Standing on one of the tall battlements of Winterfell, Sansa Stark's sky blue eyes stared out across the empty frozen fields. Not a rider in sight; truly the start of a cold, harsh winter. She breathed in the cold air through her nose, the chill stuck in the back of her throat - sharp like a blade. She shuddered beneath the thick black fur draped over her shoulders.
As a, still young, member of the Stark family, Sansa wanted nothing more than to bring honour to her family name. Lord Ned Stark had passed many years ago under the brat King Joffrey's orders. Her mother, Lady Catlyn, and her older brother Robb just a year later - along with Robb's heir, still growing in his mother's womb. Sansa had been beside herself when she had heard, for who could murder an innocent unborn child and pregnant mother? The thought of being such a naive fool still caused her to flush red with shame. This act was, of course, again, the Lannister's doing.
The right to Winterfell had then fallen to her younger brother, Bran, who, until recently, had been beyond the wall. On his return, Sansa had learnt that Bran was now operating as 'The Three-Eyed Raven' and had, therefore, denounced all titles and ranks. The whole prospect frightened and confused Sansa, a summer girl with no knowledge of what lay beyond the wall. She asked no questions, she likely wouldn't have understood the answers anyway.
Her bastard brother, Jon, had served as a man of the Night's Watch for many years. He, on the other hand, knew all about what was beyond the wall and was desperate to stop it. Sansa did not wish to know how exactly he was now back in Winterfell, named King of the North. Her path had not crossed with wights or White Walkers, and so Sansa was inclined not to believe him or the rest of the howling Wildlings that now filled Winterfell. After Bran (and then little Rickon, who had also passed), the title quite rightly fell to Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Queen of the North. But her Father's bannermen had very different ideas.
The castle of Winterfell looked beautiful in Winter, Sansa only distantly remembered the last winter. She was certainly far too young to appreciate the symmetry of the way the snow settled on the keep. It was a structure built to withstand Winter; with hot streams running beneath its foundations keeping it warm and creating a ghostly mist around the grounds. Sansa let her fingers settle in a mound of snowfall in one of the crenels. She appreciated the sting of crisp pain for a moment and looked sadly across the open plains, still lost in her thoughts.
Truly, seeing Jon had been a relief. With the help of a broken Theon Greyjoy, she had managed to escape Ramsey Bolton's clutches with her life. Even then, she thought she was going to freeze to death. In the nick of time, they were rescued by Brianne of Tarth; a large woman with quite the knack for killing men. Sansa had grown fond of Lady Brianne, despite her stern and humourless outlook on just about everything. Sansa herself had become rather the same after all of her misfortunes. Seeing Jon again was the first time Sansa had felt like she was home for many years.
The hatred that Sansa once felt for Jon had ceased to be. That was her Mother's quarrel, besides, she had come to learn that there were many men in Westeros worth hating more than a poor bastard boy. But she did still not see him as her Brother, as her blood.
After being reunited, the remaining members of the Stark family had no choice but to declare war against Ramsey Bolton and take back their family home. No honour came from being a craven. It was a necessary course of action; Sansa knew that. She also wanted revenge on her captor, her Husband. She had grown darker in her adolescence. One terrible event after another had taught her many hard lessons, and what she had learnt was to have no mercy.
Most of her Father's bannermen had all either fled, died or joined another King's War. Sansa and Jon managed to gather a few thousand men, most of the force was made up of Wildling men from beyond the War; fearless men with no honour and no discipline. Knowing Jon's war was already lost, Sansa wrote to the only man whom she knew would help her.