against the sway, Sansa smoothing her gown, Jeyne clutching her arm. They pushed open the cabin door, the creak loud in the quiet, and climbed the narrow ladder to the deck. The salt air hit them, sharp and cold, the sun glinting off the waves. Sansa's eyes widened as she saw familiar figures—her father, Eddard Stark, standing tall despite his gaunt frame, his grey eyes warm; Arya, her wild hair whipping in the wind, Needle at her hip; and Jon Snow, in black leather, his grey eyes fierce but kind. Nearby stood Syrio Forel, lean and watchful, and two boys—Gendry, broad-shouldered, and Hot Pie, fidgeting nervously.
"Father!" Sansa cried, her voice breaking, tears spilling as she ran to him. Arya spun, her grey eyes lighting up, and barreled into Sansa, hugging her fiercely, nearly knocking her over. Jeyne hesitated, then joined, her arms wrapping around them both.
"Sansa! You're awake!" Arya said, her voice muffled against Sansa's shoulder, her small frame trembling. "I was so scared you'd be stuck in that awful place forever!"
Sansa sobbed, clinging to Arya, her voice thick. "Arya, Father… I thought I'd never see you again. The Red Keep, Joffrey, Cersei—they were going to… to…" She couldn't finish, her tears flowing freely, her composure shattered.
Eddard stepped forward, his calloused hands gentle as he pulled Sansa into his arms, his voice rough but soothing. "Hush, my girl, you're safe now. You're with family, and no one will harm you. You're stronger than you know, Sansa, and we're together again."
Sansa buried her face in his chest, her sobs quieting, her breathing steadying under his warmth. Jeyne stood close, tears streaming, her voice small. "Lord Stark, how… how did we escape? I thought we were doomed."
Eddard pulled back, his grey eyes meeting Sansa's, then Jeyne's, his voice steady. "Thank your brother Jon for that, Sansa, Jeyne. He and his companion risked everything to rescue us from the Red Keep at midnight. We're sailing north now, to White Harbor, to home."
Sansa's eyes widened, turning to Jon, who stood quietly, his grey eyes soft but vigilant. She released her father and rushed to Jon, hugging him tightly, her voice trembling with gratitude. "Jon, you… you saved us? From Joffrey, from that awful place? Thank you, thank you so much. I thought… I thought I'd die there, or worse."
Jon hugged her back, his voice low, warm with brotherly love. "It's alright, Sansa. You're my sister. I couldn't leave you or Father, or Arya to the Lannisters. We're going home, and we'll make things right."
Sansa pulled back, wiping her tears, a faint smile breaking through. "You're always so brave, Jon. I… I'm sorry I ever treated you otherwise."
Jon's lips twitched, a rare smile. "Water under the bridge, Sansa. Go freshen up—you and Jeyne both. We'll break our fast soon, and you'll feel better with food in you."
Eddard nodded, his voice firm but kind. "Aye, Sansa, Jeyne, go clean up. Arya, you too—get that salt out of your hair. We'll eat together and talk of what's next."
Sansa nodded, taking Jeyne's hand, her voice soft. "Yes, Father." They returned below deck, Sansa's steps lighter, Jeyne's grip tight but hopeful.
Arya grumbled, her voice petulant. "I don't need a wash, Father. I'm fine!" But at Ned's raised eyebrow, she sighed dramatically and followed, muttering about how ships were better than baths.
Eddard watched them go, his grey eyes heavy with relief and resolve, then turned to Jon, his voice low. "You've done more than I could've asked, lad. You and your friend Dom—you've given me back my girls, my life. I'll not forget it."
Jon's eyes met his, fierce but humble. "You're my father, in every way that matters. I'd cross the world to keep you safe. Now, let's get you to Winterfell, to Robb."
White Harbor – 12 Days Later
The Swift Gull docked at White Harbor's bustling port, its whitewashed walls gleaming under a pale winter sun. The city's masts swayed, merchants shouted, and gulls wheeled overhead. As the Starks disembarked, Ned leaning lightly on Jon, the dock guards—clad in Manderly blue—gaped, recognizing their lord. One, a grizzled man with a trident badge, sprinted to the New Castle, his voice urgent. "Lord Manderly! Lord Stark's here, alive!"
Lord Wyman Manderly, massive and jovial, arrived swiftly despite his bulk, his silver beard braided, his sea-green cloak billowing. His knights flanked him, their armor gleaming. "Lord Stark!" he boomed, his voice warm, his blue eyes wide. "By the Merling King, you're alive! We heard the Lannisters had you in chains, accused of treason—lies, all of it! The North never believed their venom. Your son Robb's called the banners, and we've been mustering men and supplies for the march south. We planned to move by tomorrow midday, my lord, to join the Young Wolf at Winterfell."
Eddard clasped Wyman's arm, his voice steady, though exhaustion lingered. "Lord Wyman, your loyalty warms my heart. The Lannisters' lies nearly cost me everything, but my son Jon and his companion rescued me and my daughters from the Red Keep. We're free, and the North will answer their treachery."
Wyman's eyes flicked to Jon, his smile broadening. "Young Jon Snow, a hero already! The North owes you a debt, lad. And your daughters, safe—Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, praise the gods."
Jon inclined his head, his voice humble. "I did what any son would, my lord. My sisters and father are safe—that's enough."
Wyman clapped his hands, his voice hearty. "Come, Lord Stark, you and yours are guests at the New Castle. Rest, eat, recover your strength. My halls are yours, and my men stand ready to march at your word."
Eddard nodded, his grey eyes grateful. "My thanks, Wyman. But first, send a raven to Winterfell, to Robb. Tell him of our escape, our arrival, and that we'll join him soon. He needs to know the truth of King's Landing's betrayal."
Wyman nodded, his voice firm. "It's done, my lord. The raven flies today. Now, come—hot food and warm beds await."
The Starks followed, Ned's steps firm, Jon at his side, Sansa and Jeyne behind, Arya darting ahead, her eyes bright with the promise of home. The North stirred, its wolves rising, ready to howl.