Listening to Jason's gentle guidance, Sansa's thoughts drifted to her father and mother. She suddenly realized that her marriage to Jason was not so different from theirs. It was a duty, an alliance. They would get married, and they would build a life together.
As his wife, she would bear his children, take care of her family, and in time, love would grow. It would come slowly and naturally, just as it had for her parents.
The thought of becoming a mother, of having sweet, lovely children of her own, brought a deep blush to her cheeks. She turned her head away, suddenly too shy to meet Jason's gaze.
Jason watched the young woman beside him, a quiet sense of relief washing over him. In his eyes, Sansa was still an innocent girl, one who dreamt of storybook love. A few reassuring words, borrowed from his modern world, were all it took to calm her fears. He knew that with this understanding between them, the days ahead would be much smoother.
He found himself looking forward to this marriage.
Jason continued to speak with her, his words soft and intimate, and soon he had her smiling. The distance that had been between them began to melt away, and Sansa found herself feeling closer to him, more attached than she had expected.
As the lords from the great houses of the North and the Riverlands arrived, a great trial was prepared. A high platform was constructed just outside the walls of Winterfell, ready for the judgment of House Bolton and House Frey.
Bran, as the Duke of Winterfell, took his seat at the center of the platform. Jason sat to his left, followed by his fiancée, Sansa, and a solemn Rickon Stark.
To Bran's right sat Duke Edmure Tully, representing the Riverlands, and beside him, his formidable uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish.
The lords and representatives of the northern houses filled an auditorium built to the left of the trial platform.
On the right, the lords of the Riverlands gathered, their faces grim.
A sturdy wooden fence enclosed the entire area, with Stark soldiers standing guard to keep the swelling crowd of northern commonfolk at a safe distance. They had all come to witness justice being served.
Maester Luwin stood before the judgment seat, presiding over the day's proceedings.
Soon, the prisoners were brought forth. The key members of House Bolton and House Frey, once proud and powerful, were paraded onto the platform in chains.
The commoners watching from beyond the fence erupted in a roar. They pointed and shouted, their voices a mix of anger and excitement as they watched the nobles who had betrayed them now kneeling as prisoners.
Maester Luwin held up a long scroll, upon which the extensive crimes of the Bolton and Frey families were written. The noise from the crowd was deafening, and he frowned with clear annoyance.
He turned to a nearby guard. "Silence the crowd! I need quiet to read the charges against these prisoners."
The soldiers shouted the order, and the rowdy civilians gradually fell silent, their eyes fixed on the platform.
Maester Luwin nodded in satisfaction, then unfurled the scroll and began to read aloud the list of crimes committed by the two houses.
As he spoke, his voice carrying across the silent courtyard, Bran and Sansa listened from the viewing platform. The maester's words brought back the horrific memories of their mother and brother, murdered in the Twins. Their eyes reddened with unshed tears, and they stared with pure hatred at Roose Bolton and Walder Frey, who knelt defeated before them.
Finally, Maester Luwin finished reading. He looked down at Roose Bolton and Walder Frey. "Do you plead guilty to these charges?"
Roose Bolton's already pale face became even more ghost-like. Lord Walder Frey, old and frail, simply trembled, unable to speak.
"I demand a trial by combat!" Ramsay Bolton suddenly screamed, his voice raw with desperation. "In the sight of the old gods and the new, I demand a trial by combat!" He knew if he didn't speak now, he never would again.
A trial by combat was an ancient tradition in Westeros. An accused man could fight for his own innocence or name a champion to fight for him. If his champion won, the gods had judged him innocent, and he would be acquitted. If he lost, the sentence would be carried out immediately.
Ramsay was desperately grasping for one last chance to survive.
But Jason and Bran had anticipated this. They had discussed it at length and had a response ready.
Jason gave a subtle nod to Maester Luwin, a faint, cold smile on his face. He had no intention of giving the Boltons or the Freys a sliver of hope.
As they had planned, Maester Luwin announced, "Because House Bolton and House Frey conspired to murder their host, Lord Robb Stark, his mother, Lady Catelyn, and the northern lords under their roof, you have violated the sacred laws of hospitality. Therefore, you are not eligible to demand a holy trial by combat!"
"No! You can't do this!" Ramsay shrieked, struggling to get to his feet. A guard slammed him back down, pinning his shoulders to the ground.
The crowd erupted.
"Kill them!"
"Take their heads! Avenge Lord Robb!"
"Kill them all!"
The northern commonfolk outside the fence raised their fists, their voices a unified roar demanding blood. The northern lords in the viewing stands were on their feet as well, their faces twisted in rage as they shouted for the execution of the men who had betrayed their families.
Maester Luwin turned and looked to Bran, who sat in the main seat of judgment.
Bran stood and walked to the edge of the platform, his young face set with the gravity of a man twice his age. "In the name of the Warden of the North and the Duke of Winterfell, I sentence the prisoners of House Bolton and House Frey to death!"
At Bran's command, soldiers seized Roose Bolton and Walder Frey. They were the first to be dragged to the edge of the platform, where executioners stood ready. The sharp, final sound of the axe followed moments later.
"No, spare me! Please, I beg you!"
"I don't want to die!"
Screams of terror filled the air as the remaining men of the Frey and Bolton families watched their patriarchs' heads roll. They were hauled forward one by one, their pleas and cries cut short by the executioner's blade.
"Yes! Kill them!"
"Hooray! Long live House Stark!"
The people of the North burst into deafening cheers. House Stark had ruled their lands for thousands of years, and their loyalty ran deep. It was not often they saw such a grand execution, and nearly everyone from the villages surrounding Winterfell had come to bear witness.
After the last man was executed, the soldiers began dragging away the bodies of all the men and boys over the age of ten from both families. They were piled onto great pyres to be burned.
This was Jason's instruction. He knew the army of the dead would one day march south. If the Wall fell, every corpse left unburned could be raised by the Night King to join his army of wights. It was better to burn them to ash.
The northern families, who held nothing but hatred for the Boltons and Freys, fully supported the decision.
Bran did not object. As far as he was concerned, the names Bolton and Frey would be erased from Westeros forever. The surviving women and young children of the two houses would be stripped of their names and sent to live quietly, under the watchful eyes of loyal northern lords.
"Finally," Edmure Tully sighed, the weight of years of grief lifting from his shoulders. "This is justice for Robb and for my sister."
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