Thanks very much to everyone for your comments! Hope you like what comes next.
Sansa lay motionless, staring blankly onto the wall. Tears rolled off her pale and weary face and disappeared in the fuzzy fur cover of her bed. She had been so close to freedom! Just one step and she and Theon would've flown away from all their pain and sorrow to join the old gods and the spirits of the ones they loved. But Ramsay's grip on them both was far too tight to be broken at will it seemed. His soldiers had caught them at the last moment and dragged them back to what they called safety.
And now she was in her cell that had once been her mother's chamber and once again her life and will were fully submitted to Ramsay's every whim. So were poor Theon's. Except he wasn't brought back to a warm, comfortable room. Not even to his cage with the hounds.
He was accused of killing Ramsay's mistress and attempting to murder his wife, so they locked him in one of the cells beneath Winterfell. And Ramsay, who was too smart not to have guessed what really happened, strangely enough wasn't at all displeased by his mistress's death. In fact he was rather glad to have a reason to taunt and torture his poor slave, as if he needed one in the first place.
He was over the moon and almost drunk with pride at defeating Stannis Baratheon. His blood was up so he wanted to play.
Sansa knew exactly what would happen. First Ramsay would get warmed up by torturing the prisoners they had captured on the battlefield. He would perform all the usual procedures of questioning and extracting information by force, but let the victims go in the end as his father didn't allow him to keep them for too long. Cruel and unfeeling as Roose Bolton was he never approved of Ramsay's games.
After doing his 'duty' as Ramsay called it, he would order poor Reek to be brought to him and fully taste the sadistic pleasure that seeing pain gave him. He didn't hurt Reek physically anymore, he had his prisoners for that. Reek gave him the thrill that none other victim ever could – the sheer delight of complete mental domination over an entire being. His quiet, even polite conversations with Reek were an excruciation far worse than any physical torture even Ramsay could think of. He would indulge in it for hours and only after he had extracted the last exquisite ounce of agony, after he had his poor slave begging for death did he stop and move on to the third part of his routine, which was Sansa.
She had it very lightly, compared to the other victims. Ramsay would always be aroused by the time he got to her, but there was more fun to be had yet. He indulged in foreplay by gently caressing and then hitting her, by whispering sweet words mixed with insults. She submitted silently to his pleasure and clenched the fur of the covers as he took her roughly and brutally.
Sansa knew she was slowly dying in her own body and being replaced by some disgusting strange creature. She realized she had to fight this change and defeat Ramsay with her own female strength as Littlefinger had told her to do, but she didn't want to. Not anymore. It was impossible. No one could defeat this evil. Not Theon, not her dear brother Robb, not even Stannis, the great general her father had praised to the sky. There was nothing left to either hope or fear… Now she could only wait…
Sansa closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, but was woken up, by a hand that gently brushed her cheek.
"Bran?!" – she exclaimed, staring wide – eyed at her little brother lying next to her – "My darling brother! How can this be? Am I dreaming?"
"Yes and no" – Bran smiled mysteriously.
"What are you doing here?" – Sansa asked completely confused – "Are you all right? Where's Rickon?"
"Shhhhh…" – he answered smiling at her and stroking her cheek – "Do not worry about us, we're both alive and safe."
"Tell me where to find you" – she begged – "I'll find a way to help. Somehow I will, I promise!"
"No, Sansa " – Bran shook his head sadly – "We will never see each other in the flesh again. And Rickon and I aren't the ones losing our souls. I came because you need help. And our people need you. The War has begun…"
"I'm sorry, Bran!" – Sansa said tears rolling down her cheeks – "I'm sorry for being so week and giving up. But I can't…"
"Find your strength! You're a wolf of the North, sweet sister. The last Stark at Winterfell" – Bran said proudly – "And do not be afraid. Help will come very soon."
"Help?" – Sansa asked afraid to allow herself any hope – "What do you mean"
"Remember, Sansa. You have to remember" – Bran smiled – "And good luck."
"Remember what? I don't understand!" – she cried, but her brother didn't answer.
"Bran, please don't leave me" – Sansa called desperately.
"Never" – he answered with a wink.
The next thing Sansa knew, she was walking in the crypts beneath Winterfell. It was very dark, not a single torch or candle was lit, but somehow she saw everything around her. Some strange force guided her to a place she knew she was supposed to see. Sansa walked past all the familiar tombs and stopped at the end of the last of many corridors. In front of her was an old oak door beautifully decorated with strange carvings – the entrance to the lower levels. She had never been through that door. None of her family had, to her knowledge at least. No one exactly knew why, but what lay behind it was considered forbidden ground for many generations and her father was never one to break tradition for the sake of curiosity. But the strange guiding force urged her to open it. Sansa pushed the heavy wood and it opened with a loud creek. Behind it lay a narrow staircase that led down. Sansa took a deep breath of damp heavy air and started to walk down the stairs into the unknown. As she went on, she saw several similar doors right beneath the one she came through – the entrances to other levels. Sansa was sure that if she opened any on them, she would see long dark corridors, identical to the one on the first level.
The force urged her to go down lower and lower.
Finally she reached the bottom of the stairs and saw another door, completely different from the ones she had seen. It was small, made of silvery metal and not decorated with beautiful carvings and frescos. As Sansa looked at it she felt a strange, respectful awe. Behind the unsightly little piece of metal lay the oldest of the Stark tombs, some of which were eight thousand years old. A figure that Sansa couldn't even comprehend.
Obeying her mysterious 'guide' Sansa opened the door and was amazed to feel a whiff of fresh air that suddenly came from the gloom ahead. Intrigued, she tried to step over the edge of the old - world, but an almost overwhelming fear paralyzed her before she could even move. Sansa shrugged as she felt the dark, ghostly spirit of the past slowly surround her. Her presence was an unwelcome disturbance of something very powerful and ancient. She wasn't supposed to go in. Not yet.
She desperately wanted to leave, but she couldn't move. Not while there was still something about this realm of the dead Sansa couldn't quite put her finger on. The girl looked around fearfully. There was nothing remarkable about the dank shabby stone walls or the plain metal door so she decided to try the ghostly blackness of the pristine crypt once more. Again Sansa felt her blood freeze with fear. Suddenly out of the darkness came a deep horrifying rumble, followed by a flash of light so bright it almost burned her eyes… Sansa tried to run, but she still couldn't move. Her eyes, her nose, her ears, her mouth all started to bleed violently as she saw the strange fire melt stone before it finally swallowed her…
Sansa woke up with a start and gazed around frantically, her heart racing, her breath rapid and shallow. She was back in her room, lying on the fur – covered bed with her cloak still on. Calming down slowly, she wiped the cold sweat of her forehead with her hand.
She must've fallen asleep while waiting for Ramsay. Bran, the crypts, the fire… just dreams, nothing more, she thought as she slowly got up and started to undress, preparing for her husband's visit. And yet she had a strong gut feeling that everything she had seen was somehow real.
What had Bran told her? A dream, but not a dream? Could it be possible that she had experienced the effect of some kind of magic?!
To her rational mind the notion was completely ridiculous, but somehow she knew it was true. And everything she had seen was so well branded in her memory, she could recall every little detail of the strange dream – but – not – dream.
She couldn't even begin to wonder about all the mysterious things her brother had said. The war, blood, her needing to remember something she didn't even know… It was all too strange and confusing…
But maybe it didn't even matter. Not yet. Maybe all of this would make sense with time.
The only important thing right now, was that whatever happened she had to remember who she was. And be strong for herself, her family and for the North! She was the last Stark of Winterfell, her darling brother had told her. She had no right to crumble into the dirt! And someone was coming to help her, she thought cheerfully. So… maybe it was time to cast aside all the hurt and humiliation and do what Littlefinger had suggested all along… charm her disgusting but clever bastard of a husband… If he could manage to win over people he despised, so could she. Starting right now!
Sansa heard a key turn in the lock and jumped onto the bed, wearing nothing but her smallclothes. She only had a few seconds to decide her strategy as she had seen Littlefinger do several times.
Sansa knew fairly well by now the things that Ramsay was most sensitive and ambitious about… But which to use first or at all?!
"My lady" – Ramsay smiled his mawkish smile that made Sansa's stomach turn – "Seeing you gives me the greatest pleasure."
"Thank you, my lord" – Sansa replied, putting on an evaluating face – "And I believe I can honestly say that I'm pleased to see you. The conquering hero that defeated Stannis Baratheon, the finest military commander in Westeros with thousands of foreign sell swords and loyal battle – hardened troops at his disposal."
"You flatter me?" – Ramsay asked with a mocking grin – "Are you afraid that I'm angry at losing my toy?"
"I'm flattering you because you've won the respect of the whole of Westeros. You have proven yourself worthy to be Warden of the North by defending it" – Sansa replied with a sly smirk.
She was on extremely unsteady ground and up against a very dangerous opponent. But as Petyr Baelish said, even the most dangerous men can be outmaneuvered. And judging by the smug look on Ramsay's face, she was doing fairly well.
"And most of important of all…"- she continued as she started to play with her hair – "You have proven to the world that wits and courage know no legitimacy. Now… no matter what happens with your stepmother… our people will believe in you. Especially with a Stark at your side."
"Indeed" – Ramsay nodded slightly eyeing Sansa apprehensively.
Her heart jumped up to her throat, but Sansa remembered Bran's words and continued, gathering all her courage.
"And as for toys… What in the world has that got to do with me? Why should I care for the life of a little nobody? Born from nothing and gone into nothing… Why should you?"
"I don't like surprises, my lady" – Ramsay said dangerously.
"Oh, it's a shame" – Sansa smiled and moved her hips apart a little seductively, desperately trying to stop her voice from shaking – "We both know you're smarter than that, my lord… One toy, another toy… what do we care? That's all they are… toys. To be played with and thrown away when they're no longer useful… Aren't they?"
"Perhaps" – Ramsay answered slyly, sitting down on the bed and stroking her foot – "And what do we care about, my lady?"
"Many things, my lord… lemon cakes… hunting… winning against all odds…" - Sansa said, starting to feel a bit more confident and relaxed – "But most of all… power."
"I see" – Ramsay said looking rather satisfied.
"Did I leave anything out my lord?" – Sansa said, pulling the edge of her nightdress up a few inches.
"Well… let me think..." – Ramsay answered with the smug satisfaction of a cat that had just stolen a huge fish and tore Sansa's nightshirt at her breast – "Playing… and pleasure…"
"I knew there was something I forgot" – Sansa giggled and lay back on the furs praying to every god she knew to give her courage and cunning, for Ramsay to take the bait and believe in her sudden change of heart due to his rising in power and for the help that Bran had promised to come as soon as possible.
Next morning Sansa woke up to the sounds of someone fussing about in her room. She jumped up nervously, but relaxed when she saw a new servant girl laying her breakfast. She was rather tall with a doll – like face, young and innocent looking. Sansa had long learnt not to be deceived by appearances, for the most trustworthy looking people turned out to be liars and traitors. Of course she was one of Ramsay's spies, so Sansa had to do her best to seem happy and content. And in any case it was very nice not to be waited on by the hideous and jealous Miranda.
"Who're you?" – Sansa asked sleepily and lay down again, feeling completely battered after a full night of Ramsay pleasing himself. She did her best to seem to enjoy their intercourse, but wasn't sure she had actually managed it. She wasn't even sure if she was supposed to enjoy it.
"Oh! Beg pardon m'lady" – the girl jumped up and curtseyed – "I'm Lina. I'll be your new chambermaid if it please you."
"We shall see if it pleases me" – Sansa replied with a charming happy smile – "Has lord Ramsay been long gone?"
"Why yes, my lady" - the girl answered a bit shyly – "T'was early morning when his lordship left and now it's after midday."
"After midday? Goodness, I have slept in, haven't I?" – Sansa yawned and stretched idly – "So this is my lunch you're laying and not breakfast?"
"Oh, no. T'is breakfast, my lady" – Lina stuttered – "Do you wish me to bring lunch?"
"No, thank you, Lina. Breakfast will do just fine. But you may bring me my robe, it's rather cold in here. And I'm afraid my nightshirt has been… somewhat damaged" – Sansa chuckled and looked at the torn piece of fabric lying on the floor.
"Yes, my lady! Beg pardon, my lady!" – Lina nodded and started fussing about, collecting the destroyed piece of fabric and fetching Sansa a warm robe.
As Sansa sat down to breakfast, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in" – she called.
It was one of Ramsay's guards with a massage from her lord and master himself. Ramsay wished his lady to join him on the battlements for the burning of the bodies of fallen enemies in front of the gates of ordered the man to wait outside, finished her breakfast and got dressed as quickly as she could.
She practically ran down into the courtyard and climbed the narrow stone stairs up the wall. She saw Ramsay standing at the edge looking into the distance and thought how wonderful it would be to give him a little push forward. Just a little effort and she would rid the world of a monstrous bastard. Sansa remembered how tempted she was to give Joffrey a similar little push back in King's Landing. She was far more tempted now.
"Girl!" – a familiar deep throaty voice called inside her head, once again bringing her back to her senses just as it had done many times when she was a hostage at King's Landing. How she missed him! Her only true friend who helped and protected her without any thought of profit for himself. How stupid she was to fear and avoid him. And how she wished she had gone with him on the night of the Blackwater. But she'd been such a blind fool…
Sansa sighed as she felt her heart ache with the desire to see her Hound again. To thank him for everything and tell him that she still kept and cherished his cloak and his handkerchief… Wouldn't it be glorious if he was the one meant to rescue her? Her unhandsome and uncharming non – knight.
Suddenly Ramsay turned around and smiled.
"My lady" – he purred as he came up to her and kissed her cheek.
"Save yourself some pain, girl. Give him what he wants." – Sandor's voice roared in Sansa's ears and disappeared.
"My lord" – she smiled back and leaned into his kiss. She imagined the Hound standing behind her, staring at her with his fierce steel – grey eyes, keeping her safe and all her fear suddenly melted away.
"My beautiful wife" – Ramsay said, placing his hand on Sansa's waist – "Seeing you makes me very happy."
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting" – she replied sweetly – "I'm afraid I overslept."
"No trouble at all" – Ramsay answered rather genially his vile eyes searching her face – "My father and stepmother are not here yet. So we shall have to delight in each other's company and make the best of this moment alone."
"What, right here? On the battlements?" – Sansa chuckled. Sandor would've liked her joke, she thought. And apparently, so did Ramsay. But, happily, their solitude was not to last as the head of the Bolton family appeared on the stronghold wall in the company of his fatter – by – the – day wife. Both Sansa and Ramsay bowed respectfully to the Warden of the North and he acknowledged them with a nod.
Ramsay raised his hand. Sansa looked at the battlefield and saw three huge piles of bodies set to the torch.
"How many were killed?" – she asked, her heart bleeding for the poor, loyal men, who suffered and died in the cold and for their leader, a brilliant and honorable warrior, her father respected.
"About four thousand. Few of them ours" – Ramsay asked looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Have you found the body of Stannis Baratheon?" – Roose asked, watching the flames rise.
"My men believe so" – Ramsay answered casually.
"Your men believe?" – Bolton senior mimicked angrily – "I told you to make sure!"
"And I did. We found a body that would match his description. But unfortunately neither I nor anyone else at Winterfell has ever seen the man, so I cannot guarantee anything" – Ramsay said with a touch of displeasure – "But even if he's still alive, what does it matter? He's not dangerous anymore."
"Stannis Baratheon is the kind of man, who remains dangerous even after his death" – Roose snapped – "I hope for your sake, you didn't fail me!"
"Blimey, what a fire!" – Podrick muttered staring at the flames, that rose from the field just outside the castle walls – "I've never seen anything like it."
"Yes" – Brienne nodded as she joined her squire in contemplating the spurts of flame and clouds of dark grey stinking smoke rise to the sky – "It's beautiful in a strange and cruel sort of way".
"There's nothing beautiful about burning the bodies of fallen soldiers" – Stannis snapped – "You'll realize that once you've done it yourself a couple of times if you ever see a siege. Or worse."
"Excuse me?" – Brienne said spitefully – "You're the one who likes to burn men alive as sacrifices to that fire god of yours. Or is it just burning corpses you object to?"
Stannis closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as a wave of sharp pain and remorse rose in his soul and turned it inside out.
"I. IT" – he replied brokenly through clenched jaws – "I only agreed to it because I believed blood magic would help me do my duty."
"Duty? What kind of duty?" – Brienne hissed – "Was killing your brother part of it?!"
Oh, how I wish it were just my brother, Stannis thought grievously.
"I thought my duty was to become king before the Long Night begins. Because only I could lead the living against the dead" – he answered calmly.
He always believed a man should treat his mistakes and his triumphs the same way, with cold – blooded countenance. A principle that, unfortunately he couldn't always live up to, no matter how much he tried.
"Duty to become king before the Long Night begins?" – Brienne snorted – "And do what? Save the realm from the snarks, white walkers and other mythical creatures out of your grandmother's fairytales? That is the most charming and endearing excuse for power lust that I have ever heard."
"Don't you dare compare me to the likes of your beloved Renly and the Lannisters" – Stannis said acidly – "I never wanted power any more than I wanted to be born a lord of the Storm Lands. But I am who I am."
"And Renly was the rightful king!" - cried Brienne as she remembered the shadow – assassin stabbing the man she loved.
"Why?! Why was he the rightful king?!" – bellowed Stannis, losing his temper – "He had no legitimate claim and just like Robert, he wouldn't have given a damn if the whole of Westeros crumbled to dust as long as he could spend his days having fun and wearing a pretty gold crown! Neither of them understood that the piece of gold on their heads wasn't a carte blanche to do whatever they liked, and in fact meant huge responsibility. But unlike Robert Renly never fought or sacrificed anything for it! All he ever did in his life was dance, smile, dress up and fuck his squires, starting with Loras Tyrell and that makes him the rightful king in your eyes, does it?!"
"How dare you?!" – Brienne shrieked drawing her sword.
"How dare I what? Tell the truth?" – Stannis smirked bitterly – "Very well. You claim to be righteous and principled, so prove me wrong. Name one rational reason why Renly deserved to be king."
Brienne stood seething with rage, her sword out of its scabbard ready to defend her beloved king's honor. She could've killed Stannis in a heartbeat, vow or no vow, but that would be admitting he was right about everything he said. And she could never do that. So instead, Brienne was racking her brain to prove him wrong. But somehow, she couldn't think of anything, except that Renly was sweet and kind and she was devoted to him.
"Just one, that shouldn't be too difficult" – Stannis taunted – "One reason that doesn't involve being nice and pretty and I'll admit defeat."
Brienne huffed and looked down at her feet. She hated those mocking deep blue eyes that seemed to be woven from steel and intellect. Oh, why wasn't she as smart? Why couldn't she beat him in a battle of wits as she could do in single combat?
"What, nothing at all?" – Stannis asked in mock surprise.
"He was kind and gentle and good!" – Brienne replied, hating herself and Stannis for making her feel so stupid – "And that's good enough for me."
"Fools love a fool, I understand that" – Stannis said with sort of ironic, condescending kindness – "But that doesn't make it right, I'm afraid."
Brienne shoved her sword back in the scabbard and turned away to look at the fire that was already so huge , it could reach up to half the height of the walls of the castle
"If you please, my lord" – Podrick murmured unexpectedly – "I know it's not my place to argue, but if I might be so bold as to…"
"Out with it, lad!" – Stannis said, suddenly looking interested.
"Well… lord Tyrion told me lord Renly wasn't a very good master of laws, but he did sit on the Small Council…"
"Exactly!" – Brienne exclaimed, looking hopeful once more.
"For two years." – Stannis nodded – "Jon Arryn's idea. Thought it might help him settle down and take life a little more seriously."
"But it didn't?" – Pod asked.
"No it did, to some extent. Just a little more than becoming king did Robert, but still…"
"What about the Lannisters?" – Pod asked with enthusiasm, growing bolder by the second.
"Tywin Lannister was a great man" – answered Stannis, who suddenly looked like he was actually enjoying discussing politics with a squire – "A talented general and one of greatest Hands in history. Brilliant, cunning, devious, completely ruthless and very loyal. Definitely worth following. For his wits and sense of responsibility if nothing else. Squired for Tyrion Lannister, have you?"
"Yes, my lord" – Pod said a bit meekly. He wasn't sure how Stannis might react to that piece of information.
"Never met the man, but since his father trusted him to be his acting Hand must've been very clever" – Stannis replied without a trace of outward displeasure.
"Beat you at the Blackwater, didn't he?" – Birenne asked a bit meanly.
"No, he didn't. His father did. If Tywin hadn't arrived with the Tyrells King's Landing would've been mine by dawn." – Stannis answered and turned his attention back to Podrick – "Educated you in Westerosi politics, did he?"
"Yes, my lord" – Pod smiled a bit shyly – "Well… a little… He was very good to me. "
"What use does a squire have for politics?" – Brienne grumbled.
She felt like an idiot being jealous of Tyrion Lannister, but she just couldn't help it. She grew to really like Pod and did her best to educate and care for him. And wasn't at all pleased with being a second best master.
"The same he has for his brain. Not that you would know" – replied Stannis with a twitch of his lips.
Brienne didn't deign to answer and turned away to look at the bonfire again.
"Who gave you that valyrian sword, by the way?" – Stannis asked laughing inwardly at the sulking girl, that looked more like an overgrown child than ever.
"It was a present from ser Jaime" – Brienne answered reluctantly.
"A present? What for?"
"Just a present"
"Lannister's don't just give presents" – Stannis replied, looking at her searchingly.
"Well, ser Jaime did!" – Brienne snapped – "He's a kind and generous man. Not that you'd understand that!"
"Whatever" – Stannis huffed, smiling inwardly – "Anyway, relevant part… Since Sansa Stark knows both you and the lad to be servants of the Lannisters, I'll have to go after her alone."
"His name is Podrick" – Brienne grumbled – "And I don't' see why I should trust you with her."
"Because she won't come if she sees us first" – Pod replied before Stannis even opened his mouth – "She didn't trust you at the tavern because of the sword and because of me."
"I see Lannister's time wasn't wasted on you, lad" – Stannis said approvingly, making Podrick go red with pride - "She's never met me and she won't believe I'm her father's friend and come with me if she sees you."
"So, I'll fail if I go in alone and you won't?" – Brienne snorted.
"I've been on scouting missions behind enemy lines far more often than you" – Stannis replied with a slight snort. Brienne inhaled to reply, but stopped before even beginning… was he really laughing at her?!
"But I'm afraid even I need all the help I can get" – he continued seriously – "I'll find Sansa Stark while you two set fire everywhere you can reach, especially between the walls, the great hall and the stables. We'll meet at the crypts."
"Oh, so if she sees us in the crypts, she'll know you're completely trustworthy?" – Brienne asked stubbornly.
"Podrick, be a good lad and explain it to her, while I draw a map of the secret passages" – Stannis sighed rolling his eyes and started drawing lines in the snow with his sword.
"By the time she sees us in the crypts it'll be too late to refuse to go with us and start an alarm" – Podrick mumbled looking a bit reproachfully at his mistress.
"Oh and you'll have to describe the Stark girl to me, lad" – Stannis added.
By nightfall the great hall of Winnterfell was brightly lit up by thousands of candles, the tables were richly layed for a great feast and almost all the Bolton men were drunk with excitement and ale. Songs were sung and stories told. Everyone was happy and keen to share true and invented tales of their bravery on the battlefield with the company and no one seemed to mind even obviously ridiculous lies.
Sansa sat at the family table next to Ramsay trying her best to be as charming and cheerful as possible. She chatted enthusiastically with fat Walda, who turned out to be a rather nice and funny girl on closer acquaintance and didn't mind an already drunk Ramsay stroking her back and her hip lustfully, while deep in conversation with his father. Even the always sober head of the family seemed relaxed and enjoying his laurels, that reallybelonged to Ramsay. A fact that the later was too smart to complain about.
"The wine is exquisite isn't it?" – fat Walda smiled at Sansa – "I wish I could have a taste, but the maester said I really shouldn't."
"Don't let that spoil the evening" – Sansa smiled and toasted her – "After your baby is born you'll be able to eat and drink whatever you like."
"I'm afraid not" – Walda replied rather sadly – "I'm going to have to be on a special diet when breastfeeding"
Might do you good to get some of that fat off, Sansa thought to herself.
"So will you, when you have your children" – Walda added cheerfully – "I hope that will be soon."
"Yes" – Sansa smiled, her blood freezing at the sheer thought of having Ramsay's spawn squirming inside her – "But I hope I won't be required to give up lemon cakes. I simply can't live without lemon cakes!"
"Yes, they're most delicious aren't they?" – Walds nodded – "It was always a very special treat for us at my father's house."
"It was the same here" – Sansa replied willing herself not to sound bitter – "D'you know my little brother Bran and I stole them once?"
"No!" – Walda laughed staring wide – eyed.
"Oh yes we did! We snuck to the pantry in the middle of the night. Brought them to my room and ate them with some wine Bran stole form father's stash. He wanted to find out what it tasted like" – Sansa giggled her heart warmed by the memory of her darling brother.
"And you weren't caught?"
"No, but we were found out and punished."
"Yes, that's what happens when you're being naughty" – Ramsay suddenly joined in their conversation – "And it seems you like being naughty, my dear wife…"
"If lemon cakes are the prize, certainly" – Sansa chuckled.
"Something sweeter perhaps?" – Ramsay purred, squeezing her hip.
"And what might that be?" – Sansa whispered in his ear seductively.
"Power and pleasure" – Ramsay answered, quoting their earlier conversation – "Isn't that what smart and rational people love most?"
"Of course" – Sansa answered swallowing back down her food that seemed to have lost the way to her stomach.
"Father, mother, pray excuse us. Lady Sansa is feeling a bit tired" – Ramsay said with a broad smile as he got up from the table and held Sansa's chair for her as she joined him.
"Of course" – Roose nodded politely – "Enjoy your evening."
"Thank you my lord" – Sansa nodded back and smiled at Walda who winked at her.
Then she took Ramsay's arm and accompanied him out of the great hall to the cheers and whistles of the drunk knights. Ramsay shifted his arm to her hip as they walked along the dark corridors.
Dark and deserted corridors, Sansa remarked. It was strange to see the usually well-guarded Winterfell so empty.
The Boltons must be very sure of themselves, she thought. On the other hand… why wouldn't they be?!
Suddenly Ramsay stopped and pulled her into his embrace.
"I'm sorry, my lady, but I completely forgot your friend, my faithful servant Reek!" – he whispered in a voice so silky it made the hairs on the back of Sansa's head stand on end – "We mustn't let him miss out on the fun, must we?"
"I couldn't care laee what the creature misses out on" – Sansa answered contemptuously – "Not anymore anyway"
"I thought you two had developed a friendship…" - Ramsay asked testily, a small doubt about Sansa's chance of heart still nagging at the back of his head.
"My lord asks me to associate myself with a useless servant?!" – Sansa said, wrinkling her nose in disgust – "That isn't very flattering, don't you think? I don't feel like seeing him. Prey, go without me. I believe I know the way to my chamber."
"Very well!" – Ramsay purred and kissed her neck – "I shan't be long."
He was indeed very happy to discover the sudden change in his wife's behavior and the fact that she was a rational woman after all. Of course her conduct towards him for the last two months didn't please him at all, but he could understand why a little goal digger like her wouldn't be happy about marrying a bastard with no prospects. With no prospects until the battle of Winterfell, as she had smartly guessed it. But now everything would be different. And the fact that she turned out to be a smart and ambitious girl was a very nice surprise. One well worth giving up Miranda. And anyway his wife was right… he was a rightfull lord now! What did he care for toys?
Sansa walked slowly down the corridor that led to her chamber. She was glad to be finally rid of Ramsay's company even for a little while. And as much as she hated to admit it, she was glad to get out of her room and spend an evening at the feast with people all around her, even if they were her enemies and the food turned to ash in her mouth. Her situation had changed drastically overnight and she was cursing herself for being so weak and stupid for so long. Had she won Ramsay over right away perhaps she might've been able to do something for her brothers or the people of the north or Stannis or even Theon. But there was no use feeling sorry for something it was too late to change as the Hound once told her, so Sansa promised herself to be strong and smart whatever the cost. And to imagine Sandor by her side every time she was with Ramsay.
When she finally reached the door of her chamber she was stopped by a quiet scratching sound. At first she thought it to be nothing, but then she heard someone move quietly around the corner. Trying to walk as softly as she possibly could, Sansa tiptoed to see what was going on. Suddenly she felt somebody's strong arms grab her by the waist, clamp her mouth and pull her into the darkness of the corridor that crossed hers.
She battled and tried to scream, but then she saw bodies of two bolton guards lying on the floor with slit throats.
"Lady Stark" - whispered an unknown voice – "Please don't scream, I'm here to help you".
Sansa nodded as her heart leapt with joy.
Immediately he let her go and she turned around to see who her saviour was. She couldn't see too well in the darkness, but there was no mistaking the man in front of her. He vaguely resembled both his brothers, whom Sansa had seen many times. He was tall and broad – shouldered like king Robert, but much thinner. Blue – eyed and finely – cut and like lord Renly, but much stronger. He was wearing no armor, just a simple northern vest and a leathery jacket as most Bolton soldiers did. His sword at his side and a dagger in his belt.
"Your grace!" – she said as quietly as she could.