Justice of a Stark
She was freezing, tired, sore, bruised, forlorn, scared and mad as hell for a million reasons. She was mad at the chain of events that had led her to be a prisoner in her own room. She was mad at Theon-Reek- for betraying her, again. She was mad at Ramsay for what he had done to her and her home. Sansa sat on the ledge, wrapped in the fur blanket as she looked out at the window. Looking out, she recalled days that seemed a lifetime ago when Theon had watched Robb and Jon work on sword fights and sometimes joined. There had been days when homey fires lit up in the fire poles around the court with the pounding of the blacksmith echoing out and the ladies hauling baskets of furs and clothes to be washed out back by the Godswood. Looking out now, there were men she didn't know flying the wrong banners and preparing battle provisions. Oddly enough, the snow also appeared to melting, beginning to remind Sansa of the summer she had known.
"'I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. This is my home and you can't frighten me,'"* she had told Mryanda. It was well past time she lived up to that statement. Sansa pulled out the small square stone in the corner at the bottom of the window. The stone had been loose ever since she was little and thrown something across the room at Arya…it had afterwards long become a hiding spot of Sansa's. She hadn't a single clue what Arya had been up to, but Theon/Reek/whatever had told her that Bran and Rickon hadn't been…Well, they might still be alive and stupid though it may be, learning about her brothers had given her a strength and hope for them all that had long been missing and sorely needed. Sansa would find them. She was a Stark of Winterfell and she was done playing the frightened little girl. It was time she fulfilled the promise she had made with Lord Baelish and take back her home. And with Ramsay out, now was the time to move. Sansa grabbed the key she had hidden behind the loose stone and carefully opened the door.
There were two things he never tired of: women and war. The first needed no explanation and the second you only had to look at their house motto "Our blades are sharp." Ramsay was designed for this. He delighted in it. One swing to throw the weak soldier off balance, another to stab him in the chest. Again with the second. There was just one left. Injured at the base of a tree. Easy picking and then time to go home and fuck his wife. A perfect day. Ramsay swung his sword, but then stopped just as the blade began to barely nick the man's neck. Ramsay let out a laugh of pure, ecstatic amazement. "Well, what have we here?"
He smiled and mock bowed. "Lord Baratheon in the flesh. I'm honored. Declare full surrender now and I am prepared to offer you one chance to accept life as my loyal subject." Ramsay was met only with a stoic gaze. "What? Nothing to say to your Northern King? Ah, well then…" Ramsay brought the hilt of his sword hard onto the Lord's skull, effectively knocking him unconscious.
Ramsay motioned to his squire regarding the now unconscious Stannis in the snow. "Pack him up. Lord Baratheon must be granted simply our best accommodations."
Surely having heard his squire blow the horn announcing their victory, Reek was waiting when Ramsay returned. "Congratulations, my Lord. Is there anything my Lord needs ready to celebrate his victory?"
Ramsay smiled, "Reek, you have really portrayed a most excellent example of servitude to your Lord. You make me proud. So tonight, I think you'll help with something a little more interactive. Would you like that?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Good, then come with me."
Ramsay led them across the courtyard past the direwolf statues that marked the entrance to the crypts and down into the firelit corridors until they turned right at the far end. Ramsey smiled, already looking over what he had to work with. In front of them was a man who had been strung out on a crudely constructed X.
"Reek, let me introduce to you esteemed Lord Baratheon who had the wisdom to attack our humble abode."
Reek took a double breath, but waited.
"Oh dear. The good lord seems to be ignoring us," he addressed and then spoke forward louder, "Didn't anyone teach him that ignoring company is rude? Reek, wake our guest up, will you? Don't be gentle."
With small jerks, Reek went forward, bringing his hand across Stannis's face with about the strength of two guys celebrating via fist bump. Stannis didn't move.
"Come on now, I didn't think I'd need to walk you through this step. We deserve his attention."
Reek slammed a punch into Stannis's stomach.
"Better," Ramsay said and then turned his attention to the Lord who had just awoken, "Ah, how kind of you to join us." Ramsay just shook his head at the predictable and useless attempt to move.
"Ramsey Snow," Stannis acknowledged wearily.
Ramsey picked up a knife and was at his lips in a second. "How dare you insult the Northern King! It's Lord Bolton now, Warden of the North. I should cut out your tongue…but you still need that… for a bit. I do want to commend you, though, on your sacrifice." Ramsay lowered the knife for a minute, an impish smile on his face. "It's not always easy and people never understand, do they? So many say we Boltons are cruel. But, you have to do what is required to give yourself the upper hand. I'm sure that's what you were thinking when you led your little girl to that pyre."
"Bastard! You have no idea…"
Ramsay cut him off with a jab to the neck and twisting a finger backwards. "I am Lord now, for one." He picked up one of the burning torches and brought it to Stannis's face. "For two, even I have to frown upon sacrificing your family. I mean, if nothing else it's just stupid sacrificing your only heir when she's a female whom you can wed off to form alliances." Ramsay continued, "I could give you further lecture on that, but I suppose your choices have only benefited me. So let's move on. We have terms to settle. Perhaps we'll play a game to establish them. If you don't have appropriate answers," he turned to Reek, "Reek here will let you know." He turned back to Stannis. "Now. What are our terms of surrender?"
Stannis attempted, "You rule the North with my soldiers at your command and me available for counsel."
Ramsay laughed, "That's adorable. First, you advise me? I don't think so. Second, you will address me properly. Third, your soldiers are dead. Reek."
Reek hesitated, glancing between the table with an array of tools, Stannis, and Ramsay.
Impatiently, Ramsey directed, "Reek will pick up a knife and introduce your belly to it for your audacity."
Reek hesitated another millisecond-just short enough for Ramsay not to notice-before tentatively picking up a knife. Almost imperceptibly, though, his grip became particularly more purposeful as he quickly made a halfhearted laceration across the abdomen.
"No, no, no. I really thought this was already taught. But, what is it they say? If you want it done right, you have to do it yourself. Reek, why don't you go make sure my wife is ready for me when I come."
Theon swallowed hard and turned with a liberated smile, not seeing what now caused the newest grunt of pain.
Theon saw them from the grounds. Sansa had somehow found her way out and Myranda had spotted her and would have none of it. Theon appeared behind Myranda, head bent low trying to make sense of all the thoughts that had risen to the surface. They say every man has a breaking point. They don't always realize that every man actually has two breaking points and Ramsay had just succeeded in hitting his second. He was ashamed it hadn't been with an event he wished he could forget, but as he listened to Myranda threaten Sansa, he knew it would not happen again. Not again on his watch. Clear for the first time in ages, he shoved Myranda over the banister.
Sansa stared at the broken body only a second before turning to him with an uncertain gaze. He grabbed her hand, knowing only one thing. "We have to go. When he's done with Stannis, he'll want you."
She took a breath and three steps with him before stopping. "With Stannis?"
"He… Stannis was captured and Ramsay's with his prisoner now. We have to get away while he's occupied."
Sansa looked longingly to the Winterfell gates before looking back over the castle grounds. She closed her eyes. "No." She took a breath. "I run and Winterfell is lost. I'm not running anymore."
"I won't leave you here."
She laughed bitterly. "Why not? You haven't done a thing for me, all this time. Why now?"
He looked down, ashamed and only insinuating an apology as he knew it wouldn't hold. "I was scared."
Sansa shook her head, looking around. No time to retort, only insisting quickly, "Why now?"
He answered just as quickly, knowing they were running out of time. "I don't have a good answer for why it wasn't sooner, but he finally just asked one thing too far. You've no reason to trust me, but I won't let anything else happen."
Fiercely, she demanded, "Swear to me on your sister's life you will help me."
"I swear it."
She glanced around again, "Then you come with me, but look like you're leading."
Sansa brought them back to her room and closed the door. She asserted, "We are in charge now, but he can't know that. While we make our moves, we must play along; so, we must also move quickly, but calculated. You know the Weirwood tree in the Godswood?"
Theon couldn't help it. He just stared at her.
"Theon! For the love of the Gods if you can't do this, decide now!"
"The Weirwood tree with the face and red leaves by the biggest hot spring."
"Yes. Do you remember there's a mushroom patch between there and the spring you would rest in after sparring….We called it Roulette Field because some were edible and some were poisonous. Theon, we need the poisonous ones, the death caps. I need you to pick them out. If you're careful you'll be able to tell the death caps from their rounder and greener cap. Check the gills on the underside carefully, the death caps we want will have pure white gills and absolutely no brown. The brown gills are edible. We want pure white gills and the mature death caps you can also identify by a musty rose smell. Do you understand?"
"Get poisonous mushrooms. They have white gills and a rose smell. Round and green. They're in a patch east from the Weirwood and next hot spring."
"Yes. Gather them and make sure they find their way to Ramsay's dinner plate in a day or two, you'll know when."
Theon gave the first hint of a smile he'd had in weeks; but, then asked, "What about you in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, I'll handle him," Sansa answered in the most definitive and determined voice he'd ever heard from her. "Oh, and Theon, Myranda committed suicide out of jealousy." He nodded once. Something had changed and it was obvious when Sansa ended, "He's not the only one who can play games. Now, hurry. Go."
Sansa had just enough time to collect herself with the change in events and to completely be ready to accept what her plan would mean when she heard him demand, "Reek, if you ever embarrass me like that again in front of a guest, you will be back with the dogs. Now everything had better be ready."
When he opened the door, already pulling off his shirt, Sansa was sitting up on the bed, letting one sleeve of her gown slip off her shoulder.
Ramsay smiled. "Well, my wife at least seems to know how to treat a victor." He eagerly closed the door and strided over. He grabbed her face in a harsh kiss that softened, surprised when she returned it, bringing her hands to his face. He pulled back, looking at her with a slightly suspicious, but impish grin.
Sansa answered. "I believe congratulations are in order, my lord."
"Naturally," he boasted and Sansa let him take her hand and bring them down on the bed. But, it was Sansa who was sure to control it now, bringing her leg around him. With an alluring smile, she looked at him. "Tell me about it." She attempted to exploit his pride, running her hands down his arms, looking over his torso. "Were you hurt?"
He scoffed, "Of course not." He pulled closed to her. "It was simple. Baratheon's pathetic army was in disarray. It was like crushing fleas."
"No prisoners?"
"Where would be the fun in that? A hunter never leaves without a trophy and particularly when it is such a fine one. Stannis Baratheon himself, the so called Lord of Light who burns his own children…well, what'll be left of him."
Sansa stiffened. She hadn't known that and it made it so that she was just about finished with all of them.
Ramsay looked at her. "But, why are we troubling with these unpleasant matters? We should be celebrating!" He yanked off her dress before she could do anything. But, while he pulled off his own trousers, she looked at him and considered, "What do you plan to do with Lord Stannis?"
Ramsay shrugged, "I'll have my fun and then dispose of him."
Sansa raised an eyebrow, "Just string him up like the man on your banners? Doesn't that get old? For the man who threatened your claim to the North, I would have thought you'd have something more…spirited plan."
He considered. "You make a point. What would you propose?"
"I hear you like hunting."
Ramsay beamed and grabbed her to him, kissing her chest, "Who would have thought it of a Stark? She's got some ruthlessness hidden in her after all."
Sansa smiled softly. "You do hope so, yes?" She paused just a moment, pushing herself up to face him. "There's something else. Another reason I hope should please you…I'm pregnant."
He sat up and starting laughing gleefully. "Wonderful! Then, we must announce this immediately to the house" He pulled her close once with a final kiss. Then, he pulled on his shirt and jacket and tossed her a shawl. "Make yourself presentable. I'll have Reek prepare a bath. I'll make preparations and be back in under the hour for our announcement. And then…perhaps you'd like to accompany me on that hunt?"
"If it so pleases you, my Lord," Sansa granted and moved her hand and gaze to her stomach. "Though, I might worry about putting the baby at risk with too much exertion or an accidental fall."
"You're absolutely right. You should be resting. Reek is an excellent hunter anyway."
Ramsay strided to the door then, for once not locking it. Sansa took a moment to compose herself for all that had just past. And, she refused to currently think about what Ramsay had just said about Theon. Perhaps, it was best if she grant he'd had no more choice than she had until they'd both been pushed too far. Overall, she was pleased with what she had accomplished and a hunt would give Stannis justice and Theon a chance to harvest mushrooms. If all went well, she would never have to deal with either Stannis or Ramsay threatening her or her home again. She had only given a devious smile before she heard a cry just outside the door. She had worried about having to deal with Myranda beforehand, but Ramsay had clearly been too preoccupied before to notice. While he was surely still preoccupied, it was harder to overlook on your way down and the timing even better now worked to her advantage.
Sansa pulled her shawl and went over to see the expected reason, but played appropriately horrified. "My lord, I'm so sorry."
Ramsay's face went from grief to confusion to acceptance in just over a minute. "She was a silly thing, and jealous. But, she was never able to give me a son."
Sansa nodded subserviently. Ramsay looked back once and swallowed hard. "We still meet in an hour. Now more than ever we must."
Now, more than ever, he must take care of one final thing. He was legitimately a Bolton. Winterfell was his. His wife was pregnant. But, earlier his wife had made one important point about another baby who threatened all of it. He made his way to his father's private chambers, bringing his crossbow with him. Before he left to address the residents of Winterfell, he locked the door to his father's private chamber where Roose and Walda now slept with arrows in their chest. He would dispose of the bodies later in the night when everyone was asleep.
In one hour Sansa was looking out on the new residents of Winterfell in a simple, fitted, dark green dress. There were a few old faces who seemed subtly sympathetic, but most were strangers. She was in a fitted purple dress with her butterfly necklace as she listened to Ramsay address the crowd.
"My fellow Northerners, today we must acknowledge the loss of many great heroes, sons, beloveds…Berto fought with bravery to put many men to shame. Aldrich displayed the finest swordsmanship we have seen in a long time." He paused as if in a moment of remembrance before continuing. "Some of us my dwell on these losses as did my Myranda, but we must not be driven to madness. Today, my fellow Northerners, today is day of victory! We have held what we have fought for so long. Today, we have officially claimed the North as ours to command!" The crowd-most of them-let out a cheer. Sansa gave the smallest of smiles. Ramsay appeased the crowd to settle. "With this victory, my father has left to secure further allegiances to the North, to the House Bolton, while I remain here on his behalf. Yes, yes, a day hard won, but a wonderful day. But, it has been made it more special by a lovely announcement from my beloved wife." He pulled her close and she was sure to hold her head high and demand their attention, but was also appropriately shy for the announcement. "My wife carries the heir to the North! So tonight, my fellow Northerners, celebrate and be merry!" This time the crowd was mixed. Some shouted out in pleasure, some offered congratulations, but a few mumbled and others cast suspicious or wary glances. Ramsay didn't seem to notice as he waved the crowd goodbye, taking her hand and leading her away.
Sansa knew that Ramsay wanted more from her than he had gotten today. But, she hoped she had given him enough in other areas for him to agree as well as buy the bullshit. She stopped just outside her door and turned to him, taking his hands. "My Lord, if I may be so bold. It is well known among women that if the mother has sex within the first week of conception, there is a high chance of the child being born retarded."
"Is that so? I can't say I've heard that."
Perfect opportunity. "Well, you aren't a woman now, are you, my Lord."
He scoffed. "Of course not." He regarded her. "And you're right that we mustn't do anything to harm our child. But, I can't but help notice a sudden change in your attitude, Lady Sansa. You will forgive me if it strikes me as somewhat odd."
Sansa was coy. "What can I say? Being with child changes things."
Ramsay seemed to accept that. "That it does. Very well, my good wife. Tonight, at least, you may have to yourself."
"Thank you and goodnight, my Lord." He didn't see the proud, deadly smile as she turned away.
Disclaimers:
*Game of Thrones "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken."
This is for fun. I own absolutely none of the characters.
I normally don't write M rated stories. This fanfic is within the assumption the reader is mature and familiar with Game of Thrones.
We all know we're not getting good/happy endings with this show. So, this is this closest attempt I'm giving with fanfic.
