[ familiar names, and a fair handful unfamiliar too. sansa's hold on jon's hand tightens with every mention — how long has it been since she's heard about places from home? names she wished someone else might speak to her and out loud, instead of her telling them to herself like a prayer.

jon paints an awful for her. mutiny. she knows what that leads to. she knows what actions are demanded of men who cause it. she's not so unlearned now as to miss what jon is leading her towards.

mutiny. his men thinking him a traitor. ]

They killed you. They must have, they — they killed you.

[ so it really is just her, in the end. no family left living, no friends or lieges to count on, only the lord baelish and the enemies who might let her live in exchange for the north.

i will not cry. i will not weep. i have shed enough tears. ]

And Uncle Benjen is himself dead, too, isn't he?

[ why ask? if the men south of the wall are migrating south, then what chance does their uncle have? dead men walking and wildlings south of the wall. the night king. why does it not scare her?

because nothing else is more terrifying to her than this: ]

We're the last of the Starks.