House Stark was in an incredibly vulnerable position right now. Jon had singlehandedly propped it back up and mended the North together. His presence alone had been like a mighty boulder, warding off any trouble just by being there. If he died, her House and the whole North would be forced into a perilous position. Icy foes stirred in the north, fire-loving Targaryens loomed to the south, and Sansa felt like a small leaf amidst a storm once more. Without her brother and his dragons, she would become the Lady of Winterfell and the head of House Stark. The thought brought dread into her chest and was only further exacerbated by the fact that she would also have to marry a third time should that happen. There was nothing worse than being at the dubious mercy of strangers, and Sansa found herself praying to whatever gods would listen to aid her brother in his quest in the south.