Ramsay's men were undyingly loyal to him. The two that he trusted the most however were the two that typically baby sat Sansa. They were summoned and took care of the bodies, bringing them through the hidden hallways of Winterfell and down to the kennels for Ramsay's hounds. He adored those damn beasts. He had 9 of them. There were 5 larger black colored ones that he used primarily for killing. That's were Walda's body was thrown. The body of Roose went in a kennel with the other 4. They were smaller, more slender, brown haired dogs that were used for tracking according to Ramsay.

Sansa was numb to what was happening around her. Ramsay had jumped in to action. He had Myranda cleaning the bloody floor and the trail of blood that followed his men through the halls of Winterfell. He was writing letters to who he needed to notify of his father's death, including the Freys who had actually lost two instead of one. Sansa had simply followed her husband around. She still felt no remorse. In her eyes this was justice and it was well deserved. She stood behind him as he wrote his letters, her hands resting on the back of his chair.

"Congratulations Lady Stark," Ramsay said finally in to the silence, "You've reobtained Winterfell."

"Excuse me?" Sansa faked innocence.

Ramsay lifted one of his hands to hers and squeezed it painfully hard.

"The people who were supposed to rule your home are now indisposed. We now have control of Winterfell. I know that you were aware of that."

He released her hand and folded his papers, one after another.

"I am aware of that. Any son I bare will be Lord Bolton of Winterfell. He will have Stark blood and will become the King of the North like his uncle aspired to be before him."

"Ambitious," Ramsay smirked, leaving the Stark brand on his notes casually.

"I need a note written as well," Sansa added.

Ramsay raised an eyebrow and looked at Sansa over his shoulder. She still had cards under her sleeve obviously.

"To who?" he pulled a piece of paper free from his stack and sat it down, wetting his quill again,

"Brienne of Tarth," she said and watched Ramsay write the name.

"Who is Brienne of Tarth?"

He was curious. Sansa had gone from not talking to him at all, to shooting his father and making demands of him that would have gotten any other woman slapped to the ground.

"She was a guard to my mother before she died and she would like to guard me," Sansa leaned down in to her husband's ear, wrapping her arms around him, "She will guard me now. I will send for her. She will come to Winterfell and bend the knee to usand you will accept her."

"What makes you think that?" Ramsay retorted.

"Well, Ramsay. Your father kept me alive because he recognized the need to have a Stark at Winterfell. I believe that you understand the sentiment," Sansa said simply "You are Lord of Winterfell now and I am your lady. Any child we have will inherit this. However, the north will not follow you without me. You need me and I need you. I know nothing of leading men in to battle and you know nothing of the diplomatics needed. Besides, that neither of us can create a child alone."

Ramsay was slightly taken aback by this Sansa. She was a stronger Sansa. She had a plan now and he had watched her kill someone. Their relationship had just taken on a whole new tone.

"What are you saying to me, Sansa?" Ramsay placed his hands on her arms that still laid across his chest and leaned back, letting his head fall on her stomach.

"I'm saying we need to make sure there's a Stark to take over Winterfell when we die. I am saying that you will lead with the army and I, my dear husband, will deal with the diplomatic side of things. I will write the other houses and express what needs to be expressed. I will make sure that you keep the northern families not only pacified, but unified. Together we will rule the North until death," Sansa turned her head towards that of her husbands and licked his check, from where his skin was visible due to his shirt up to his ear. He had done that to her before. He hissed, but sat back up and Sansa released her hold on him.

"Write your own letter," he said simply and stood, "She'll want your handwriting, I assume."

"Fine," Sansa agreed, "but I need my letter delivered by hand."

"By hand?" Ramsay scooted away from the chair and took his place behind it as Sansa sat in the newly vacated place.

"I know that she's close. I just don't know where she is."

"And you want me to seek out this person that can potentially be a danger to me?" Ramsay clarified.

Sansa chuckled, taking up his discard quill.

"If she was that great of a protector my mother would be alive, Ramsay. I just wish for a familiar face… Reek isn't exactly Theon anymore,"

Ramsay watched Sansa writing on her paper over her shoulder.

Brienne of Tarth,

While I still do NOT require saving it would please both me and my husband if you would come to Winterfell and bend the knee. I will accept you as my own personal guard to be at my side at all times.

-Sansa Stark Bolton

"I'll get your little letter delivered," Ramsay decided aloud.

Sansa did hold a point, but he also knew that she needed him more dead than alive. She could have shot him with an arrow when she shot Roose. She hadn't. He believed they were slowly gaining a mutual understanding. Sansa was his partner now. The two of them would rule the North together until a time when their child could be of age. Their child would not be a bastard and Sansa would love that child unconditionally. He already knew that. Sansa would be the parent he'd wished he had as a child. He admired her for that.

"Also-"

"Another request?" Ramsay interrupted.

"Also," Sansa continued anyway, "Reek needs to be granted a bath and some new clothes. He stinks."

"Well I doubt that would help him, Lady Stark. He lives in the kennels."

"With the dogs?" Sansa poured wax on her folded letter and marked it with the direwolf symbol that was exclusive to Starks.

She didn't bother with looking back. Ramsay had told her enough things since she'd known him to not be surprised. Tonight had proven how easily he could be persuaded when he thought the interests would suit him in the long run.

"Yes," Ramsay said simply.

Sansa stood up and handed him her letter. He put it in to one of his pockets.

"Well, he doesn't anymore, Lord Balton."

Ramsay seemed to light up at the mention of what seemed like defiance from Sansa. She caught it.

"Oh really?" he tested the waters.

"Yes, really. He lives in the quarters that is around for the help. That's what he is. He is the help. He helps me."

"Yes. He fetches your arrows and braids your hair."

"Ramsay," Sansa closed in on her husband, "You should be nicer to Reek. I have big plans for him."

"Of course, Sansa. As you wish."

Ramsay walked around her and stopped at the desk, collecting is own two letters.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you," Ramsay walked back around her and planted a kiss on her cheek, "Get some rest, Sansa. We hunt tomorrow."

"So you won't be joining me for bed?"

Ramsay looked his wife up and down. Exhaustion was written over her face. He understood why. She'd risen with him and hadn't rested since. That was a lot of tow on someone who sat on a window sill all day everyday.

"I'll be in shortly. I have matters to attend to."

Sansa nodded mutely and then walked around Ramsay and towards the door.

Ramsay watched her leave before heading out of a different door. It was a door Sansa had shown them. She had shown Ramsay quite a few hidden passages tonight. She may have been seemingly nonchalant, but she was slowly beginning to trust him or so he thought. Sansa weighed being a Stark over everything, even her own happiness. He knew that. If it wasn't true she would have never began trying to produce an heir with him. So, for her to feel that she could show him Stark secrets, she must have been beginning to enjoy his company. The thought made him smirk. She had just watched him slit his mother by law's throat. If she was beginning to trust him in all of his screwed up-ness then what did that mean for her mental state? And if he was being honest with himself he was quite taken with her too. She was a power player apparently. There was more to her than what met the eye. He had a growing attachment to her snide remarks and how ladylike she seemed on the outside despite the most unladylike things that she did or spoke on. The night had proved just how unforgiving Sansa could be. He liked it. He needed someone by his side who was willing to do whatever it took to secure their place. Sansa did that. She was also a highborn with personal knowledge of King's Landing. She had far more pros than cons.

Ramsay sent off his two ravens and was sure to send his faster rider in search of one "Brienne of Tarth" with instruction to try all of the nearest housing quarters. It was the best he could think of. He checked in on Myranda who had finished her cleaning and was more than annoyed that he was not going to be spending any time with her. He sent two of Sansa's handmaids to make sure Reek was issued a bath and housed inside of Winterfell now. Whatever Sansa had planned for him it would at least be interesting. Then, he retreated to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Sansa was in bed, her hair wavy from resting in a braid. She picked her head up when he entered and then laid it back down.

"There's water in the bath," she offered, "but it probably isn't hot."

"It's fine."

Ramsay stripped his clothes and climbed in to the bath. He took care of his hygiene needs quickly before dressing for bed and climbing in with Sansa, who rolled over towards him and placed a hand on his chest before lying her head on his shoulder. She was playing at something. He knew that.

"Ramsay," she said softly, "I gave you the North tonight. You understand that don't you?" she didn't wait for him to respond, "The Freys will not be happy about Walda's death and since your father followed far ahead of schedule, they'll know it wasn't a coincidence. You'll need fighters- fighters that I can get you," she trailed her hand up and down his chest and stomach.

"And what would you like in return, Lady Stark?"

"You're going to stop having sex with Myranda."

Ramsay laughed at the outburst. He didn't smirk. He didn't smile or raise his eyebrow. He outwardly laughed in what seemed like the first time to Sansa.

"So you are jealous?"

Sansa looked up at her husband. She twined her hand in to his hair and tilted his head down, planting a soft kiss to his lips before closing her grip roughly and yanking his hair back.

"No," she ground out, "I am not jealous of Myranda. I could care less about her. However, I will NOT be Cersi Lannister," she released Ramsay's hair, "You will not have your little bastard seedlings running around the North, Ramsay Bolton."

Sansa sat up suddenly and climbed on top of her husband, sitting between his knees and thighs. His eyes widened slightly before resting on the very bare body she had hidden beneath furs when he entered their chambers. She had guts. He would give her that. Not even Myranda took it upon herself to simply mount him. She ran her hands over him and he simply watched her. She was on a roll tonight. She'd produced a murder and seduction.

"I understand," Ramsay choked out through clenched teeth.

"Good," Sansa watched Ramsay change beneath her before climbing over him and running himself over her wetness and sinking on to him.

He gritted his teeth at the feeling. Sansa simply sat above him, his member throbbing inside of her, her red hair a wave of flames around her face.

"Ramsay," Sansa said slowly, "Any child you bear with anyone else will be thrown from the highest window of the highest towel in Winterfell. Our children will not be fought for their home!"

Ramsay's hand closed around Sansa's thighs and she didn't even wince. Her tully eyes met his blue ones. They'd seemed less and less dark and hooded lately. For the first time since he'd met Sansa, he felt something different than lust for her. He felt proud. She was taking control. She was making demands and taking lives. She was evolving before him and the way she threatened to throw children out of windows made him even harder if that was at all possible. He was growing to respect his wife and to a Bolton that was far better than the worthless feeling of love.

"I understand," he said simply.

"Promise me you won't bed anyone else."

"I swear it," he smirked up at her.

"By the old Gods and the new?"

"By the old Gods and the new," he agreed.

Sansa smiled at him and slowly rose above him only to sink back down, causing his nails to dig in to her skin and an animalistic grow to escape his mouth.

When Sansa woke up Ramsay was still in bed with her. Not only was he in bed with her, but his head was rested a little beneath one of her breasts, one of his arms snaked under her, holding her body flush against his face and chest. It was the closest they'd ever been for the longest they'd ever been. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to wake him. She wasn't sure how he would react to his tired state betraying his want to be closer to her. She hoped it wouldn't end in a violent outburst. She had still not seen one. The Ramsay that had killed Walda was calm. She had only heard of him flying off of the handle. Sansa slid her hands in to Ramsay's hair and slowly stoked her finger through the curly mess. She enjoyed his hair. It was the first thing she'd found to focus on that pertained to her husband.

Ramsay was awake. He was awake far before Sansa, but he didn't bother moving. He liked being pressed against her. She was always warm. She sometimes groaned in her sleep. He knew when she woke up. Her breathing slowed back to normal. She typically breathed short, rapid breaths when she was sleeping. He assumed she had nightmares. He didn't bother asking. He didn't feel it was his place. They weren't exactly married out of love. When Sansa's hand ran its way through his hair he resisted the urge to moan. He loved when she raked her nails through his hair. They needed to get up. They couldn't spend the morning in bed wrapped around each other. It wasn't productive and it would give his men the wrong idea. Sure, he had gotten attached to Sansa in their six months of marriage, despite the fact that the first four of those months were spent in silence. The other two were spent finding a rhythm that worked. They'd found it. Ramsay reached his hand up and closed it around Sansa's. Her breathing caught in her throat. She would never get used to that.

"Morning," Ramsay rolled on to his back and planted a quick kiss to her wrist, catching Sansa off guard.

Ramsay liked the shock written over her face. He liked being close to his wife and he liked that he could do so and she would assume that he was playing mind games with her even if he wasn't.

"Morning," she repeated.

Ramsay bound out of her grasp and to his feet. Sansa rolled on to her side to watch him.

"Get up!" he clapped his hands together happily, "We're going hunting, remember?"

Sansa was amazed by how excited he was. She didn't know what to take out of that. He had kissed her wrist in his happy stupor. If he felt this way when he hunted she'd have to hope that Winterfell got attacked soon before they ran out of bodies. A little part of her knew she'd get her wish. The Freys weren't a forgiving lot of people. She pulled herself up to sit at the edge of the bed and watched Ramsay dress himself. He pulled out an outfit for her from one of his drawers and she looked at him incredulously. He wanted her to wear that.

"That's not a very ladylike outfit," Sansa voiced.

Ramsay raised an eyebrow at her and smirked.

"If you want to hunt in a dress be my guest," he threw the clothes on to the bed beside her anyway.

She obliged. He knew that she would. Sansa had a burning desire to make him proud of her. She didn't necessarily care, but the more she was what he wanted the more attached to her he would become. That was really what the desire was for. She yanked her clothes off and pulled on the clothes Ramsay had for her, a simple long sleeved shirt and pair of pants. She looked like a beggar boy. She just knew it. She collapsed back on to the bed and Ramsay, now fully dressed, knelt in front of her and reached beneath their bed producing boots. He jammed her feet in them and laced them up without as much as a word.

Ramsay stood up straight and took in his wife. Sansa was a sight. She stood and looked down at herself before heading to her vanity. She brushed her hair quickly and braided it over one of her shoulders as Ramsay watched.

"What do you need Reek for again?" he teased.

"His braids are much better. I can't braid my own hair down my back either," Sansa answered without a moment of hesitation.

Ramsay seemed happy with that answer.

He waited for her to get up and then partially dragged her through the halls of Winterfell and to the armory. They both chose a bow and slung them over their shoulders with their quivers. Ramsay claimed that he had already chosen their prey. Sansa had refused to use horses. She said they'd hunt on foot. She thought that it would surprise Ramsay. It did. He got three of his hounds, one hunter and two trackers and they headed out. Ramsay led her to the woods behind Winterfell.

He was ready. He let his trackers lead. He and Sansa fell in behind them and his larger, black dog fell in behind the strange couple. Ramsay was just giddy with excitement. He had gotten his proper, primp wife out in pants and a shirt in order to kill someone. It was a double gift. Sansa looked a little put off in the woods and he knew from looking at her she hadn't been the type to play in the forest with her brothers as a child like Myranda had, but she was trying and he would be more than happy to teach her.

Ramsay and Sansa spent a good bit of the morning in search of their pray. Sansa began getting worried that she had someone slowed her husband down and he would be irate with her. She knew very well that they couldn't just let whoever the prisoner was run free in the North. Sansa wasn't a hunter. She didn't have experience hunting. However, when Ramsay's tracker growled and dashed in to the bushes she followed. It seemed like the appropriate response. She wasn't prepared for the man that dashed out and in front of her. Fear surged through her along with a rush of adrenaline that made her shoot an arrow at him without thinking about it. Ramsay laughed hysterically behind her.

"Shoot him down, Sansa!" he cheered.

She ignored him. She tried to block him out and shot in the general direction again, before Ramsay's dogs took off again. Sansa followed without hesitation this time. The adrenaline was pushing her now. She had never felt that way before. It overpowered her fear. The next time she saw him she landed an arrow in his leg that caused him to yell and fall to one knee. She looked proudly back at Ramsay behind her, his bow drawn, two of his dogs sitting at his feet. He took aim and an arrow tore through the air before piercing the man's other leg. His scream spread through the woods around him.

"Finish him off, Sansa," Ramsay's hand rested on one of her shoulders.

She drew her bow back automatically. The Boltons were known for flaying men and burning them upside down. What she was about to do to him could be considered a luxury. She took a deep breath. The man pleaded with his eyes. Ramsay grinned. Sansa shot. Her arrow tore to his throat and he fell backwards.

"What is it with you and throats, Lady Stark?" Ramsay question gripping her shoulder.

He was proud. He hadn't been sure his wife would have the stomach to kill someone for no reason. He had misjudged her yet again. It was time for him to stop making assumptions about her. Every time he did he was proven wrong.

"It hasn't failed me yet," she shrugged, her eyes still on the dead Iron Born before her.

Ramsay spun her around and in to him and pressed his mouth to hers. Sansa welcomed him. It was a distraction from the sounds his hounds made tearing the man behind them apart. Ramsay was proud of Sansa for her second kill since he'd known her. He knew the clean-up would be a little more than she could handle. She continuously surprised him, but he didn't have the strength to deal with the mess right now. He was too attracted to his Lady Wife the killer and what she'd just done.

Sansa and Ramsay headed back on their own. It was early in the day but they still bathed together. She needed it. She felt grimy. Ramsay was content with joining her. He knew baths together led to bedding each other…. And it did.

Over the course of the month the couple truly became partners. Sansa received Ramsay's ravens. She enjoyed it. It was something to keep the boredom away. She wrote Jon a raven explaining in brief that she was married to Ramsay Bolton and that she was now back in charge and did not need to be saved. The Freys were demanding her head. They figured she had killed Walda. She hadn't. She'd killed Roose. Ramsay had laughed hysterically at the message when Sansa had handed it to him. He had looked at some of his men and smiled a large smile. It was one of the smiles he gave that scared people. He'd grinned and hit his leg with one of his hands.

"The Freys want my wife!" he'd told them and then he had burst in to laughter again.

While it may have seemed creepy to outsiders. It was comforting to Sansa to know that Ramsay though that what they were asking for was so hilariously absurd.

In that month Ramsay had continued to test his wife's ability to deal with death and she was taking it all in stride. His respect was slowly turning in to admiration and he feared that the admiration would turn in to something more. He was scared it would turn in to attachment and eventually love. He kept his word to Sansa. He hadn't bedded Myranda since the night he'd agreed not to. He still saw her. They still hunted together. Sansa was fine with that. Myranda was irate. Every time she tried to seduce him and was turned away she became a little angrier. Ramsay was looking in to getting rid of her altogether. He had begun to bore of her and her feelings. He was coddling his wife now. He didn't have the time or energy to coddle someone else.

Theon looked like himself now. He didn't look like Reek. He still acted like Reek, but he smelled better and his hair wasn't gross and matted. His clothes were clean. He followed Sansa like a shadow. She liked it that way. She knew he wasn't being mistreated when he was with her.

Ramsay and Sansa were eating together in the dining room when one of his men came in. They made themselves seen as little as possible when the two of them were together so the sight made Sansa's stomach knot. He leaned down and whispered in Ramsay's ear who was watching Sansa. She dropped her fork in to her plate and leaned back in her chair. Ramsay whispered something back and the man excused himself. Ramsay continued to eat. He knew it was bothering Sansa to not know what the little message was about. He ignored her eyes bearing in to him.

The man returned and stood beside the door.

"Welcoming Brienne of Tarth for Lady Bolton."

Brienne walked in and Sansa immediately pushed away from the table. Ramsay followed suit and nodded to Brienne. She walked up to Sansa and looked from Sansa to Ramsay and back again. She'd come. Brienne knelt before Sansa and Ramsay pulled out his sword and handed it to his wife who simply looked at him incredulously. He lifted her hand and guided her to lay it on Brienne's shoulder, amusement visibly on his face.

"Lady Sansa Stark Bolton, I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old Gods and the new,"

Brienne peaked up at a mute Sansa. Ramsay sat his hand on his wife's shoulder.

"And I vow," Sansa said, "that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and- and-" she looked to her husband.

"meat and mead at my table."

"meat and mead at my table," Sansa repeated, "and I," she looked to Ramsay again.

"pledge to ask no service of you," he smirked.

Sansa nodded once.

"And I pledge to ask no service of you," Sansa repeated again, "that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old Gods and the new," she handed Ramsay his sword back, "Arise."

Brienne stood up and without a word crushed Sansa in to her for a hug.