Here’s an epilogue for you.
Spring flushed in the North, high and full. At first, it came in slow; greens put their fingertips out of the snowy soil. Then, overnight everything sat stalk upright, like a sleeper waking.
Sansa felt it inside her long before it showed: a broadening and an airing out, as if someone had opened a window. For thirteen months they waded through the winter. Jon had been pardoned for ten of them. Still, she didn't send for him. He would come back in his own time.
One morning she woke to something that sounded like rain. When she he peered out the window, sunlight flared in her eyes; before they cleared, she knew the snow was melting. The thaw blew into Winterfell that day. And Jon came with it.