The rain was lightly drizzling from the grey skies above. There was no wind but the morning air was cold none the less and chilled most people to the bone. Most people, but not her.
Sansa walked with determined steps across the meadow that had served as a battlefield during the night. It was now littered with the dead and the dying of both sides, but she only had eyes set on her goal. It was selfish of her, but right now she didn't care. Everything she'd done for the past few years had been for the sake of the North. She had ignored her own wants and needs while rallying bannermen, convincing people she really was who she said she was, earing the loyalty of the smallfolk and the people she needed, searching for her brothers and sister, traveling all over the country in search of allies, finding information on her enemies, learning to fight and defend herself, learning to rule a country, refraining from marrying the man she loved because his lowborn status would cause a scandal among the lords. All personal feeling had to be set aside for the sake of the bloody North. Now she finally had it in the palm of her hand and she felt the right to be selfish for once, if only for a day.
She heard steady footsteps fall in behind her and knew without turning around that her sworn shield and lover followed her lead, as he always did.
As she walked people called out her name and her title. She ignored them all. It was a victory cry, but she hadn't had her victory yet. Soon, when all this was over, she would wonder whether it was all worth the thousands of bodies she passed on her walk. But not now. She would think of that later.
Her hair had come out of her braid and the rain made it cling to her like seaweed. Her armour- which had been newly made when she put it on before the battle- was now full of dents and marks and was now more grey than silver. Her sword which hung at her hip was covered in blood. Despite all this she looked no less like a queen as she reached her goal. In fact, she looked even more the part since, no matter how sore or tired she was, she still walked with a straight back and her head held high.
Soldiers made a path for her as she almost glided through the crowd. When she came to the middle she saw one of the men she hated most in this world. Ramsay Bolton, gagged and bound with chains from head to toe, stripped down to only shirt and breeches, looking absolutely livid with rage. The look on his face became even more hateful once he saw Sansa before him. If looks could kill, Sansa would have been skinned alive right then and there.
But he didn't frighten her anymore. Not looking like this, not after all she'd seen, not after… And there was no way in the seven hells that he hated her more than she hated him.
She looked at him for a while. He was truly pathetic like this, wiggling about like a worm in the mud. She was tempted to have him tortured, like he'd done to Theon, but there was no reason to prolong his wretched life.
"Take him to the block."
A cheer rose form the crowd at her words. Everyone around her wanted him dead, but it was impossible for them to want it more than her.
Ramsay was dragged along the ground on the way to the block. He didn't deserved the dignity to walk. Had he been standing up he might have seen the heads of his father and Walder Frey sitting on their spikes.
The block was just a tree stump, but it didn't need to be fancy. There was no need for a trial, not when everyone in the North- in all of Westeros- agreed that he was guilty of his crimes. Guilty, that's what they were shouting at him while he was dragged along.
The tree stump was wide, his whole upper body fitting on it. As he lay bent over, some men were making thrusting movement with their hips, most likely arguing that he should be raped before his death, just for the sake of humiliating him even more. For a second she actually considered allowing them, but decided it would be a waste of time.
"My queen," Sandor rasped beside her. My queen. She wanted him to call her little bird, but he never did in public. She understood why, and she very well understood why he refrained from doing so right at this very moment, but she still wished to hear it. "You don't need to do this. I would be glad to take this filthy rat's head for you."
Sandor, always there for her, always offering support and unquestionable loyalty. She loved him for it, but, "I do need to do this. I wouldn't be my father's daughter if I didn't."
When she held up a hand to silence the crowd, they obeyed immediately. She stood in front of him and removed the gag.
She must have been quite a sight. Clad in a blood covered armour, sword on her hip and a fierce look in her eye: the Ice Queen with fire in her hair. Yes, she was a beautiful and terrifying sight to behold by a man about to die by her hand.
Sandor- as well as everyone else- had always thought the Warrior to be a man, and Sansa to have more of the Maiden in her, but he was proven wrong. Sansa was the embodiment of both gods, and had the ability to switch between them in the blink of an eye. Right here and now, Sandor had never seen anyone more Warrior-like than his beloved.
The crowd was so silent that everyone could hear her clear voice. "Ramsay Snow." He squirmed in his chain at the sound of his true name, but she ignored him. "You stand accused of murder, conspiracy and treason to the North and to your King, Robb Stark." There were many other thing he was accused of too, but the list was too long to mention all of them right now. "I, Sansa of House Stark, Queen of the North, first of her name, Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North, find you guilty and sentence you to die. Do you have any final words?"
He licked his lips and spoke slowly, all the while looking at her with his crazy eyes. "Everyone you've ever loved has died slowly and painfully. I hope you won't be breaking the chain. It would disappoint me very much."
She almost corrected him. Not everyone she loved was dead and her father had died quickly. But instead of doing so, she unsheathed her sword- named Lady after her direwolf- and in one disappointingly quick stroke his head was on the ground.
While a roaring cheer rose around her, Sansa could not hear any of it. She felt a calmness within her. Now she had her victory.
She felt Sandor's heavy hand on her shoulder and let him guide her away from the headless corpse of the hated bastard. His head was being tossed about between the men like a pigskin ball before ending up on a spike next to his father.
As she walked towards her tent she could smell the burning Bolton and Frey banners. She could also smell the bodies of her dead men, and she could hear the screams of those who were only half dead.
In a minute, she thought, just let me catch my breath and I'll deal with everything in a minute.
Once inside the tent Sandor began to remove her armour, but she stopped him.
"I need to go back out there soon. There's no reason to take it off."
"Are you going back out right this very second?"
"No, but I am their Queen. They need me."
He continued working on her armour, despite her protests. "The healers don't need you to tell them how to heal, the cooks don't need you to tell them how to cook, the campfollowing whores don't need you to tell them how to fuck their soldiers and the dying don't need you to tell them how to die. They'll need you later, but not right now." He took off one pauldron off her shoulder and then the other. "You have shed blood, sweat and tears from those people out there. You're exhausted. Allow yourself some time, if only to rest and eat. You'll need it: need your strength."
She wanted to protest, but the feeling of her chest plate being taken off was heavenly, and when the chainmail went after that she felt as light as a feather.
With nothing from the outside world distracting her in here, she noted that he was right. Sansa had never felt this tired before, and her stomach gave out a roaring rumble.
Helping each other, they both got out of their armour and dove in to the simple meal laid out for them by one squire or the other. When they finished, Sandor gathered her in his arms and kissed her deeply.
"You fought good today, little bird," he finally said his term of endearment for her.
"Fought well," she couldn't help but correct her with a teasing smile, rubbing their noses together. And just like that, with only a smile she'd gone back from Sansa the Warrior Queen to Sansa the sweet Lady.
"Seeing you take the Bolton bastard's head got my blood pumping good and hot, and I would like nothing better than to act on it, but, as much as it pains me to say it, I think we're both too tired for that right now."
She hated to admit it too, for she also wanted him to act on it, but he was right. Sansa was about ready to fall asleep where she stood, and Sandor looked to be feeling the same.
"Let's rest for a while, and then you can ravish me as much as you want before we have to return to our duties."
He chuckled and let his eyes wander all over her. "If you let me ravish you as much as I wanted we'd never leave our bed."
She giggled and led him to the cot. He could help but to smack her rear when she turned her back. She squealed and blushed prettily, still after all these years, but didn't scold him. He smiled wolfishly when she undressed completely and motioned for him to do the same. Though both knew there would be no fucking or lovemaking at this moment, it was still comforting to feel the other's skin against their own.
They lay face to face, wrapped in each other's arms.
"I'm going to marry you once we come back to Winterfell."
"The lords won't like that very much, little bird," he pointed out.
He'd never dreamed he'd hear the words that came out of her lovely mouth next. "Fuck the lords. I've given them enough of myself and they've taken even more." She caressed his face softly. "I won't let them take you as well."
He kissed her so she couldn't see the tears forming in his eyes. They were tears of happiness, but he still didn't like showing them.
She laid her head upon his chest, her ear right over his heart and her arm across his torso. His arms wrapped around her tightly.
"Don't let me sleep too long," she bid. "I still have many duties to perform."
"I make no promises, little bird," he answered, making her fall asleep with a smile on her beautiful face.
He lay there for a while, just holding her, seriously wondering whether he'd ever be able to release her from his tight embrace.
He doubted it.