She abruptly awoke, breathing hard, her nightgown drenched in cold sweat. It had seemed so real. Ramsay. He had appeared in her dreams. A nightmare. A dark shadow looming over her. Suffocating her. She had felt the chill of vice like fingers wrapped around her neck, robbing her of breath, squeezing her life out of her. Fear had paralyzed her and rendered her useless.
Sansa had thought it was all over until she had awoken. Now she realized that she was in her bedchamber at Winterfell. Far away from Ramsay who was dead. Turned into dog food by his own hounds. The panic eased away as her mind cleared, and her heart rate slowly returned to normal. Her room was dimly lit by a lone candle near her bed.
Sansa sat up, pulling one of the fur coverings and using it to wrap around her body for extra warmth to add to the one the heated water pumping through Winterfell's walls provided. She stood up and silently left her chamber. Slipping down the hall to Jon.
Jon. A thousand years ago they hadn't been that close. Jon the bastard brother that her lady mother had looked down upon, and so Sansa had too. A thousand years ago when she believed in gallant knights, pretty songs, and happy endings. When Winterfell felt like a prison that kept her away from the fairytale life that awaited her in Kingslanding. Or so she had thought.
That day when she left Winterfell with Arya and father, sitting like a proper lady, joy filling her chest at the thought of the life that awaited her in the capital; she had thought that her song was beginning, she remembered. But really it was ending.
A hostage. That was what she had been. For years and years while her family died. Father, and then Robb and Mother. Once she had thought Arya, Bran and Rickon to be dead too, but Theon had revealed to her during one of those dark, agony filled days when the Boltons ruled Winterfell; Theon had told her that the boys were alive. And then shortly after her escape, Lady Brienne had told her about running into Arya. Sansa's joy had been indescribable.
She had never gotten along with Arya. She recalled when she had shouted at Arya that she wished that she had been killed rather than Lady. Called her stupid and ugly like Hodor. But oh how Sansa wished to see her sister again. She would hug her and ask for her pardon. She longed to see all of her siblings again. She hadn't been able to reunite with Rickon before Ramsay killed him. Sorrow filled her heart once more. Baby Rickon. Little and fierce. And innocent. So innocent. Gone like Father, Mother, and Robb.
Lost in her memories, Sansa traveled through the lonely hall until she reached Jon's chamber. She tapped lightly. One. Two. Three knocks. Then stood wrapped tightly in her furs until the door slightly opened. "It's me, Jon," she whispered as soon as his face appeared.
Concern immediately etched across his features. "What is it this time?" he inquired, opening the door wider so that she could enter.
"Nightmares and ghosts," Sansa replied wearily.
Jon sighed. "I know. They haunt me too."
Sansa slipped into Jon's bed, snuggling into the furs. The bed dipped as he climbed in next to her, used to the nightmares that sent her seeking out his chamber night after night for the past two weeks since they had reclaimed Winterfell. "I miss them." Sansa's voice was forlorn.
Jon wrapped an arm around her. "You mustn't think like that. The sadness will weigh you down. Focus on the happy times. Focus on Bran and Arya being alive. We'll find them. The four of us will make new memories together. We'll make Father, Robb, and your mother proud."
Sansa sniffled. She was silent for a while before speaking again. "We can't be happy until Littlefinger is dead."
"Sansa," Jon reasoned. "Lord Baelish is not trust worthy, but that's not a good reason to kill a man."
"Jon," Sansa said, turning to face him. "He's evil. He killed Joffrey. He killed Ser Dontos who helped me plan an escape, he killed Aunt Lysa. He even killed Marillion, Aunt Lysa's singer. Littlefinger is a killer. He just hides it well. But he cannot be trusted."
"No one is dumb enough to trust Baelish," was Jon's reply.
Sansa sat up. She knew that Jon did not fully grasp just how dangerous Littlefinger was. "Jon, listen to me," she commanded, with growing urgency. "When I was in Kingslanding, after Joffrey broke our betrothal, I was planning with the Tyrells to marry Willas, an older brother of Queen Margaery. I was supposed to marry Willas and move to Highgarden but Littlefinger found out. I know he did. He told Lord Tywin and I was forced to marry Tyrion.
"Then one day I found a note on my bed. It was from Ser Dontos the King's fool. He had an idea to help me escape. We planned it together Ser Dontos and I. Under the godswood where we would meet..." Sansa blushed. "I – I thought that he was my Florian but he was Littlefinger's puppet all along. He planned everything and then he killed Ser Dontos after he helped me escape. Littlefinger promised that he would take me to Winterfell. But it was a lie.
"He took me to the Fingers where he married Aunt Lysa before we went to the Eyrie. After Aunt Lysa died it was safe for a while. I helped take care of SweetRobin and kept the household running, but then Littlefinger said he had received a marriage proposal for me. One that would help return Winterfell to the Starks." Sansa hugged herself tightly as her eyes grew haunted and her voice hollow. "If I knew he meant Ramsay I would have ran," she whispered.
Jon sighed and hugged her tightly and Sansa closed her eyes and breathed in his comforting scent. After a while she relaxed and snuggled under the furs again, only to shoot back up a few seconds later. "He killed Jon Arryn," she announced abruptly.
"What?" Jon demanded, warily.
Sansa stumbled out of the bed and started pacing about in an agitated manner. "I couldn't remember before. I must have blocked it out because it was too much to process at the time, but Littlefinger instructed Aunt Lysa to poison Jon Arryn. He's the reason that King Robert needed a new Hand of the King and came to disturb us at Winterfell." Sansa's skin had turned a sickly pale while Jon's face went blank as he tried to process the new information.
"Aunt Lysa also said that Littlefinger told her to write to Mother telling her that it was the Lannisters who killed Jon Arryn. She said all of this right before he pushed her. But I couldn't remember. The memory of her falling and screaming to her death was too horrible so my mind blocked everything out."
"Are you saying that Littlefinger is the reason our entire family was nearly wiped out?" Jon shot up, a feral look on his face as he strode over to her and came to a halt a mere three inches from where she stood.
Sansa nodded as tears streamed down her face. "We have to kill him."
Jon was motionless for a heartbeat, his face filled with agony, and then a coldness as icy as the winter chill washed over his features. "We will," was his frigid promise.