Sansa

They had been travelling for days in their black carriage. The inside was inlaid with red velvet and crimson curtains. Images of the mocking bird, Lord Baelish's sigil, were engraved in the carriage and inlaid with gold. They were escorted by a retinue of knights, some twenty and five with banners of the falcon streaming from their lances. The going was slow. They had departed from the Eyrie, what was it now? At least two weeks ago, but Sansa could not tell whether they were riding east, north or south. Littlefinger would not tell her. After they had left sweet Robin to be Lord Royce's ward, Littlefinger cheerfully remarked that wedding arrangements had been approved. Which wedding arrangements he did not say.

Sansa did not appreciate the secrecy about it all, she hated being left in the dark about things conspiring around her. Not that it mattered to Littlefinger. When Sansa had first asked him he had only said "Ah, sweetling you worry too much. Enjoy the long carriage ride and let Uncle Petyr handle the rest." Fine. Sansa thought frustrated.

Littlefinger was looking out the window and the rolling fields outside the window. He was something of a stone statue in that carriage. For almost four hours he had looked outside that window, staring and thinking. What was he thinking? He had not spoken once nor had he averted his stare down with the countryside. He was leaned over with his head resting on his fist, planning and plotting. Outside the sun was retiring and behind the horizon and dark clouds were overhead.

Suddenly, the carriage had come to a stop.

"Lord Baelish!" A knight from their column called out. "We've arrived!"

Littlefinger nodded and smiled at her. "We're here Sweetling."

"Where?" Sansa inquired.

"You'll see." He extended his hand to her and as he opened the door he led her out. They were on a Cliffside, a massive one, overlooking the vast expense of lands before them. It was windy and the banners of the falcon were flapping and snapping as were her skirts. The grass was green but the ground was frozen. Snowflakes descended on them, zipping around them and their flapping falcons, going whichever way the wind had commanded.

Littlefinger was still walking, leading her until they were at the very edge of the Cliffside. The vast expense before them was nothing like the vast expense behind them. Behind Sansa was greenery and the sun setting, in front of Sansa all she could see was mud and dirt, bogs and bodies. Nothing grew in the expanse in front of her, nothing was green. It was brown and black and dead.

"Do you know where we are sweetling?" He asked.

"I'm afraid I don't father." Sansa replied. That seemed to make Littlefinger chuckle. She couldn't understand what was so funny. "Did I say something, father?"

"Father." He replied. "No, darling, I won't be your father any more. And you won't have to be my bastard daughter. Not where we are going."

She was at a loss. At the vale, he had insisted that she dye her hair and took on a new alias, a new name, a new family, basically become a totally different person. In the Vale there was no Sansa Stark, heir to Winterfell, sister to the King in the North. Only Alaynne Stone. A bastard of a brothel owner, the get of some whore. As if her torment at Joffery's hands wasn't humbling enough, she had to pretend to be someone lowborn, a bastard.

But in truth, bastards weren't bad at all, they were like anyone else. In fact to Sansa, all her pain had come from high born nobles with pure birth, not from lowly bastards. All the bastards she had met were kind to her. She would share laughs with Mya Stone at the Vale and at Winterfell…Sansa frowned. Ah, Jon. She reflected. I still remember his face. Just barely. He was always kind to me. And I repaid that with neglect. I should've been kinder to him. I should've loved him. I should've known that all my family was important. Even my half-brother. My only brother now. My only family left. Now that she thought of it something was eerily familiar about the fort sitting among the mud and muck. There was something familiar about the land, about the cold.

"Sweetling? You've not spoken. Does the view bother you?" Littlefinger asked.

It must have been more than a moment of silence then, while she was thinking of Jon. "There's not much of a view to admire, father." She quickly corrected herself. "I mean…" Hmm, what do I call him? Why am I calling him anything different now? Littlefinger answered.

"Oh yes my lady, sure there is nothing pretty about the land I'll grant you that much. The North has always been cold, grim and tough. It has proved a challenge for many a man or woman be it a Lord or a peasant. Take this patch for example. Nothing but mud. It smells awful, it makes travel dreadful and who knows what beasts or bodies lie within these filthy ditches, hmm? No, I think you're right my lady. There is nothing special about this land."

My lady. But I'm only a bastard. Sansa thought. Again Jon's face appeared in her conscience. Littlefinger went on.

"But what's beyond that miserable little fort you see ahead of you is something beautiful." He said with a sly smile. "Something that makes the North truly worth all its hardships and its winters. No the land is worthless, but what the land holds. Castles, armies, lords and wealth, now, now that is a great asset."

"So we're in the North." Sansa asked pensively. "Why? Where in the North?"

"Do you see that little fortress there?" He asked.

"Of course I can see it. It's the only building here for miles."

"But do you know what Fort it is? I'm sure you'll remember it well. I hazard you've been here before." He said with a sly smile on his lips. Sansa was thinking. The North, we're here. Why? What does he want from it? Gold and castles and soldiers…but that's what every powerful man wants. That fort, these bogs. Suddenly she realized where she was. Suddenly she felt overcome with despair.

"It's Moat Cailin. We're here at the neck."

"Yes, sweetling. So you have been here before."

"Yes." She responded sullenly. "With my father and my sister." With the Queen and the King, and Prince Joffery. With Arya and her Nymeria. Oh Arya, where have you gone? She thought, it had been ages since she had seen her little sister. She could barely remember what she looked like. She had only a few memories of Arya, even fewer were good. I quarrelled too much with her, if only I could've seen…how would I have known it would've come to this. The second we passed through the Neck our fates were sealed.

"And how do you feel when you see it again sweetling?"

Empty. "I still remember the day we left Winterfell." It feels like this happened a thousand years ago. "Nothing good has come for any of us since we parted from the Neck. When I see this fort I am reminded by the tragedies." Tears began to form in Sansa's eyes.

"Darling." Littlefinger said softly. "No, no, no. Hush now don't cry. Look at these plains ahead of you, the hundreds of miles of North that lie before you, do you not see it? This is your brother's Kingdom. Your homeland. You should be happy."

"I'm a bastard, I have no brother. Remember?" Sansa said, tears still flowing freely.

Littlefinger took her into her arms and embraced her. She held him close while she cried. She just wanted to go back in the carriage, there was nothing to see here. Nothing but the bogs and the mud swamps down below, nothing but the ill-omened fort.

"Sansa" Littlefinger whispered in her ear. "You are no bastard, not here. Not anymore. This is the North, this is your home. You are not Alaynne Stone, you are Sansa Stark. A Stark. The last of your kind. Embrace your name, keep it. Don't let it fade away from time."

"I have to." Sansa answered back, choking back more tears. "The Queen thinks I poisoned her son. She's always hated me." She sniffled. "And now if she could get her hands on me, she'd kill me! She has men with swords scouring the country looking for me. Just like she has men looking for her brother. No, I can't. I have to forget my name because I will never be safe if I don't. I have to hide away. I will always have to hide away for the rest of my life. I can never be Sansa Stark again. I have to forget my name." She cried heavily into his shoulder as he patted her head. He was trying to calm her down but she just could not stop crying. Why has he showed me this? Is this a cruel joke? What does he get out of traveling to a land I can never have?"

"Sansa. Listen to me. I'm taking you back to your home. I'm taking you back to Winterfell. I am taking you back to the seat of your kingdom. There you will be safe from House Lannister. I assure you. There you can be a lady again, you can be a Stark."

"I…I…" I'm at a loss. Sansa couldn't understand what she was hearing. Going back home? There was nothing there. No one there. No family, no castle, no hearth. It had been burnt to the ground by Theon Greyjoy and was now haunted by the ghosts of the Kings of Winter, the ghosts of the smallfolk that died there and the ghosts of her poor brothers. "The Queen has men everywhere." She mumbled under her sorrow. Even now, far away Sansa feared Queen Cersei. Sansa saw how much Cersei loved Joffery. And she saw how cruel she could be as well. One would have to be a monster to birth one. Sometimes Sansa had nightmares that a lion with a long blonde mane with emerald green eyes and pale white skin was bounding after her in a godswood. And sometimes that lion would corner her at a weirwood tree and pin her to the ground. The lion would claw and roar and bellow and before she would bite, Sansa would wake up with sweat forming all over her body. From her brow to her arms to legs. Once she had even screamed so loud she woke sweet Robin up and gave him a fright.

"Yes, Cersei Lannister has men, but she lacks power. Tywin Lannister is dead sweetling. He held the family together, his will and determination subdued Westeros to his authority. But he's gone with the rest of them. Rotting in the sept of baelor I imagine. The Lannister name has lost its prestige, its fear and its bite. The Lion does not roar so loud anymore. Tyrion has fled the capital and nowhere to be seen, Jaime has one hand and fights worse than Lord Robin, King Tommen is sweeter and softer than the cats he plays with, Margaery adores you and Cersei herself, well, I hazard that she'll beggar the realm and burn her House to the ground before she finds you. And if she should, she will have to fight past your Leal northern subjects and with winter coming, she's sure to fail."

"I have no subjects. The North isn't mine." Sansa said with anger boiling up in her heart. It was stolen. Stolen by a traitor who murdered my brother at a wedding. A wedding!

"Yes darling. I know. It belongs to Roose Bolton now."

Roose Bolton. Could there be a name more hated to Sansa's ears? Joffery. Well that was a close second, but the Lord of the Dreadfort had a special place of hatred in Sansa. While Joffery humiliated and brutalized her, and even on one occasion told that he wished that he could execute her father himself, he was, at heart, a wimp. A powerful but cruel wimp. Joffery did not have the strength to even lift the blade to kill her father nor the skill. He was sadistic enough to do so, but the boy never had courage. Never had strength. Totally unlike his father. Whoever he may have been. Sansa remembered when he cried out like a mule when he cut his arm on the throne the day after the battle of Blackwater was won. Or when Arya threw his sword into the ruby ford and her wolf savaged his arm. I should've taken her side then. Why oh why did I stand up for that little wretch?

But Roose Bolton…He was another man completely. He had done the deeds himself where Joffery had only threatened to do so, or if he did they were done by his false knights of the Kingsguard, or by his father. Roose Bolton had pretended to be an ally of the Starks, he sat by Robb at his councils, fought be his side at war, rallied men for him, obeyed his commands and yet he still put his blade through his heart. In one swoop he had betrayed the Northern cause and his Kingdom to Lannister promises. He had taken his wardenship and his gold and sold out his fellow banner men.

The worst thing was that she had counted on Robb. She counted on him to liberate Winterfell from Theon Greyjoy and avenge her brothers, she counted on him to smash down the walls of King's Landing and behead Joffery on the steps of Baelor. She counted on him to save her from this ordeal, from her seventh hell. What was the crippling thing about his death was that she had lost hope. Hope for rescue, hope for justice, hope for the future. Roose Bolton had gained at her expense, Roose Bolton had taken from her more than what Joffery did. Joffery killed her Father, but Roose killed her hope and her chance of redemption. She still had sleepless nights about how she went to the Queen to tell her of her Lord father's plans. Then it was blind infatuation, now it seemed like betrayal. It seemed evil and self-serving. Almost like Roose Bolton himself. With Robb gone now she would have to live with her terrible choice for the rest of her life and bear its children, or bastards and tolerate its abuse or be put to the axe. Only Robb could've saved her and if he could she would've repented. Somehow, in any way she would've prayed and prayed for forgiveness. I was so young. So young and so…blind.

Now Sansa was free of King's Landing, and from Joffery forever, but that did not make her despise the Lord of the Dreadfort any less or get her any closer to forgetting, nor forgiving him.

At least Joffery was a vociferous enemy of her brother, but Roose Bolton was an enemy within. A traitor and a liar. More a demon than a man. There is a special place in the seventh hell for his kind and if the gods are good they will be quick in getting him there.

"Sansa" Littlefinger said, touching her check with the back of his hand. Sansa shrugged away quickly. She could not speak any more. The memories were too overbearing, the wounds too deep and the blood too fresh. She turned her back on him and looked to the carriage and then to the ground. She was crying again. She hated crying, she had shed enough tears in King's Landing. "Sweetling, these lands are still your brother's Kingdom."

"The Kingdom died with my brother. There is nothing for me here. For you maybe, uncle. But I have no business here. My place of birth is ash and cinder, its people put to the sword. My leal lords died with their King at my uncle's wedding. My title is stolen by a traitor and a liar, a thief and murderer and his seat won't be Winterfell. Uncle. He's probably made the Dreadfort his new capital. The north is his now, all of it." Sansa said bitterly. "From the wall to the Neck. None of it is mine. Even if I am Sansa Stark."

"Actually, Roose Bolton has kept Winterfell as his seat of power in the North. He has his men rebuilding it right now."

"Roose Bolton is in Winterfell?" Sansa asked incredulously. The thought of such a slimy, lowly churl like Roose Bolton sitting in the hall of her father, walking among the crypts of her ancestors sent chills down her spine and anger through her nerves. She couldn't take it anymore. "No. I am not going back, to Winterfell." And she stormed off to the carriage. Littlefinger sped walked after her.

"My Lady! My lady! Please." He grabbed a hold of her hand.

"No!" Sansa called out angrily. "I'll never set another foot into the North! Not while Roose Bolton sits in Winterfell. Not while he calls himself Warden of the North."

Littlefinger grabbed hold of her. "Listen to me Sansa, a man can call himself a Warden or a King but a title doesn't give him power. No, loyalty gives him power. Fear gives him power. We both know what Roose Bolton holds over the North lords who remain. But fear will not bind him to the North for long. No, what every man who has just taken power needs…is legitimacy."

"And how will he gain this legitimacy?" Sansa asked.

"He would hope, through marriage."

So that was the wedding arrangement? No, no, no, no, no, no! Never again will I marry a murderer. She rounded on Littlefinger. "You say am I to go home? You say that I will be free and protected? That I will be a Stark, are you being cruel to me? Do you wish to see me cry because you are! You can see me! Fine! I thought my home was nothing but a scorched abandoned castle, but now I learn that the same rats who killed my brother and mother and stole away the kingdom live there? And now you want me to marry him?"

He put both his hands on her face and pulled her close. He tried to comfort her. "Sweetling." He said faintly, but Sansa would not stop. All her grief, her regret, her sorrow, her anger and her hate were boiling over now.

"He's a demon! A liar! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I cannot and will not go! I can't be teased about what's mine. None of it can ever be mine, not even my home. Not even my name! I hate Roose Bolton and I would never, ever give him the legitimacy to rule my brother's throne! I don't have a purpose here or anywhere! I'm useless, worthless! I hate this! I hate it all!" She fell to her knees and cried so bitterly, cried so deeply as she had never cried before. She felt as if the world was on her shoulders. Littlefinger knelt down in front of her, his hands still on her face. And he spoke to her.

"You're not going to marry Roose Bolton, sweetling. You are to marry his son. Ramsay Bolton."

"Ramsay? Why should he be any better? Any one raised by Roose Bolton must be as cruel and evil as he is. No, I won't do it. Never." Sansa said.

"Listen to me Sansa. I will not force you into the marriage. The choice is all yours. But tell me this, do you like feeling afraid? Do you like falling to the ground in sorrow? Is this how you want to be for your entire life? I want you to be happy Sansa. You look so miserable and that is a shame, you have a face that suits a smile. I know that you have nightmares of be cornered and eaten by a Lannister Lion-"

"I do not." She said immediately. "How, how do you know?"

"Lord Robin told me." Littlefinger answered. Sansa responded with a face of disbelief.

"How could he, that was our secret!"

"No my lady, please. Be angry with me, it was I who asked him."

"What of it?"

"I know what it means. It means fear, uneasiness, doom and despair. You've had enough of all that I think. Don't you wish to be happy? Don't you wish to be a Stark, the proud wardens of the North? Sansa I know you think that you must hide. That you can never be who you truly are, that you think your name and value are only words, words that are wind. No, my lady. Stop hiding. Stop crying, stop being afraid. I'm not asking you to marry Ramsay Bolton because you love him. I want you to marry him because you loved your family. Tell me there names, all their names, tell me why you loved them Sansa."

Why? "My lord father, Eddard Stark. I loved him because he was stern but had a big heart. My lady mother, Catelyn Stark who I loved because she always gave me comfort. My brother Robb because he is a hero and brave, my brother Bran because he is too easy to love, my brother Rickon because he was an adorable baby and my sister Arya, whom I loved because, because she was the only sister I had and will ever have. And then Jon, I didn't love him. And that makes me feel terrible shame." That had made her stop crying at least, but her heart still beat weakly.

"Yes Sansa. But you do love them now, all of them, greatly do you not?"

"Yes I did." It hurt using the words did and loved for they were words of the past. And the past stayed in the past, unfixable, unchangeable and total.

Littlefinger spoke again. "Then avenge them Sansa. Avenge them for the love you have for your family. Avenge the Starks, avenge the north and its people. Marry Ramsay Bolton, and become Wardeness of the North when Roose dies. And if the gods, or a certain individual were crafty enough, that would be sooner than later."

"But, I am already married. To-"

"Tyrion Lannister. He is no less Lion than the rest of them. And he's gone. Guilty of murder. Your marriage with him was a farce, a political ploy." And this isn't? Sansa wanted to say. "He was lecherous and spiteful and too ugly to be worth such a beauty like you." That was cruel. Lord Tyrion was always kind to me. He refused to rape me and he was gentle. Tyrion tried his best to make Sansa happy but she could never truly trust him. Although there were times where they shared a laugh. Like when Tyrion told a story of what the hound said to the King when he deserted the battle. "Fuck the King." It made Sansa giggle. She supposed it was kind of funny then, funny now even. But the Hound was dead and Tyrion was gone. Their losses made Sansa feel very empty as well. But Littlefinger continued. "He never consummated his marriage with you. Probably stunned by your grace and beauty. So by all the laws of the land, you are still a maiden."

Sansa was quiet. She had to think very hard of what she was going to say next. Will she really ride into Winterfell being draped in flayed man banners and see Roose Bolton standing triumphantly in his new seat of power? And how could she marry the son of a liar and traitor? They will expect her to breed with him. To carry on their line. I will never birth a Bolton into this world, never. I'll never give Roose Bolton or his son an heir. The answer seemed clear them. But then another thought whispered in her head. And if you don't go to Winterfell, will Roose Bolton stop being Warden of the North, stop ruling his stolen lands? But if she refused she would not have to see him, she would not have to have his heirs, nor touch or breed with his son. But then I will be hiding away. Hiding and crying and being frightened. Is that all I am? But what if she was to have a baby, would she love it? Would she care? Would she be cruel enough to murder it in its womb? What if this Ramsay was kind? Most likely not, he shares his father's spoils. But she wasn't going there because she had any affection to any Bolton. She was going there to kill Roose Bolton. But how? There are so many complications, he will be there among all his power and what if I married to his son before I can get a chance. Would I let Roose's son into me? She shivered. Would I let Roose's grandson grow inside me? It seemed simpler just to refuse. It seemed like the better option, but that didn't make it the right option.

"Who will be there?"

"Why all the Lords in the North. The Umbers, the Lockes, the Manderlys, the Ryswells and many others will be there to attend the ceremony.

"What does Roose hold over them? Besides fear?" Sansa asked.

"Hostages. Many of these Lords would rip Roose Bolton from Winterfell and tear him to pieces with their own teeth if their brothers or cousins or uncles weren't filling the dungeons beneath the Twin Towers of Frey."

The Freys. She had not forgotten them either. "And will the Freys be in Winterfell?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Why would Roose Bolton invite a family that every Northerner hates right beside the men he tries to get loyalty from?"

"Because Roose Bolton would rather have the Northern Lords hate the Freys than hate him."

And that is his greatest mistake. It will only be a matter of time before one of them draws and sword on the other, and if that happens…chaos. And chaos is a ladder. Sow discord among his ranks and Roose's Empire would fall. Although she couldn't just wait around and let that happen. If the gods are good they would be at each other's throats before she arrived. Although, she didn't mind lending a hand if the gods weren't so inclined to help.

"Fine then uncle." Sansa said quietly, the tears she shed had been long gone. "I will go to Winterfell."

Littlefinger vaulted her up. "And I am pleased to hear it. Come my lady, it is a long ride to Winterfell."

They had gotten back to the carriage and it strolled along a bumpy, muddy road, slowly but surely to Moat Cailin. Night had now fallen on the North now and as the passed through the gates of the fort, she could see torch fire illuminate the flayed man banners. And wouldn't Roose Bolton look perfect on one of his banners? He would be a perfect replacement for the flayed man, already on the banner. Winter is Coming Lord Bolton and I'm coming for you.