A/N: Thank you for all the reviews :) I'm happy others are enjoying this story as much as I do. WARNINGS apply to this chapter. Read with discretion.

SANSA

She pried her swollen, heavy eyelids open only to be greeted with more darkness. There was a sour taste in her mouth, a pain in her head, and a twisting in her belly that brought back the series of events that had led her to this place. She shivered from cold and fear as she recalled them.

She had taken Lady to the kennels. It was past time she was fed and Farlen was always kind enough to assist in that task. He knew of her distaste when handling raw red meat. Lady was only to remain there while she helped her mother in the Great Hall. She always spent her nights curled by the fire in Sansa's bedchamber.

It was on her way past the kitchens when it had happened. She had ducked and weaved through the loud, boisterous group of bannermen and soldiers that crowded around the great kettles of stew provided for them. Somehow her footing had become unsure. She nearly tumbled into the stone wall, but was spared by a large pair of rough hands around her waist. She waited to be released after being righted, but it never happened. Instead, she received a sharp blow to her head. She had instantly succumbed to the pain and her eyes fluttered closed.

And now here she was lying on a freezing stone floor in the dark of night. Shifting, she could feel and smell the moldy straw strewn about beneath her prone form. She pulled herself up to sit, resting her back against brick and wood, while squinting into the dimly lit space. Her head throbbed painfully as she peered around in near blackness. It was a small room. A cabin or cottage possibly, but it had not seen much use in recent time. The cold and damp of the air settled through her thick cloak and chilled her to the bone.

Where am I? She could hardly see more than a pace or two in front of her. A single narrow window granted pale moonlight, but it only illuminated enough to give shadowy outlines. She shivered again and pulled the wool tighter around her body. With no concept on how long she had been asleep she could not fathom how far from her home she now was. And yet fear was not present as she thought it would be in such a predicament.

She rose unsteadily to her feet and shuffled around the space, hands groping and feeling their way along chilled stone walls and rotted beams. The sounds of her boots scuffling along and her measured breaths echoed through the quiet of the night. Outside there was nothing, not even the howling of the wind. Swallowing thickly, she moved and felt her way into the darkest corner. Once reaching the end of one wall she slowly followed the edge of another. And then another, until she was under the window. It was high above her head and granted no access to the outside. She kept moving, slowly, deliberately. Another wall met her fingers, but this one was interrupted by the thick decaying wood and rusted iron of a door. Her fingers crept along the splintery beams until they happened upon a latch.

It opened easily, the clinking of the metal ringing through the still air. She paused, waiting for someone on the outside to stop her. To shout, to hit her again, to acknowledge that his captor was escaping, but there was nothing. No sounds, no movements. Drawing in a deep breath, she pushed through the door and stepped out into the icy night.

Trees surrounded her on all sides. There were no other buildings save the shack she had just emerged from. Turning slowly in a complete circle, she looked for a sign of whence she came. There was nothing. No prints on the snow, no tracks to follow home. All around her was the same; woods and snow in every direction. She froze on the spot, closed her eyes, and listened. She strained to hear anything that might guide her. Silence was all she found.

Now her heart started to thunder in her chest. What if she went the wrong way? She could end up further from home and lost besides. Surely someone at Winterfell had noticed her absence. Surely they had sent someone to look for her. She should stay here and just wait. It was safer than trudging through the ankle deep snow. There was shelter here, of sorts.

But there is no food, no water, and no way of knowing who will find me. She shivered again, but tried to still her thoughts from heading in such directions. Despair is what kills more surely than nature. Her father had taught her that. If she kept her wits about her she would see herself through this. She squared her shoulders and drew in a deep, calming breath.

I am a Stark of Winterfell. These are my woods. This is my North. I will not perish here among my Gods.

Once calmed enough she looked back over her shoulder. Remaining here might be her best option. There was no telling when the next storm might hit, no matter how clearly the stars shone down on her right now. Her chances of survival were lessened greatly if she were caught out in a blizzard.

But he could come back. Still unsure of whom 'he' even is, this thought gave her pause. She had been placed here for a reason. He could be coming back for her at any time. Indecision stayed her feet, but only until her ears detected the first sounds of an approach. It was not quiet or stealthy. No, this was meant for her to hear. The heavy pounding of boots crunching across the frozen ground spurred her into action.

Determination drove her forward as she hiked up her skirts and cloak, breaking out in a full sprint. Her destination was unknown even to her, but it was clear that her body and mind wanted to be as far away from the one who had knocked her unconscious and spirited her away from her home and family. Mindful of her footing, she darted between bare trees and over frozen rocks like a jackrabbit trying to outrun a fox. She never looked back to see if he was gaining on her. She did not dare.

No words were spoken; only the heavy breaths of pursuer and prey dancing on the wintery night air. Sansa flew through the woods, twisting and turning around tree and shrub in an effort to outsmart and outrun her abductor. Gasping and nearly breathless, she finally slowed when she noticed that the sounds of pursuit were no longer behind her. Puffs of white mist escaped her parted lips while her eyes darted around the now silent forest. It was in this moment she longer for Lady.

No harm would befall me with my great direwolf at my side. If I ever make it back home, I'll not be without her protection again.

She stood still as stone and listened, holding her breath. Her heart beat furiously against her ribs, more from terror than exertion. A snap of a twig to her left sent her whirling off in the opposite direction. She'd only gone a few paces when she thought she glimpsed a shadow move directly into her path. With a breathy shriek she turned again and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. A malicious laugh curdled her blood and made her stomach lurch. She pushed harder, faster than she'd ever gone in her life.

It came out of nowhere. She had been looking every which way in an effort to escape her pursuer and had not seen the branch directly in front of her. It caught her high across her chest and sent her sprawling to the frozen ground. Pain radiated from her right shoulder, but she struggled to her feet and was off again. Each movement stabbed her through, but she dare not stop.

There was no mistaking the figure that lunged at her from behind a large fir tree. Her scream bounced around the many obstacles. It gave her no direction though. Blinded by terror, out of breath and out of energy, she stumbled into a clearing.

"No," she gasped, cradling her arm to her chest in an effort to lessen the agony that rippled through her body. She sank to her knees in defeat.

Directly in front of her was the little cottage from which she had fled; only now it was occupied. A man stood in the doorway with his head slightly bowed. A cowl wrapped precisely kept her from seeing his face, but his eyes seemed to glow maliciously from within. Movement on both sides briefly drew her attention away from him. With a sinking heart she counted as three, four, five more men emerged from the forest, their strides slow and purposeful.

Gathering up what little courage and dignity she could muster, she rose to her feet as gracefully as was possible and stared straight ahead with her chin lifted. It took more than a few attempts for her mind to convince her body to move towards the man in the doorway, but eventually her legs obeyed her, shaking only slightly as she daringly approached him.

I am a Stark of Winterfell. She repeated the words in her mind like a mantra, drawing what strength she could from them. By the time she had reached the hooded figure her voice was steady and sure.

"I am Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and friend of the King. I demand to know who you are to keep me captive."

Raucous laughter rang loudly around her, but she kept her head held high. She knew what was at stake here. She knew what her options were as a high born maiden, just as she knew the dangers of her situation. Determination to bear it all with grace and regal pride was all that kept her from shaking in fright.

"A thousand most abject apologies my most gracious lady," the stranger mocked. He swept into a low, exaggerated bow. "I know very well who you are. It was I that arranged for your little excursion from the castle. May I present to you my bannermen. We have Gideon, Wexler, Fry, Lachlan, and the good man who damaged your arm is known only as Reek. Quite the pungent fellow, he is. Now that we are all acquainted, I would request that you join us in this fine little home for some warmth and comfort. You see, we have travelled a long way with only each other for company and are sorely missing the graces only a lady can bestow."

Her stomach in knots and her heart in her throat, Sansa did her best to remain stoic. She knew all too well what 'graces' he was referring to. Though outnumbered by many, she did not intend to go willingly or quietly.

"And what banner is it that you carry?" she challenged quietly.

Her captor laughed jovially and smacked his hidden forehead with the open palm of his hand. "Of course, how forgetful of me! I cannot believe I did not introduce myself properly. I am dealing with a well-bred, impeccably mannered lady of the North, after all. The bannermen would be mine. Lord Ramsay Bolton, my lady, at your service. Although, you will be the one doing all the servicing this fine evening."

Her eyes narrowed on their own accord and her demeanor hardened further. She knew it was not wise to invite further harm, but in her anger she forgot herself.

"You mean Snow, do you not?" She corrected in a low voice.

Ramsay yanked the hood from his head and cleared the distance between them in seconds. His features could have been considered handsome if not for the way they were twisted in fury. He was young, not too much older than Sansa, but very clearly a man and not a boy. The Bastard of Bolton was well known in Winterfell, and she could see why his reputation preceded him.

"Forgetting your courtesies, aren't you, my lady?" he spat through clenched teeth.

Sansa stared back unflinchingly. She knew her comment might cost her greatly. There had been stories among the washer women in her keep of the atrocities Ramsay was known for subjecting whores and low born women to when he bedded them. Whispers were that some had barely survived. Still, she was above him and they both knew it. She would not cower.

When he saw the resolution in her eyes he smiled malignantly. Wrenching her arm in his pinching grasp he hauled her up to him. His lips crashed roughly down onto her mouth, slimly tongue parting her teeth and nearly choking her as it slid to the back of her throat. She desperately tried to pull away, shaking her head this way and that in an effort to escape him, but he pulled her tighter against his lean body. His stiff manhood jabbed into the soft flesh of her lower belly and a cold sweat broke out on her brow. Her teeth clamped down on their own accord and the coppery taste of blood quickly filled her mouth before Ramsay withdrew with a howl of pain.

"Fucking whore!" he screamed. His hand flew and sent her sprawling into the snow.

Cheek ablaze and swelling, she glared balefully up at him. "My father will have your head," she said coldly.

He hooted with dark laughter that was quickly joined by that of his men. Grabbing her by her long braid, he made to drag her behind him. She scrambled up to her feet to lessen painful pull on her head, stumbling blindly after him towards the cabin. Kicking open the door, he hurtled her through the portal and into the far wall with a strength Sansa had not realized he possessed.

"You'll pay for making me bleed, cunt," he swore while wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. His men filed into the dank space, jeering and chuckling among themselves.

"Let's make it the first part of her that bleeds, m'lord," one man suggested with an evil glint in his eye. He was already loosening the laces on his breeches.

"Aye, and I'll take that sweet little arse o' hers, too," another rasped.

"Now my good fellows let us not be hasty in our pleasure. Remember, the Gods saw fit to bless a whore with many holes for us to fill. A lady is no different," Ramsay uttered darkly. He began slinking towards her like a wild cat sizing up its next meal. Fear shook her body, but she managed to keep her voice steady.

"I am worth far more to you with my honor intact," she informed them evenly.

"Honor," one of them scoffed. But it was Ramsay's words that filled her with dread.

"That you are, my lady. You are also worth your weight in gold alive, but I have no intention on delivering you back to Winterfell in either condition. In fact, I have no intention on delivering you anywhere at all. Lads, I believe the lady is overdressed for this occasion." Rowdy cheers and evil laughs filled the small space as they all converged on her like a pack of hounds.

At that, all pretense and courage fled from her mind. She screamed as loudly as her lungs allowed and tried to flee from their grasping, groping hands. Fabric shredded while she kicked, striking out at anything that approached her. Laces tore from their bindings while fur flew and stuck to her sweaty exposed flesh. The sound of her skirts being ripped up to her hips seemed to drown out the ruckus, demanding that she focus solely on that sound. Her terror multiplied when she felt rough hands suddenly on her bare legs. Twisting and turning every which way in an effort to free herself only seemed to spur them on, but she could no longer contain her desperation and panic.

It wasn't until her arms were pinned above her head with her legs being held wide apart that Sansa began to beg for mercy. Sobbing hysterically, she pleaded over and over again for them to stop. Her bodice suddenly tore open leaving her breasts exposed to the freezing air. It only heightened their frenzy and hers.

"PLEASE! PLEASE!" she screamed, voice cracking painfully as the full weight of a man settled between her thighs. Her small clothes were yanked roughly away and hard fingers probed her virginal flesh.

"NO!" she hollered and struggled with all her might. A fierce blow to already aching cheek rattled her teeth and momentarily rendered her dumb. In her silence she could swear she heard the furious whinny of a horse.

A/N: As this was a shorter chapter I *could* be persuaded to update again in a few days.