It was the third night Sansa Stark and Jon Snow sat by a fireplace drinking the terrible ale of the Wall. They'd exchanged countless memories of their days in Winterfell; how Sansa, Robb and Bran would have snowball battles against Theon, Jon and Arya. They laughed at how their tiny Rickon would stumble through the snow and try to join in. Though the past was imperfect, they'd never felt safer than when they reminded themselves of it. Jon had told Sansa almost everything. His adventures beyond the wall, how he travelled with the wildlings, how he fought with and against them. However he would not tell her of Ygritte – the wildling he fell in love with. He was unsure of her reaction and in truth, the memory of her was still upsetting for him to think about. When he told her of all the magic he'd encountered and how the Red Woman brought him back from the dead, Jon had expected to see shock from his sister. Yet all he received was silence and compassion.
Sansa had been unpredictable every night since her arrival. Things he thought would scare her only gave her confidence, and the fact he was an oath breaker did not hinder her kindness towards him. When she introduced herself to the wildlings and men of the Nightswatch, she'd done so with a mature gentleness that Jon had seldom seen in her when she was 13. Though she walked with the poise of a high-born girl, she spoke to everyone with warmth and courtesy. She would have made a great queen, Jon thought. Though she'd told him little of her time with the Lannisters, and even less of her time with the Boltons. He knew that she'd been forced to marry Lord Tyrion barely a year after Father's execution. It did not surprise Jon that the Imp had treated her with dignity and condolence. However that and the fact that everyone in Kings Landing thought her a stupid girl was all Sansa had revealed to him about her experience there. She'd then told him of how Littlefinger had orchestrated an escape for her upon King Joffrey's death and how she'd dyed her hair black to conceal her true identity. It was there her stories would usually end. Jon struggled to imagine Sansa with dark hair. Her red hair was so bright; like flames in the snow. Her eyes were an icy blue, yet her eyes seemed duller now, and the face that held them was pale and sombre.
Sansa sipped at her ale trying to somehow enjoy the taste. She then looked to Jon. He had grown immensely in every aspect since their departure. Yet he still had the same sense of humour. It was comforting to know that her brother was not a completely different person. Unlike me, her mind interrupted. She could feel Joffrey's torment and Ramsay's torture slowly surfacing, but she refused to let them rise.
"So did Mance Rayder let you ride a Mammoth?" her question made her cringe. It was something Sansa Stark would have said years ago, when she dreamed of fantastical adventures with gallant knights. However it made Jon laugh.
"No," he smiled, "Only the giants were able to ride them."
"It's amazing how much you've seen. I never realised how brave you are."
"I was only as brave as I had to be," He said, his smile fading as he saw an opportunity. "I'm sure you understand that better than me. Being held hostage by Joffrey and the Lannisters."
"Me?" she exclaimed, "I wasn't brave. I only ever did as I was told." Sansa then drank and tried to think of a subtle way to change the subject. She did not want to tell Jon of her time as a hostage. Telling him meant remembering and she knew she would be reduced to tears in minutes. He can not see me cry, he will think me weak. She had mastered the ability of remaining strong and would not allow herself to feel any more pain. Suddenly she felt a hand on hers.
"Sansa," Jon's breath was hot and his tone was gentle. "You don't need to hide from me."
Sansa knew he was right. He was not her enemy. Still, she had spent every day since her father's beheading hiding her real thoughts and feelings. It felt almost wrong to be honest. Although the wall had no ears. Nobody would kill her for Cersei Lannister here. Perhaps it is safe to tell him the truth...
Then an uproar of commotion came from outside. Jon ran to the window while Sansa clasped her hands together, scared that Ramsay and his men had come for her.
"Fire." Jon stated. She joined him at the window. Brienne ran into the room to confirm the safety of her charge. Then Jon declared that he was going to deal with the blaze and that Sansa should remain in her chambers until the fire is out.
"Go with Jon," Sansa told Brienne, then looked to Jon, "The more help you have the easier it will be to put out the fire." The notion seemed to concern them both.
"Will you be alright on your own?" he asked, his dark brows furrowed.
"I'm safe here Jon, I have been since I arrived. Right now, you need Lady Brienne more than I do." With that, Jon vacated with a reluctant female fighter behind him.
Castle Black was a fairly simple structure for Sansa to figure out. She managed to locate her chambers within minutes. When she entered she locked the door and headed to her window to observe the calamity. The fire looked much smaller from her room. It must be blazing at the opposite end of the castle. She wondered what could have caused such a trouble. Her thoughts were shattered by her door creaking as a tall silhouette leaned against it.
"Jon?" Sansa couldn't think of anyone else who would be in her chambers. Perhaps he wanted to make sure she'd not gotten lost. Or maybe Theon had come? He often visited her when his mind was tormenting him. The man emerged from the shadows, a stranger. An enemy. The flayed figure upon his dark doublet told Sansa everything. A Bolton spy had snuck into Castle Black to deliver the threats of Roose and Ramsay Bolton. Yet he spoke not a word. Fear began to creep into her. Then two more men appeared before her. She could feel the fourth breathing at her back. She was surrounded and outnumbered. Still she stood firm.
"What do you want?" Sansa demanded. Her stance stronger than steel and her expression colder than Winter itself. The fourth man gave a dark chuckle before another replied.
"We want you, Lady Bolton," such words almost fractured her stony facade, but she'd been feigning fearlessness too long to be so easily broken. The men, clearly enjoying the challenge of frightening her, continued, "Your husband misses you dearly. He has commanded us to safely return you to him."
Those words were sharper than the first. For a moment they managed to pierce her skin and draw out droplets of unease. Yet this was a foolish group if they truly believed Ramsay could retrieve her so easily. She took the hand of a man who betrayed her family and leapt from the peak of a castle to escape him. She had ran through an endless forest and swam through a river wilder than a snow storm in order to be free. He'd ravaged her body every day since their wedding. Sansa Stark shall no longer endure such torture.
"Never." she spat.
"He told us you'd be difficult. As tame as a wolf, he told us. Nevertheless you will come."
"I will not. Not while my brother is here."
"Your bastard brother is at the other end of the castle, my Lady" one smirked. "You are alone." Suddenly the pieces connected simultaneously. These Bolton spies set up a fire at the other end of Castle Black to distract Jon from the real danger. He would be forced to extinguish the flames and all the other people in the castle would be too focused on the wounded to think of the Stark in solitude. She regretted her dismissal of Brienne. Then they closed in.
Before she could retaliate,a piece of cloth was pulled across her mouth. Sansa tried to tug at the gag, knowing the only possibility of a rescue would come from a scream, but the fourth man grasped her hands and tied them tightly behind her back. As he did this, she could feel something slithering around her ankles and forcing them to be locked together. The ropes were rough and scraped at her wrists as she desperately attempted to pull free. The struggling was enough to motivate one of the spies to grip her at the shoulders.
The Stark girl shook, helpless in her constraints. Two men stood at her sides while another one stroked her cheek as if to mock her defencelessness. If Jon were here that hand would fall from your wrist. If Brienne were here you'd barely live to witness it. Sansa longed to threaten them with these facts but knew the threat would become no more than a muffled noise through her gag. She noticed a hand looming towards her neck. In a moment of terror she thought it meant to strangle her. Yet it slipped from her neck to her hair. Then a small blade cut off a lock of auburn, which the hand placed inside a piece of parchment marked with a flayed man. The parchment was then laid neatly on Sansa's bed. Once that was done, the spies looked to her.
"Now, Lady Bolton," one rasped as he stood over her, "have you any objections to this?" His right arm hugged her waist. Sansa wanted to slap him. She wanted to break away from his grasp however a pair of hands from behind shoved her into his chest. The intimacy made her skin crawl and his grin brought fire to her cheeks. "No objections?" he whispered as he wrapped his left arm around the back of her thighs. "Good."
Sansa's feet left the ground and the room turned upside down. Her head was burning. Her body was frozen in ropes. The Bolton spies carried her from her chambers and slipped through the castle, silent as shadows. Every time they turned a corner Sansa prayed that Ghost would appear and tear them apart. The Gods ignored her pleas, like they did in King's Landing.
The open air pricked her face and she saw the fire blazing far away. It looked like a flame being attacked by ants. Sansa searched for the blue of Brienne's armour but the distance was too far and the night made armour dark. It seemed every man of the Nightswatch was fighting the fire as a spy's voice noted that the Gate was unguarded. Suddenly the arms holding her altered. The right one released as the left one tightened. Sansa could hear the men mumbling to each other, their voices scattering in the darkness. The voices turned to sounds of legs and leathers bending and twisting. In a final moment of anguish, she tried to squirm free and scream for saviour. The arm around her stiffened to remind her of her powerlessness.
Then, the captors dragged her over the edge of the castle wall. Sansa remembered how she jumped from the walls of Winterfell. Of course Ramsay thought it would be fitting to have me returned by descending the walls of Castle Black. She despised this indignity. If the rope aiding her captor's decline were to snap then she could die and truly be rid of the Boltons. Death was a better protector than Brienne and Podrick. It was a better hero than Jon. It was a stronger ally than Theon, Littlefinger and the entire Vale Army. Death would take Sansa to her Father, Mother, Robb and Lady. She dreamed of seeing them again. She thought of how Robb would hold her in his arms like the day they departed Winterfell. Lady and Greywind would chase one another among the clouds. She longed for her Father's sweet stories. She longed for her Mother to sit with her and tie her hair into beautiful Northern braids. Only death can set me free. However death also took Joffrey, Lord Tywin and her Aunt Lysa. Perhaps after death Joffrey would find her and strip her bare while Lysa ripped out her hair and Lord Tywin would trap her in a cage for all eternity. There is danger even in death.
Finally Sansa and the spies found the ground. They ran with the girl across the terrain until they came across their four horses – one of which was attached to a cart. Sansa was gracelessly hoisted into the cart where she gazed into the starry abyss above. Death is imminent but not the answer. I have to fight for what's mine and avenge House Stark.
They covered their captive in a sheet of wool and held it down with baskets full of bread and wheat. The spies set off into the night, looking like nothing more than a group of merchants. Little did these men know that their hostage would be plotting until dawn. If Sansa Stark was going back to the Boltons, winter was coming with her.