Sansa

Sansa awoke in the early hours of the morning, the crackling fire of the small fireplace in her chambers had died down to softly glowing embers. From underneath the comforts of her linen sheets and thick furs, the warmth of her bed was the only solace on this particular worrisome morning. On this winter's day, the sun had not yet risen into the sky, leaving very little light through the solid wooden shutters of her windows. Taking a deep breath, she withdrew her blankets, sighing as she left the cold of her room to evade her. During the winter, Sansa had become accustomed to the below freezing cold mornings, where even the air glistened with ice. Sansa loved the cold, but as a summer child, she had not yet experienced the wrath of the cold winter's air. But the hot spring waters underneath Winterfell did do well to keep the most of the ice away.

Uneasy and her mind unsettled, she dressed quickly, making sure to keep on her winter sleeping dress. A white shift with long sleeves made from the thick wool, it scratched and irritated the sensitive parts of her skin but it provided her with a level of warmth that a summer sleeping dress could not. She was too tired and stressed to change out of her small-clothes into a fresh set and in her hast, she put on her winter boots over the top of her woollen hose. She left her processions scattered and went into her the room that was conjoined to her modest sleeping quarters. A larger room, shattered with candles, chairs with a grand fireplace, and desk. She picked up her winter furs and cloak, draping it around her frame, arranging it so to hide her sleeping garment, which was far too immodest to be seen outside of her private chamber.

She set upon her mission to go to her brother's chamber. She was urgent to speak with him in these early hours because that day presented the important and worrying arriving of Jon Snow, her half-brother, and the foreign Queen, Daenerys Stormborn of the ancient Targaryen household. Sansa left her quarters into the cold passageways of Winterfell Castle, long dark corridors filled with torches as the only light to guide the way. As Sansa was born and raised within the ancient and grand halls of Winterfell, she knew every single part of these walls off by heart and memory, so she did not worry about the lack of visibility. She knew every single detail of her home, she particularly knew the inner workings as of late. This was due to the responsibility of safekeeping and maintaining the daily duties of her home had been entrusted onto her, as she was now the Lady Regent of Winterfell. This was a new status, which had been granted to her by Jon Snow, the King in the North, as he had undertaken a mission of reconnaissance and political alliance with southern rulers.

Her bastard half-brother's decision to go south was unwanted for many of the northern lords, as well as Sansa, herself. The northern people did not accept outsiders, especially southern rulers. This was because of the fact that the north had suffered so much despair due to horrific events, over the course of almost a decade. Sansa knew that the North was unsettled, they did not trust Jon's decision to leave North and go down south. Sansa understood their strife, feeling that it was a foolish decision but one that was necessary to help them against a greater evil.

The army of the dead was marching past The Wall (a seven hundred foot tall structure made of ice and magic) straight toward the living. An army larger than any Northern or Southern army combined. A band of undead decaying cadavers, giants, beasts of the north, White Walkers, and an undead dragon. Sansa had been informed by Men of the Night's Watch, the protectors of The Wall, of these accounts, documenting the horror that they were all faced. She also had Jon's occasional letters to help figure out the pieces of their current situation.

Jon Snow has been away from Winterfell for many, many months. He had informed Sansa of his recent adventures beyond The Wall with the aid of brave men, as well as Daenerys Targaryen. They had fought against a small portion of this undead army, barely escaping with their lives. Some of them did not. It was detailed to Sansa that Daenerys (most commonly known as the Mother of Dragons) had brought all three of her dragons with her to help save the band of men in their quest, but one of her dragons was struck with a deadly blow, causing it to die. Jon Snow and his guests were not aware of the information, that Sansa knew, of the dragon's resurrection and its ability to bring down The Wall with its fire. Sansa feared to tell them such news.

Sansa tried not to focus on the horror she felt in her body. She did not sleep well these days because of this news; her mind was never still, her body ached from the lack of sleep. But she could not ease herself due to the fear. Sansa longed for nothing more than her family. She longed to be safe and to see her family grow, having missed out of her sibling's predominant years of youth. She yearned for peace, she wished for prosperity, she pined for love. The reality of that dream coming true came into question when Bran, her younger and only surviving brother, had told her the army of the dead had destroyed The Wall. This meant that they were much closer and a greater risk than Sansa had once realised.

She knew that Jon was right to worry and to seek help for the northern risk. But the unrest within the north could not and should not be ignored. Sansa listened to daily complaints from their bannermen and the small folk. She tired her best to reassure them, to bring them comfort but she knew that her words were becoming thin and stale. She needed Jon back at Winterfell to bring evidence of reassurance and to set a plan into motion. But this was faced with an even bigger problem; Jon Snow had relinquished his throne and title of King of the North to the foreign Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa knew that this would cause uproar within the kingdom, she knew that the northern lords would turn their backs away from Jon. She worried that they would ride south and forget of the fret they are currently facing, or perhaps worse, they would try to turn their allegiances to Sansa and try to proclaim her as the truth Queen in the North… again.

Jon's absence had come with many struggles and Sansa knew that today would cause a disruption amongst the people. Not only was Jon coming home and would face the tempers of their people but he also will bring with him the foreign queen. She is hated amongst the northerners for the crimes her father had committed against the Sansa's and Jon's family; the Starks of Winterfell. Daenerys brought with her a large portion of her two armies to help with the fight. The Unsullied, an army of thousands of former child slaves, who were now free men, ruthlessly dedicated to her. The other half of her army was a band of unruly Dothraki soldiers, the first to ever set foot into Westeros. Sansa had heard troubling accounts about these groups of men. She did not worry for the Unsullied, as she was aware of their restraint and their notoriety of only attacking when commanded to. But the Dothraki gave Sansa great worry. She had been informed that they were known for causing havoc and mayhem wherever they went, destroying villages, murdering men, abusing children, and raping women. Sansa hoped for her people's sake that would not happen here, for she did not want that for her people but also, she did not want to be put into the situation of executing any men of an allied army.

There was a lot at stake. A lot of the responsibility was resting on Sansa's shoulders, as many of her people now saw her as their true leader. She knew this to be the thoughts of fickle men, who did not hold trust in Jon. But Sansa did trust Jon and knew he's trying his best for his people. But there was still a part of her that worried that his actions were not in the north's best interests. To give up the north's independence in the way that he did and without Sansa's consultation was something she tried to understand but she still took some offense. She knew she would have to discuss it with him in private to bring some sort of clarification on the matter.

With her mind swimming in troublesome thoughts, she arrived at Bran's chambers. There were two guards standing outside his door, kept there for his safety and to aid her disabled brother during the night. Bran had been paralysed from the waist down since a young boy, due to being pushed out of the top of the Broken Tower by Jaime Lannister. Bran had caught Jaime and his twin sister, Cersei, engaging in sexual activity. This event had caused strife between the two great household, which lead to a war. That war had caused the murder of Sansa's Lord father, Lady mother, and her eldest brother, Robb. There was still a divide that had not yet been amended. Sansa felt a great discomfort to learn that Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister's younger brother, was to be coming to Winterfell, as his house was greatly distrusted amongst many.

The guards smiled and bowed at their former Queen Regent, now once again the Lady of Winterfell, allowing her to enter into her brother's chambers. The room was much smaller than her own but was still comfortable, with a fireplace and candles. Her younger brother laid on his back in a large bed, covered in layers of fur. She looked around his room to see many gadgets that were designed for his physical aid, but nothing that represented any sort of personal objects. Many things had changed since the Stark family had divided up all those years ago. The surviving Starks had endured so many losses of family members and friends. Sansa sometimes felt that she too had lost her brother Bran. This was due to his change in demeanour and identity. He now identified as The Three-Eyed Raven, a being of unquestionable magical ability with the skill of being able to control animals, humans, and had the great sight. He's able to see what has happened in the past, what's happening presently, and what will happen in the future. He was not the same person anymore, he was not her Bran. It deeply saddened her but she still found her heart warm with a bittersweet happiness that he was still alive. At least he was here with her, even if he had greatly changed.

Sansa approached Bran's bed and sat down on the edge by his lifeless legs, making sure not to sit on them. Her presence woke her brother up, his eyes fluttered open and he looked to her. That expressionless look came across his face and went to sit up but found himself unable to. Sansa immediately went to help him and managed to prop him up.

"Thank you, Sansa. You've come to speak with me." He stated in a monotone voice. Sansa looked down with slight pain, she missed how his voice was once filled with a youthful joy and naivety. She missed how animated he used to be. They had all changed greatly because of the pain they individually endured.

"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about Jon's return today. I do not know if you're aware but he won't be returning alone." Sansa readjusted her winter furs, making sure to cover herself up.

"He'll be arriving with Daenerys Targaryen and her advisors. As well as her army and her two remaining dragons." He answered Sansa.

"Oh, of course, you know…" Sansa looked down at her hands, starting to feel nervous and unsure on what to say. She had not planned out exactly what she needed to talk about with Bran and now, felt somewhat uneasy with his questioning eyes on her.

"You're worried. You're scared of what the Northern Lords are going to do once Jon is here, you fear what they will think of Jon's alliance." Sansa merely nodded in response, knowing that she did not need to voice her concerns because her brother knew her too well.

"Yes, I am. Jon," she sighed, "Jon does not understand how important it is to keep the Northern Lords on our side, to keep their faith in our cause. He's too focused on dragon glass and dragons to think that once this is all over, if we're still alive, we're going to need northern families to be on our side to help us rebuild whatever is left." Sansa found all her frustrations coming out. She knew that her brother would not judge her for her words, she was not too sure if her sister would sit and listen to her worries.

"You are right to be worried but we require all the help we can get…" Sansa sighed at his words, she wanted to hear something different from what she already knew. She looked down at the outline of her brother's lifeless legs that was covered by his bedding. She placed her hand onto his leg, squeezing it and started stroking it in a way to show affection to him and to display her saddens. It was also a way to try find comfort in their situation; some sort form of normal. He simply looked down at what she was doing, unable to feel it. His face changed slightly, a sense of softness came across his eyes.

"You need to be cautious, Sansa. You cannot let your feelings to be so easily noticeable. You cannot let your true thoughts be known just yet." Sansa's eyes shot up to meet her brothers. She felt panicked by what he meant and saw that, to her dismay, he knew exactly what she was thinking. What did he know of the matters of her feelings?

"When Jon returns, it is important that I speak with him. There's something that I must tell him." Bran awoke Sansa away from her thoughts.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Jon is not our father's son. He's not a bastard at all. He's the legitimate son of our aunt, Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen." Bran stated this with very little weight to his voice but was something still there that let Sansa know that this news was burdening him. She stared at her brother with disbelief, her mouth widening in shock.

"He's not our half-brother," he continued. "Father lied all those years to try to keep Jon alive, so that Robert Baratheon did not kill him," A slight hint of excitement was present in Bran's voice, but Sansa did not hear it for she had shut down in shock. She did not need to ask how her brother knew this and if it were true. His visions of past events were extremely accurate, having been able to detail so much of her past, she knew that he would not lie to her.

She looked down at her hands, her eyes starting fill with tears. She thought of all of those years that her mother had hated Jon Snow, thinking that her husband had fathered a bastard child. All those years of hatred that affected how Sansa acted towards Jon and how Sansa thought of her father. She knew her father to be honourable but had felt a sense of distrust toward him because of his bastard son. But now, to find out that this was not the case, and in fact, her father was not a man of dishonour or dishonesty. It caused her heart to ache with sorrow for her father's memory and her mother's heart.

Her heart also ached for Jon. He had always been known as the Bastard of Winterfell, the embarrassment of the north. Sansa felt a sense of anger that he had spent his entire life feeling like an outsider, in so many ways. Now, he is to find out his true parentage, in a time like this, a time of war. Sansa worried that it could be devastating for Jon, for his sense of self, his ideals of his worth, and where he felt like he belonged. She also feared that it might make him more sympathetic toward and become closer to the Targaryen queen. Of whom, Sansa wondered did not truly appreciate the risk that the North, and all of Westeros, currently faced.

"He is our cousin! He's never been a bastard. He's the rightful heir to the Iron Throne." Bran continued, ignoring that Sansa was clearly upset and unsettled by this information. She blinked, her tears falling onto her hands. She cleared her throat, wiping her cheeks of any moisture, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears.

"Who else knows of this?" She asked, her voice very serious.

"I think it is only myself, Samwell Tarly, and now, you," Bran stated, his voice returning back its emotionless tone. Sansa nodded, her mind numb with worry, her eyes blank.

"No one else can know. When Jon arrives, we will arrange for a private meeting with him. It'll be just myself, you, Jon, Arya, Samwell Tarly, and perhaps, Ser Davos… Maybe Brienne. No one else can know of this. If that dragon queen were to find out that Jon has a better claim to her father's throne than she does… I don't know what she would do," Sansa's hands started to shake, she hoped that Bran did not notice.

"Yes, you're right." Bran nodded to Sansa, resting his hands by his side. Sansa went to leave, her whole body numb and her mind overloaded with emotion and worries. She stood up and turned to the door until a thought came to mind.

"Bran, is there any way you can prove this? Not that I don't believe you. But I worry that Jon might not." Sansa looked at her brother, who simply glazed at her with intensity in his eyes.

"Samwell Tarly has found documents that prove of Rhaegar Targaryen's annulment from his Dornish wife. As well as his wedding to aunt Lyanna. The rest of it is harder to physically prove but I know it to be the truth." Sansa nodded, not needing to hear any more.

She left her brother's chambers, quick to return to her own. She walked in almost a run, sure to retain her posture and modesty. She ran up the steps to her chamber, quickly opening the door and slamming it behind her, only to find a servant was in her quarters. A girl not much younger than Sansa, she was pouring hot water into a large red oak washing tub. The young female servant looked shocked to see Sansa.

"Your Ladyship. I beg your pardon, I thought that you were still asleep." She bowed her head and put the large stone vase on the ground beside Sansa's fireplace.

"There's no need to apologise. I can carry on from here, you can leave." The young girl bowed her head and left swiftly, shutting the door behind her. Sansa locked it and felt the tears starting to prick her eyes once again. She moved over to the washing tub to see that it was full with hot water, the steam kissing Sansa's cold cheeks like a lover. The tub was filled with petals of the common blue rose of the north, as well as lupine (the flower of House Stark), and a few lotuses flowers (the flower of House Tully, her mother's house). These were the last few bundles of the summer flowers, Sansa wondered if her bath water was the best way for them to be used.

Her living quarter was now filled with daylight, as well as the golden hues of the fireplace. Sansa removed her winter furs, the room much warmer than it was previously. She then removed her winter bed dress, as well as her undergarments. She faced her vanity, the light illuminating her, reflecting off her naked skin. She looked like a ghost, the ghost of an angel that had fallen.

She gazed at her pale complexion, her long thick red hair in a singular braid. She unplaited her twisted locks, causing it to fall down onto her breasts in thick waves. Her nipples hardened from the cold air. She looked down her body, one of a woman, and she felt saddened to see how it had changed. Her skin was once so clear and free of imperfections. But now, she was riddled with scars differing in colour, some were white and thick. Whereas others were still purple, like blisters, still sore.

Some of the older scars on her back and legs were the result of a former king, Joffrey Baratheon. The young king that Sansa once felt infatuated with, turned out not to be what she had thought of him. When she was just a girl, he was her betrothed, her future that never came true. At one time, he represented everything that she thought that she needed and wanted in her life; the excitement of the Capital of the seven kingdoms. The match offered her a comfortable life filled with riches and beauty, the promise of a family of her own, and most importantly, a kingdom to rule. But he revealed himself to be cruel, filled with malice, and sadistic rage that was stemmed by his insentient need for control. He was a murderer, who took her father's head. He was the monster that made her look at it. He beat her, humiliated her, traumatised her all without ever laying a hand on her. He always had others do his whims, never wanting to touch her himself, even though, Sansa could see in his eyes that he wanted to. She still could hear the laughter that filled the court as Joffrey order Ser Boros to strip Sansa naked and beat her. She could still feel the pain when he hit her and tore her silk dress, exposing her breasts.

This act was just the beginning of many moments in Sansa's life where men had physically or mentally abused her. Very little compared to the brutality that her ex-husband, Ramsey Bolton, had inflicted upon her.

Her ex-husband and her second husband was a man that feigned politeness and manners. He wanted, so separately, to be seen as a Lord of the North, instead of a bastard born from nothing. He had an animalistic side to him that Sansa had not seen before. She was a child bride stolen away from one family that had murdered her Lord father and then wed to another family that had murdered her Lady mother and brother. They had also murdered her pregnant sister by marriage and her brother's dire wolf. These were crimes that Sansa felt had angered the gods, if they were still watching down on her family.

Every day the pain she had endured was still with her, she could feel everything that was done to her. She could still feel the sting as her ex-husband struck her, causing her blister and bleed. She could feel the screeching pain that she felt when he flayed her skin. She could feel his hands on her still, clutching at her with such force that he left large bruises and finger marks. Her womanhood had also changed, she had endured a tremendous amount of pain and complications from being forcibly entered over the course of almost a year. He was a tormenter, an evil butcher. The scars he left upon her thighs, stomach, buttocks, arms, and womanhood had caused her to be too scared of anyone ever seeing her skin again. She bathed alone, she dressed alone, she slept alone. She made sure that no one, apart from Maester Wolkan, saw her scars. She only trusted him as he was able to attend to her medical needs and was loyal to House Stark, he had shown Sansa a great deal of respect and discretion.

After knowing and having to live with these two men, the only little relief that she could feel was that she got to see them die. Joffrey at the hands of another, poisoned on his wedding day. It was terrifying and thrilling to have seen him die. But all of it just reminded her of her older brother's murder, as he too, was murdered at a wedding. The satisfaction that she experienced from murdering Ramsey Bolton was a feeling she hadn't felt previously. It was a dark and dangerous sensation that swept over her. It warmed her pain and created a sense of closure. But it was fleeting. Her inner wolf fed off this feeling, thrived off it, needing it. But she did not know whether she could handle it.

But, with each passing day, she felt the pain starting to ease away. Re-joining with her family had helped with this, as their love enabled to her keep her mind off her aching body. She tried to look upon these scars with a sense of victory, a reminder that she had prevailed over the men who had tried to control, manipulate, humiliate, and harm her. She tried not to see herself as a victim, not anymore. She was a woman now and the Lady of Winterfell. She is a wolf of the north, she can be strong, she must be strong.

Despite her pain, she was still a beautiful young woman. Her body was still lean, her limbs long and held with dignity. Her manner regal and glorious. But she felt a sense that her purity and innocence was stolen from her. She ached that one day someone would want to see her naked form again. For just a moment, she allowed herself to indulge in this thought, romancing that she might one day have someone who loved her for her. Maybe there was a man out there that would never want to cause her any harm. But this moment was fleeting as she reminded herself that no one would ever want to marry her for love, all that anyone wanted was her title.

With these sad thoughts, Sansa slipped into the hot bath water, her muscles singing in delight as they felt the warmth. The petals of the flowers stuck her skin, a pleasant, sweet scent drifted into the air. She leaned back and relaxed against the red oak of the tub, her hands slowly tracing over her body. Her thoughts went to Jon and her conversation with Bran.

Jon wasn't her bastard half-brother after all. But instead, the heir of the Iron Throne. Sansa couldn't believe it, she was shocked that the sulky boy that she knew growing up was the son of the last great Targaryen prince. Robert Baratheon started a war that was based on a lie. Why did so many people have to die just because Lyanna did not love him?

Beside the tub, the servant girl had left a package. Sansa knew that this contained a mixture that was moist and tacky in texture. Its purpose was for cleaning one's self, and in particular, cleaning one's hair. It was a ball of mixed herbs and flowers, the ingredients clumped and held together with bear fat. Sansa soaked her hair and began to work this concoction into the roots, making sure to massage it in. It was rather gritty and did leave the hair somewhat dry. Sansa remembers the products that she had used in King's Landing, there was always an array of choice. The people of King's Landing buy expensive and luxurious herbs and oils that are imported. Thick with aromatic scents, silky in texture, which left the hair with an oily residue. Whereas, the north uses the resources that they find within their gardens or the woods, especially in the times of war.

As Sansa cleaned herself, making sure to rid of any dirt in preparation for the day. She froze, able to hear a scratching noise, suddenly feeling very anxious and on edge. She stared at the door that leads to the passageways, the sound began to get louder until the door to her sleeping quarters opened. Ghost, the albino dire wolf, came into the room with a smile on his face. Unlike any other common wolf, Ghost was a creature of the old world, a place of monsters and magic. He was much larger in size, the same size as a small horse and far more powerful in strength. The other and main difference is that a common wolf is loyal to their own, whereas the dire wolf is bound to their master and are fiercely protective of the pack. This close relationship with wolves was common and noted throughout House Stark's history. The ancient house was known for their relationships with the dire wolf, the man and beasts were able to live together in harmony, for the man was just as loyal, stubborn, and deadly as the wolf.

"Oh, Ghost! You scared me. I didn't know you were in there," Sansa smiled at the wolf. He came over to her, staring at her with his red eyes, a soft look upon his large face. Jon had left his loyal wolf with Sansa, asking Ghost to watch over her in his absence, to protect her if it came to it. Ghost was good to Jon's word, spending some nights in Sansa's chambers. He had become very attached to her, following her around the grounds of the castle. Direwolves were not pets, nor could they be fully tamed. But once you have earned their trust, they will follow you through almost anything.

Ghost excitably sniffed the mixture in Sansa's hair before giving her a lick on the cheek. This warmed her heart, causing a genuine smile to reach her lips. She scratched him behind his pointed ears, his head twisting to meet her hand. He gave a large sigh before laying down on the stone ground, his pure white fur still visible over the top of the washing tub's edge.

"Don't worry, boy. Jon will be back soon, I know you miss him. I do too. I miss him so much that it hurts me sometimes," Sansa splashed the hot water on her face, trying to stop herself from getting too emotional. "He's going to need your help. He's going to need us both and we cannot let him down. We cannot desert him." Sansa's chest ached in pain, as she finally allowed herself to be overcome with emotion. She quietly sobbed into her palms, her body shaking as she let all of her pent-up worries come out.

She had not let anyone, or even herself at times, know of her feelings and why she missed Jon so much. She found it impossible to allow herself to succumb to these emotions, as love was not what she thought it to be. It was not romantic tales of bravery, of handsome knights in armour that saved the beautiful princess. Love was not the way it was described in the songs. Any feeling of romance was something she did not allow herself to have. She had found companionship with Jon, she trusted him with her safety and well-being. But she wasn't sure if she trusted him with her happiness for did not trust anyone with that. She knew that these feelings toward him would change, their dynamic was going to change after the next coming months. Jon would surely view the Starks differently after he is to find out his true parentage. This war will change everyone and Sansa did not know whether it was for the best.

She found herself very much uncertain on so many different factors. She knew she needed to be a reliable and fierce leader at this time, she must hold the North's interests above all else. After all, she was the oldest true-born Stark child left and the future of the north. She just wanted for one night to allow her own wants and desires to be addressed, she wanted to be a girl once again, not the Lady of Winterfell. She wondered what Lord Petyr Baelish would advise her to do in this situation if he were still alive… If she hadn't executed him.

But there was no time for her private emotions, there was no time for the feelings of her heart. But only what she was able to do for her people and her family. That included Jon, the man that she knew to be her half-brother for all these years, was now a cousin to her. All those years ago, when they reunited, he was a stranger to her. She did not know what he was to her now, what he could be to her. But she knew that he needed her and he's going to need her in the future.

Sansa knew that this information will not sit well with the Northern families. They would not want a half-wolf, half-dragon sitting at Winterfell, unsupervised. Jon would need the reassurance of the Stark children to back up his right to serve the north.

Sansa wiped herself clean, rising her hair. She got out of the washing tub and covered herself in a towel that been laid down by the fire, covering her naked form. She was quick to dry herself in order not to get too cold and went to the cabinet, where she kept her clothing. She put on a clean pair on small clothes, as well as her thick winter hose that all northern ladies wore to keep their legs from getting frostbite. On top of this, she put on her dark shift dress, it was full-length with full sleeves and high necked. In the daylight, it was practically see-through, casting her silhouette into full display.

On a chair by her desk was a bundle of clothing, mainly leather that she was fashioning into as an extra layer for the Stark army's chest plates. Even though the armoury was very cable of doing this themselves, Sansa felt the need to help as she knew they were struggling with the heavy workload. She knew of no better person to take on the task, as she was very talented with her sewing needle.

However, there was another item of clothing that Sansa had been working on, for herself; a thick and regal winter dress. Sansa had been fashioning this attire out of the materials of her other garments, as supplies were very low for the luxury of a new dress. She knew to ration herself to what she already owned, as not to take away from others within the Kingdom. She had been working on this dress for months, many nights were spent in the candlelight.

It was a dark grey throughout with little details to highlight certain areas and give an extra dynamic. The grey base colour was to represent the colour of her house with a high neck and long, thin sleeves. Sansa had spent many hours concentrating on the stitching. The skirt was highlighted with little stitches lighter grey (that went from the bottom of the bodice to the hemline) that resembled the cracking of ice, as the water underneath starts to become warmer. The dress was easily fastened by oneself, as Sansa was able to step into it and secure the dress at the front with lacing that could be tied and hidden from view. The front was brought together and secured with three pins that were leaping silver trout, the sigil of her mother's house; House Tully.

It was the torso of the dress was the most detailed, as Sansa had stitched in highly detailed two snarling wolves facing each other. A common take on her Lord Father's house's sigil- the direwolf. The beads were black, grey, silver, and teal in colour as a way to further bring her parent's houses together. In between these wolves, there were vertical lines of white fur embroidered into the material of the garment. This was actually a smart form of a solution for Sansa because Ghost been shedding his summer coat for quite a while, leaving clumps of white furs all over her chamber. So, Sansa decided to collect it and use it within her clothing, as a way to have the wolf be a part of her, wherever she went.

The garment also had very large white-fur shoulder pads with more gems, these were in place as a way to help Sansa's cloak sit better on her body. It also helped her stand taller, it gave her a sense of importance. She adjusted the dress to make sure it was in place before applying her brown belt, as a way to define her silhouette. Attached to her belt was the bottom half of her chain necklace, she had decided to keep the half that had her symbolic needle, as a way to define her craft and skill.

Sansa then started on her hair, brushing it out and sectioning it into three. Sansa was very fortunate to have very long and thick hair, which she often struggled with when wet. She started by creating a large plait that went around her head, resembling a crown, for which, she secured with pins. She was left with quite a lot of hair left in the back of her head. So she took small sections of hair, creating very small braids, only two inches long each before she joined the hair into a thick plait. Which was only several inches long, leaving a large majority of the hair loose. She twisted the plait into a bun, pinning it in place. The rest of her hair at the back dangling down her back, starting to wave as it dried.

She pulled out a few strands of hair around her face, twisting them with her finger in order for them to curl, as the hair was still drying. Sansa's arms ached from having to achieve this complex hairstyle herself but found that it was very complimentary of her jawline and was practical for the busy day ahead. She had only had this type of hairstyle once before and that was for her last wedding. The night brought her terrible memories but she tried not to focus upon the past. She looked into the draw that she kept her hair supplies and saw that she had winter berries, the blue winter rose, and thistles. She decided against wearing them now but instead, to apply them to her hair for the dinner that night in the Great Hall.

Ghost had started to become restless, so Sansa was quick to tie her shoelaces for her winter leather boots, and to apply her cloak with her winter furs. She felt engulfed in warmth and security once she had completed her outfit. She looked at herself in the mirror of her vanity once last time, she looked at herself and did not see the child she once was but instead, a new woman. She saw a leader. She saw a queen.

Sansa felt the familiar feeling of numbness as she and Ghost left the Stark quarters and went into one of the many bustling and busy courtyards of the castle complex, toward the armoury. The castle complex had never been this busy for all of Sansa's lifetime. The castle and the surrounding areas were filled with workmen, small folk, and the men of House Stark's bannermen. Everyone had come to the kingdom's capital with their resources and personal belongings to start preparing for the great war. Winter Town was now highly populated as were the surrounding snowy fields around Winterfell. The fields were filled with huts, where many families now resided. This landscape was only to become more condescend once Winterfell's guests arrived. The land was never quite peaceful anymore, the buzzing sound of conversations were always heard throughout the day and night. She tried not to think of the future, as they were many things she needed to do beforehand.

Ghost ran off into the God's Woods after Sansa had reminded him to come back soon because Jon was arriving that day. Sansa smiled as he ran off, whereas many of the workers still looked at him uneasily. She continued on with her tasks for that day. She carried the bundle of leather to the armoury to give back so that the leather could be attached to the chest plates.

Sansa made her way to the castle's kitchens when she saw that her sworn shield and close friend, Lady Brienne was waiting for her by the door. Brienne of Tarth was an unusually large women, standing taller than any of Sansa's brothers or father. She was almost the same height as Sandor Clegane, from what Sansa could remember. Although Brienne was a Lady, she did not exactly look like one, as she tended to wear men's wear, instead of women's. She was a highly skilled swordsman and more loyal than any Knight. She was sworn to protect the Starks and Sansa felt that there was no one better for the task.

"Good morning, Lady Sansa," Brienne smiled at Sansa, as she saw the young woman approaching her.

"Good morning, Brienne. I hope you are well." Sansa replied in a polite tone, happy to see the woman that morning.

"I am, thank you, my lady. I notice that you have made a new dress, it is very proper. How are you this morning? You did not seem very well last night…" Brienne's soft words trailed off, as she and Sansa walked together through Winterfell's kitchens to find the principal cook.

The kitchens were fast with many dimly-lit interconnecting rooms filled with workers. Sansa and Brienne ducked their way through sweeping archways, in-between tables, past men and women cutting up animals and vegetables. The noise level was loud and the smells intense. Due to the vast size of Winterfell, many of these rooms had grand fireplaces, which had large brass pots hanging; steam clouding the whole building. The two women finally entered into the largest room; with a tall ceiling, small windows and candlelight. Sansa approached the principal cook, who slammed her large butcher's knife down onto the wooden table, gaining everyone's attention. The workers within that room stopped what they were doing and bowed to their Lady.

"Lady Stark, what is it that I can do for you?" The elderly woman turned to Sansa, her face red and sweating. She wiped the blood off her hands onto her apron.

"I wanted to get an update for the feast tonight, as we had discussed a few moons ago," Sansa answered, smiling at her.

"We shall have enough food for the guests within The Great Hall, my Lady. There's enough food for five hundred guests and multiple courses. There is also enough wine, mead, and ale for anyone who wishes to drink it. We have been preparing day and night." The cook had a voice like gravel, deep and sore from years of shouting. As they conversed, workers walked past them holding pheasants, deer, wild bores, and ducks ready to be deskinned and gutted.

"That is brilliant news, I thank you all. Winterfell has not been host to a feast such as this, in many years. I was wondering if you are able to spare some bread, wine, and cuts of meat for our guest's army? We, as the hosts, need to show that we are welcoming to the foreign army. But first, be sure to hand out food to the families in Winter Town and the huts. They must eat as well as us." Sansa felt nervous asking this as she knew that Winterfell had been rationing the food supplies for their own people, it felt somewhat wrong to be giving food away, but she knew it was what a responsible Lady would do for any of their allies.

"Of course, my lady. But how long are we expected to feed the Essos army? We cannot afford to-"

"I understand and agree. I will speak with Lord Snow and Queen Daenerys about organising for our guests to make their own food arrangements past tonight. As the food is needed for the north," the cook smiled grimly and nodded at this. But Sansa did not feel particularly well about the situations they were currently in. "I will be with my brother and sister in the hall for breakfast, if you are ready to send up the food. Do not worry, I will have what I did yesterday."

This statement was met with an uneasy look from both the cook and Lady Brienne. They looked upon Sansa as if she were to break. She knew of their worries, as it had been mentioned to her by many of her closest advisors and members of the Stark household. She was losing weight rather fast, her previous dresses did not fit her around the waistline anymore. But despite what they might think Sansa just did not have the same appetite as she once did, the worry and lack of sleep had caused her to not to think of food. Sansa knew that the Lady of Winterfell was expected to eat a healthy amount of food throughout the day. Feasting on smoked meats and cheese, fruits, stodgy bread, pies with thick gravy, amongst a few things. But Sansa had learned from Jon that sometimes, in these types of situations, large quantities of food was not necessary in times of crisis. So instead, she ate a modest portion of porridge with honey and a cup of warm crushed apple juice. Besides, she could not and would never allow herself to be the ruler that sat by while her people go hungry as she feasted.

"Of course, Lady Stark. I will have breakfast sent over straight away," Sansa went to leave, nodding her head at the cook politely, "Some of the girls have made over three dozen lemon cakes for you this evening. They know that it is your favourite." Sansa blushed, stopping to look back at the cook, a big smile came across her face. She thanked the workers, they all blowing to her before she left, Brienne following her.

"They all really admire you, Sansa." Lady Brienne noted in a low voice, making sure to keep their conversation private as they walked through the courtyard.

"Hmm, I wonder how long that'll last," Sansa replied, speaking honestly.

"They really do. They see that you are a just and fair leader. You put the needs of your people before your own, they respect you for that." Sansa continued walking, looking around her, overseeing the activities of the castle complex. She felt uncomfortable by what Brienne was saying, she did not want anyone hearing such words, in case her leadership starts to be compared or preferred over Jon's. Brienne noticed that Sansa had stopped paying attention to their conversation, she slowed down her pace, placing a gentle hand onto Sansa's shoulder. Sansa looked back at her, examining the concerned look on her sworn sword's face.

"My Lady…" she paused, "Sansa, please listen to me. I do not say this to berate you. I just," Lady Brienne sighed, finding it hard to say the right words, "You need to start taking more care of yourself. You are starting to look somewhat unwell and it would go against my duty if I did not express my concerns for your wellbeing."

"Thank you, Brienne. You are truly a loyal friend." Sansa smiled at the tall women before turning to walk away from their conversation. But her answer did not seem to satisfy Lady Brienne, who continued to speak to Sansa in a hushed voice.

"Please, Sansa. You need to stop putting Jon first and start looking after yourself. I know that you spend most of your night awake, this is not good for you-"

"Jon needs me now more than ever!" Sansa exclaimed, starting to become slightly frustrated. She stopped to look around them, finding themselves currently alone before she continued to speak. "Bran had found out something about Jon that puts us all at risk. Jon, most of all. He doesn't realise it yet, but he has put himself into a dangerous situation by bringing that dragon queen here." Brienne stared at Sansa, her eyebrows knitted together, completely confused. But she did not speak to ask for further information.

"Besides, my people need me. We are preparing for war, not for the comforts of summer. Most of the people here are going to die, Brienne. I am in charge of trying to ensure that we try to keep as many northerners alive as possible. If that means that I work through the night to make sure that my men are kept warm whilst they fighting, then so be it. If that means that I eat basic foods so that my people have more to eat for themselves, then so be it! I will not live a life of luxury whilst my people face death!" Sansa started to feel all of the emotional strain she felt that morning starting to come back. She knew that it was wrong to take out her frustrations out on her friend, but as the Lady, she could not allow her actions to be confused.

"I understand, my lady. But you are not the only Stark at Winterfell anymore, it not entirely your responsibility to oversee every little detail. You'll make yourself ill." Brienne's voice became soft as she tried to reason with her liege lady.

"Bran is a cripple and has no interests in these things. Whereas Arya, well, she doesn't quite understand what it takes to oversee the castle." Sansa could see that Lady Brienne was not going to agree. She went to interrupt Sansa with another point but Sansa was quick to cut her off.

"Lady Brienne, please, we will not discuss this again. I appreciate your concern, it shows you to be loyal and just friend to me. But there are far more important things right now. I need to be there for my family and my people, I cannot distract myself with the rest." Sansa turned to leave as Lady Brienne nodded her head, agreeing to end the conversation where they had left it. Sansa turned back to her sworn sword with a fierce look in her eyes, a true lady of the north. With the might and strength of her Lord father, she spoke with the integrity of a true Stark.

"Winter is here."