SANSA

"My lady, I have done everything in my power, but I fear it won't be nearly enough."

Maester Derron told me with his kindly and soft voice as he changed my bandages. His touch was soft and warm and his movements deft and practiced. His bony fingers felt nothing like Ramsay's thick ones on my skin, but still, it took every ounce of my willpower and concentration to stay still and let the old man touch me.

"Scarring is inevitable I'm afraid."

He said as he stepped away from me, clearly having finished his task and I let out a breath I had not realized I'd been holding. I put on my chemise hastily and I gave a slight nod his way seeing him bow in the corner of my eye, ready to leave.

"Maester, wait."

I said in flash of bravery.

I have to say it now, before it's too late.

I thought, steeling myself for what I was about to ask of him.

"How else may I be of service my lady?"

He asked and I turned to look at him. I hated looking into the Maester's eyes. Every time he looked at me I could see pity clearly reflected there. Sometimes it bothered me so much I wanted to claw his eyes out…

"By brewing me some moon tea."

I said with a polished smile and a determined tone. For once the Maester looked at me with something other than pity. Surprise had left him speechless for a moment.

"My lady, you are already weak and you have lost a lot of blood. If you are with child, the moon tea will make you bleed and I won't be able stop it."

The old man said gravely.

"I have survived much worse Maester. I would have the tea after I break my fast."

I told him icily and the pity returned to his eyes once again.

"As you wish Lady Stark."

The old man said stiffly and turned to leave.

"And speak no word of it to anyone."

I told him authoritatively and I saw him solemnly nod in agreement, leaving at once to comply with my request. The moment the door closed, I let a sigh escape my lips and my shoulders slumped under some invisible weight.

I will take a life today.

I thought with a sense of foreboding. I had not seen my moon's blood for the past three moons and during my stay at Winterfell the thought of carrying that monster's child had tortured me worse than Ramsay's knives did. It sickened me to know I could do nothing about it, but now I was free…

I heard a knock on the door and I immediately straightened my back, biding the person behind it to enter. I already knew it was Ella, my handmaiden by the timid way she knocked, and soon she entered my chambers. She was a sweet girl, just four and ten with brown hair and brown eyes and with a face as northern as the mountains we were in. Ella always looked at me as if I was a princess from a song, her admiration a stark contrast to the Maester's pity.

I don't deserve it. I am no princess and my life would make for a dismal song.

I thought, but refrained from opening the girl's eyes, letting the sweet summer child enjoy her innocence a little longer. Ella helped me don the black dress I had chosen while she gossiped endlessly about the other servants. I was too preoccupied with my reflection in the looking glass to pay her any attention though. From the first moment I laid my eyes on it I had hated it. I felt as if I was gazing upon a stranger. The woman there looked like me, with red hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones, but she was different; I was different. It was not the black circles under my eyes, or the gauntness of my cheeks. It was the eyes. Those eyes that looked so much like mine had no light inside them. They were not the eyes of a young maid full of hopes and dreams; they were the eyes of an old weary woman, full of bitterness and pain. I tore my gaze from my reflection and focused on the falling snow outside instead, blocking out the things that caused that light in my eyes to die.

Ella was fixing my hair, talking about Jon again in a hushed voice. I could not see her face, but I knew she was blushing profusely as she went on and on about his looks and his manners and his skill with the sword. Every time she spoke about him, she reminded me of the little girl I was before; the one who believed in songs and mooned over the knight of flowers along with Jeyne Poole. My emotions were conflicting and confusing. I wanted to shout at her that all men were monsters. I wanted to be like her again, with starry eyes and easy smiles. And most of all I wanted her to stop talking about Jon like that, fearing her words would prove to be false, as mine had for everyone else…

Jon is my only beacon of hope…

I thought as the maid finished my northern hairstyle leaving my room with a bow. I put on my cloak, the grey one that belonged to my mother and exited my chambers, heading to the Hall on my own for the very first time. Walking down the corridor I could hear the muffled voices of the servants as they cleaned the rooms and the feint clangor of swords from the yard. The noises could have reminded me of the Red Keep, but the voices had a northern accent and the yard was covered in snow, so the only things that came to mind were memories of Winterfell of my childhood.

I had longed to return to it with such ferocity, I let Littlefinger convince me it was a good idea to marry Ramsay Bolton.

It seems like everything I desire, the Gods give it to me, but in a cruel and twisted way; as if punishing me for wanting them the first place.

If any God exists anywhere in this world, he is not benevolent, nor forgiving, but maleficent and unmerciful, destroying our lives while laughing at our ruin, as Sweetrobin did when he destroyed "Winterfell" with his doll in the Eyrie.

I thought grimly and I returned to reality. Soon my footsteps brought me to the doors of the Hall and I stepped inside, with my impassive mask in place. As I walked towards the dais I could feel the eyes of the men piercing right through me. Each of them carried another sentiment for me, varying from distrust to curiosity and from pity to respect. I ignored them all, like a proper lady should, and sat on my seat gracefully. I ate a bowl of porridge slowly while making small-talk with the other ladies about the sewing of the banners and about embroidery techniques. Jon was nowhere in sight, but the same could be said for many more men.

They are probably making preparations for war.

I thought and shoved him off my mind. After all, I was too preoccupied with keeping up appearances, when my mind was to the moon tea that awaited me in my chambers. I told nobody of what I was about to do, half-afraid they would try to stop me or dissuade me. I returned to my room in a hurry, running up the stairs when nobody was watching. By the time I reached my floor I was panting and bleeding. Several of my wounds tore open in my haste, staining the bandages the Maester had changed only this morning.

As the door to my chambers came into view, I spotted the Maester waiting for me outside, holding a steaming cup. I thanked him and almost closed the door to his face, denying his care. After all he was the one to tell me he wouldn't be able to help me if anything went wrong…

I drank the concoction in one gulp, surprised by its sweet taste and ordered one of the maids to prepare a bath for me.

If I am to bleed, then at least I will not turn the whole room into a slaughterhouse.

I thought and sat by the fire, working on Jon's gift as I waited. I was going to make him Stark clothes, cloak and armor, identical to the ones father used to wear. I had already finished sewing the cloak yesterday night by the fire, so I started on the jerkin. It was quite easy to make and I had already half-finished it when the servants came in with pails full of steaming water for my bath. I let them prepare it as I kept on sewing and then I sent them away, demanding not to be disturbed.

I was adding the final touches to the jerkin when I felt a sharp stab on my lower abdomen that made me double over in pain.

It has begun.

I thought as I got up, removing my clothes with trembling fingers.

I will not die today. I am a wolf. I am strong.

I thought to myself as I tossed my dress on the bed haphazardly. By the time I was naked, the blood had already run all the way to my knees and a tiny puddle had formed on the floor. I stepped in the tub and let myself soak in the warm scented water, watching it slowly turn from clear to pink. It no longer smelled of winter roses, but of blood. Soon everything started to hurt inside and in my mind it was Ramsay hurting me, stabbing me repeatedly with an amused smile on his face and a crazy glint in his pale eyes.

I was woken up by a loud bang, feeling weak and drowsy. Through half-lidded eyes I made out the dark silhouette of a man on the door.

"Sansa! Oh gods…"

He exclaimed in panic. I had only managed to blink, but he was already beside me, looking frantic and horrified.

"Jon…"

I whispered weakly. Even in my own ears, his name sounded more like a plea than a greeting.

"Sansa, what have you done?"

He snarled at me, making me flinch with his tone.

"All that blood… What happened? Where is the Maester?"

He shouted in panic, probably alerting the whole Keep as he kneeled beside me, his hands grasping the edge of the tub so tight, his knuckles whitened.

"Shhh…"

I told him, putting my finger on his lips to silence him. They were soft to the touch and warm and now they were also wet with water and blood; my blood. His grey eyes that were wide with panic just a moment ago had widened even more in surprise at my touch.

"It's the Moon tea."

I whispered to him as I let my hand fall back into the tub with a soft splash. The drops that flew in the air were pink. When I looked down into the water, it was much darker than I thought it would be and it had also gone cold.

How long was I in the tub?

I wondered, and stole a glance at the window. It was still twilight, but dusk was approaching fast. I had spent too many hours submerged in the tub.

"I was carrying his child, but it's gone now."

I told him as I looked back to his face. I was expecting to see disgust and disdain there, maybe even pity, but Jon was looking at me with sad grey eyes that spoke of understanding and something that looked like love.

Love… as if anyone could love me.

I thought hazily, dismissing the possibility completely.

"I understand… you have to get out of the tub though Sansa. I will fetch your handmaiden and the Maester."

He said decisively as he made to get up. I stilled him with a hand on his bicep.

"No Jon, please not Ella, she is only a child."

I begged him in a strained whisper, remembering the way her eyes shined. I didn't want those eyes to be tainted by the image Jon had before him.

"And the Maester can do nothing. He told me so already."

I continued as a shiver racked my spine. I felt frozen and half-dead.

"Who do you want me to call then?"

He asked sounding desperate and looking very uncomfortable.

"Nobody. I'll do it myself."

I told him as I gingerly shifted my body to rise from the cold, bloody waters. I drowned out his protests and I almost succeeded in kneeling, when my hand slipped. I prepared myself for the impact, but it never came. Jon had steadied me.

"Please, allow me."

He said gruffly. I nodded in agreement, shushing the voice inside me that panicked in the prospect of him seeing me naked when I was so vulnerable.

He has already seen me in my room at Winterfell and in the woods, yet he did nothing to hurt me then… Jon would never hurt me.

I thought as I felt his warm hands leave my shoulders, the loss of his heat making me shudder. He dipped them into the water and lifted me up as if I weighted nothing. I was shivering violently and the room was spinning as if I had drank a whole pitcher of ale, but even then, a small voice inside my head whispered that it wasn't proper to be naked in Jon's arms.

No it's not, but I don't care about propriety anymore… and it feels good to be his arms.

I retorted to the old Sansa. It was not a lie that it felt good to be held by Jon. It felt warm and safe in his arms; it felt like home. But all too soon he laid me on the cold bed, taking it all away. I sighed in disappointment; certain he was going to leave me there. He proved me wrong though. As I drifted in and out of consciousness I felt him dry me off with a towel and dress me in my nightgown. Then he tucked me into the sleeping furs and I was out like a candle.

I woke with a scream from my nightmare, feeling scared, disoriented and weak. The room was dark and the only light came from the logs that burned in the hearth. Jon was sitting on a chair beside me in the same clothes he had been wearing before, with his curls loose, framing his face in a black halo. He had been polishing his sword, but now he was looking at me with intense dark eyes that were full of emotions I couldn't decipher. I could scarcely believe he had stayed vigil beside me the whole time I slept.

"What time is it?"

I asked him in a voice thick from disuse.

"You were dreaming of him."

He stated sullenly, ignoring my question all-together as he wiped Longclaw with a cloth using long, practiced strokes. I sat upright on the bed expecting the same sharp pain from before to bloom in my lower abdomen. Instead there was only a dull ache, easy to ignore, unlike Jon's statement.

"I wonder what gave it away."

I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

"You were begging him to stop."

His honest words nonplused me and snippets of my dream came back to me, making me flinch.

I leaned towards my nightstand to fill my cup with whatever was in the pitcher. My throat was dry as the sands of Dorne and I needed something warm and liquid to soothe it. I found the cup already almost full and I glanced at Jon, asking silently for permission to drink from his cup. He gave me a slight nod to go ahead, never breaking his sullen expression. I downed the whole cup in three long swallows. The ale tasted bitter on my tongue, but it soothed my parched throat and warmed my belly all the same. I stayed silent for a while, waiting for the ale to take away some of my inhibitions. I needed all the help I could get to pull off what I was about to do… Soon my head started to buzz pleasantly and I felt a little bolder, so I took a deep breath, getting ready to talk.

"In the beginning I begged him to stop every time he hurt me."

I confessed in a hushed voice, sounding much less intoxicated than I actually felt. I heard him take a sharp breath in surprise.

"Sansa you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Especially now, after… that."

He assured me, probably remembering what I told him the first night I woke up in this room. He was too considerate, but I couldn't stop now.

"I have to and I want to."

I told him sincerely, determined to continue.

Jon deserves to know; Jon has to know.

I thought to myself, remembering hazily yesterday's council and how ignorant all those men were of the monster's way of thinking. They would never listen to me, but they would surely listen to Jon.

It was more than that though… I had let myself trust him. Maybe not completely; at least not yet, but he had gone above and beyond to ensure my wellbeing and my happiness, asking for nothing in return. He was my pack, my family…

"I realized he loved to hear me scream and beg though, so I fought to remain silent, to rob him of his pleasure."

I continued as I poured myself another cup of ale spilling some on the nightstand. I took a small sip this time, wishing only to maintain my slight intoxication.

"But then he just found worse ways to hurt me, to humiliate me, just so he could get off."

I said in a dead voice, as Jon flinched and took the cup from my hands, bringing it to his own lips and draining it in a single gulp, just as I did just moment's ago.

"And in the end, I no longer stayed silent to spite him. I stayed silent because the pain no longer meant anything. I stayed silent because I was dead inside."

I told him and I saw his eyes fill with rage and pain. He slammed the cup on the nightstand, startling me.

"Don't say that… you… you don't know what it's like to be dead Sansa…"

He reprimanded me while shaking his head in dismay. I saw his dark curls bounce and fall before his eyes, only for him to put them back in place with an annoyed huff.

"Maybe I don't, but you do…"

I agreed with him, letting my voice trail off. In the firelight I saw him clench his jaw and purse his lips, clearly displeased by the course our conversation had taken.

"What was it like Jon?"

I asked him in a hushed whisper. For a moment he stayed silent and broody and I thought he hadn't heard me, but then he spoke.

"I can't really explain it with words… There was nothing there but complete darkness and unimaginable cold. There were no gods, no heaven, no hell, no loved ones; just endless emptiness."

He was looking into the flames as he spoke, as if he was talking to them instead of me and his right hand was rubbing circles on his chest absentmindedly, on the place right above his heart.

For some reason I had already anticipated his answer. I had stopped believing in the Seven the same day father lost his head in the steps of the Sept of Baelor and I had stopped believing in the old gods the night Ramsay Bolton raped me for the first time with Theon watching; the night he married me before the heart tree.

"Then, if we lose, I will die happy, knowing death will be better than being in the mercy of Ramsay Bolton."

I told him sincerely. I poured myself another cup of ale, drinking deeply, as if its warmth would somehow be enough to chase away the chill that had settled in my heart.

Nothing will ever be able to make my heart feel warm again.

I shuddered at the truth of those words, wishing I could somehow prove them false, but knowing there was no such chance. Jon was silent and broody, so I passed him the cup again, knowing he needed it. His fingers brushed mine and once again a strange tingling traveled from the tips of my fingers, all the way to the base of my spine. He appeared unaffected by it though and I brushed it off as one of the effects of the ale, which had already started to mess with my head.

"Nothing in this life is worse than death Sansa."

Jon said calmly, in a grave voice. I didn't give him a reply, knowing our experiences were different, but equally traumatic. We were both dead in a sense. Jon was a resurrected corpse and I was a living person with a dead soul.

Well, it seems like Jon was right in his speech after all… only if you put us together we can make a whole person.

I thought wryly, letting a sigh escape my lips at the futility of it all.

"Do you think we have a chance of winning against him?"

I asked him, needing his reassurance.

"I… Sansa, I don't know yet. We won't be getting replies to our letters for a few days, and without knowing how many men we have, I can't even start thinking of strategies. But I want you to know that I will do anything and everything in my power to win."

He promised me and I wanted to believe him, but it was hard. It was hard because I knew Jon was not the kind of man to make the kind of sacrifices his promise implied.

No. Ramsay is the kind of man to do anything and everything to win…

"You think you have him all figured out, don't you?"

I asked him with a sarcastic smile, almost laughing in his face at his ignorance. The ale had made my mind murky, but I still had some restraint, so I used it to stifle the laugh that threatened to erupt from my chest. Jon didn't answer, but his eyes projected the answer clear enough.

"Yes. Yes I do."

He thought, but he knew nothing.

"He is a monster Jon. He has no understanding of good and evil. He feels no compassion, no love, no devotion, no remorse. He takes pleasure in other people's pain and he loves breaking his new toys in the most savage and humiliating way he can think of. He is delusional, believing himself a trueborn son, flaying whoever says he is bastard-born. He is completely mad and unpredictable, making on the spot decisions that prove to be traps of extreme cunning and cruelty. And he feels no fear, believing himself to be somehow invincible and taking extreme risks that nobody had even seen coming. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants Jon, please understand that."

I told him desperately as I worried my lip, laying on the table every piece of Ramsay's character I have managed to accumulate over the past four moons, but Jon seemed unimpressed.

"I may have not lived with him, but I have seen what he's done to you. I have heard every little thing you've said about him, all the insinuations you've made and I have also heard the rumors about him that had travelled all the way to the Wall. I am not stupid Sansa, so please don't insult my intelligence."

He said with anger shimmering beneath the hurt in his voice. I let a sigh escape me, feeling awful for filling Jon's mind with Ramsay's foul and twisted ways.

"I'm sorry Jon."

I apologized, looking down at my hands on my lap and tugging at my sleeve in nervousness.

"What for?"

He asked and as he shifted on the chair. I kept my eyes down in shame.

"For telling you all that… I wanted to shield you from the ugliness of his mind. I wanted you to never know how much darkness and evil there can be in a man's heart. You are gentle and kind and honorable, with a good heart and I didn't want to smudge you with all the filth that I carry, but it was necessary. You see that, don't you?"

I asked him pleadingly, still looking at my hands.

I heard the chair creak and suddenly the mattress dipped under his weight beside me. I saw him reach for my hands and I let him clasp them inside his. An inaudible gasp escaped my lips at the shock that went through me once more at his warm touch and I hoped it went unnoticed.

"Sansa there is no need for you to shield me from Ramsay Bolton or anyone for that matter. If anything, it's my job to shield you from him, as your older brother."

He said gently as warmth bled from his hands into my own frozen ones.

"And you couldn't soil me even if you wanted to, because to me you are the only light there is in this world."

He said with a small smile. In the darkness I thought I saw him blush, but I wasn't sure. I remembered thinking just this morning that Jon was my only beacon of hope and I realized with a start that whenever he looks at me, he sees the same thing I see when I look at him;

A ray of hope.

I thought and I couldn't help but smile back at him.

"It's late. I'll leave you to rest."

Jon said abruptly. He let my hands fall back on my lap, looking almost frantic in his haste.

No, no no! He can't leave!

My mind screamed at me in panic at the prospect of being alone in the darkness. If he left, Ramsay would come to punish me for what I did and this time I would really deserve it…

"I thought you'd stay here and keep me company."

I said as calmly as I could, considering the desperation I felt.

"I need to rest as well you know."

He said in a light tone, but his expression was too sullen to match.

"You can rest here."

I retorted stubbornly, pouting at him. Maybe if I hadn't drunk that much I would have stayed silent. I knew I should let him go to his room. I knew I deserved to suffer for what I had done today, but I was too scared…

"I can scarcely sleep on my bed Sansa… the chair will hardly do."

He said morosely and I frowned at him.

"Not on the chair; you can sleep on the bed. I'm sure Ghost won't mind if you take his place now that he's not here."

I saw him blanch at my statement, as if I asked him to lie in a nest of vipers.

"No, I can't… I would never…"

He stuttered shaking his head in denial as he gathered his cloak from the back of the chair, ready to leave.

Jon Snow… shy and noble as ever. And determined to protect my virtue, even though there is none left to protect.

I thought wryly. I wanted him to stay though, because without him; without Ghost, I wouldn't make it.

"Please Jon…"

I breathed out and I saw his determination crack. I knew I was selfish and that I was manipulating him. Maybe in the morning I would feel bad about it, but I couldn't let him leave tonight.

"Sansa…"

He started with a pained expression, but I stopped him.

"I took a life today Jon. Please, please, don't leave me alone."

I pleaded him as moved to get out from the bed and closer to him. The moment he saw what I was about to do he threw the cloak back on the chair and came beside me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Fine. I will stay, but please don't get up."

He reconciled as he pushed me gently back onto the mattress. His warmth seeped through my nightgown to my skin and I shivered from the cold air of the room when he took his hands off me. I huddled into the sleeping furs and waited for Jon to join me on the bed. Instead of undressing to lie beside me though, he just walked over to the chair again and sat on it with his legs stretched out before him.

Honorable to a fault.

I thought to myself as I watched him rest his head on the wall behind him, closing his eyes. He pretended to be asleep, but he couldn't fool me.

I stayed awake all night watching Jon pretend to be asleep until the light of the hearth died, leaving the room dark and quiet, save for his rhythmic breaths and the cacophony of thoughts in my mind.

It took me three days to recover from the effects of the moon tea. I had too much time on my hands and too little to occupy my mind with during my recovery abed. I finished Jon's new clothes on the second day and now and I was simply waiting for the blacksmith to provide me with the armor. On the third day I started working on a dark blue velvet dress for myself, but the sewing and stitching was something I did mechanically, so my mind was free to wonder into territories I did not wish to visit…

Yesterday came three ravens, two of them from Deepwood Motte. One was from Robbet Glover, denying us his support and one was from Larence Snow, swearing us his fealty, his sword and all the Hornwood men he could rally against the Bolton bastard who killed Lady Donella after he wed her. The third was from Lady Jonelle Cerwyn, claiming she had nothing left to offer us.

Today there were more denials, by the Manderlys and the Tallharts, but we still awaited a reply from House Mormont and House Reed. There also came a raven from Castle Black carrying three parchments rolled into one. Jon said the first letter bore the broken seal of the flayed man. According to him, Ramsay demanded they bring me back to him, along with Jon's head to mount on the walls of Winterfell. That was to be expected, but the unexpected part was the signature at the end. Jon said, it read "Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North" in Ramsay's big spiky letters. Obviously Roose Bolton met an untimely death quite recently, probably right after he called the banners.

The second letter was a copy of the Lord Commander's reply to him. He stated that Jon Snow had died more than a moon past and that the Watch burns all bodies. He also claimed that no Sansa Stark had come to Castle Black and that the Warden of the North was more than welcome to come see the truth of his words for himself.

The third was an update. The Lord Commander informed Jon that the Wildlings were already marching south along with a giant, the Red Woman and Lord Seaworth. He also said that the Wall was still standing and that there had been no attacks from the Others to it as of yet.

Things looked pretty grim. Jon kept claiming we could win during the council meetings, but I could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. I wanted to do something to help, but as things stood now, the Boltons had two thousand men more than us and they had Winterfell. They could even write to the Freys to send a few more thousands to their aid, if they wanted to be on the safe side.

That was the moment a terrible idea got lodged inside my head. Littlefinger told me before he left Winterfell that the knights of the Vale would camp on Moat Cailin, under Lord Royce's command until his return. They were ten thousand strong and eager to shed blood. Littlefinger would have no doubt already made for Moat Cailin after he heard of my escape. I could write him a letter to ask for his help.

And then, when we have won, I will reward him with a stab in the back, just the way he taught me.

I thought, already forming a plan in my mind. It was simple yet devious; just the way Littlefinger liked them. But this time around, he would be the pawn and I the player. Of course Littlefinger was a hard man to play with, but he was a man nonetheless, with desires and dreams and I was probably the only person in the Seven Kingdoms with intimate knowledge of said desires and dreams. Some part of me was disgusted at myself, not only because I was thinking of asking for his help, but because I was becoming like him; a man I hated. I drowned out that part though, because I knew his help could be the difference between life and death. And because I understood that Littlefinger had to be dealt with, if I ever wanted to feel safe again. After all, I had no delusions he would leave me alone; not when he was so obsessed with me. And it would be so much easier to dispose of him if he perceived me as an ally, rather than a foe.

The only problem was Jon…

I could tell him; after all he already claimed he would do anything to win. Jon though was an honorable man and he would never bring himself to side with the likes of Petyr Baelish.

No, it would be too risky to tell him anything…

If Littlefinger never came, then we would be left hanging, so it was best to base our strategies on our current manpower. On the other hand, if Littlefinger heeded my call and helped us win, Jon would not be able to bide his time and wait for the deceit and subterfuge I had in mind to work. By confiding in Jon, I would have to tell him of the things Littlefinger did to deserve my wrath and then, he would just take his head after the battle, with little regard to the political damage such an act would cause.

But gods, how I yearned to see his head on a spike, right next to Ramsay's and Arnolf Karstark's… and if Joffrey was still alive it would have been sweet to see his head mounted on the walls of Winterfell as well, but the gods denied me of that pleasure.

I sat on my desk, taking a quill in hand, and started to write the way his trusted daughter, Alayne, would have. For good measure, I even promised him a reward and signed underneath as Sansa Stark, sealing the letter with the direwolf of House Stark.

I put on my cloak and a pair of leather gloves, fixing my hair as I walked out of my chambers. The moment I exited the building, I pulled up my hood to ward off the cold and protect myself from the falling snow. I worked on the story I would tell the Maester in my head. It sounded shallow and entirely too believable coming from the lips of a young maiden. I was no maiden though and the days I entertained such thoughts were long gone. The moment I reached the last step of the tower, I had already chosen carefully every word I would say.

The rookery had no door, so I simply walked in, finding the Maester feeding the ravens with kernels of corn. It was quite easy to persuade him to send the letter. I told him of Harry the Heir, my one true love, who I left back in the Vale to marry for duty. I blushed prettily as I told him how he promised he would wait for me to send him a raven at Moat Cailin, where Littlefinger had left a small garrison to guard the North and how much I longed to hear from him. I almost felt bad for lying to him so shamelessly, but the pity in his eyes made me reconsider.

That night I did not sleep. I was too anxious, too worried. I regretted sending the raven a thousand times, wishing it would get lost or shot down by an arrow, only to argue with myself that it was the only sensible thing to do; that it was necessary.

Sometime into the night Ghost shifted beside me, opening his big red eyes and stretching his huge body. I paid him no mind, certain he would sleep again soon. He grew restless though and soon he started nudging my arm. I petted him behind his ears to calm him, but he took the sleeve of my nightgown between his teeth instead and started pulling me from the bed. He didn't make a sound, he never did after all, but his crimson eyes were pleading me to come with him. I got up and followed him to the door, opening it for him in case he wanted to go hunt or relieve himself. He did not release my sleeve though, pulling me out of the room and into the freezing corridor. I tried to get back inside to put on my cloak, but Ghost was unrelenting.

I hope he doesn't want me to take him for a walk in the middle of the night.

I thought grimly, deciding I would let him tear my nightgown and go back inside, if that was the case. Thankfully we didn't have to go very far. The moment we reached the next door, Jon's door, Ghost started scratching it with his claws. Fear crushed my chest like an icy fist.

Jon! Oh no…

My mind screamed at me and I wrenched the door open in panic, certain something terrible had happened to him. I was ready to scream for help, but the harsh winter wind knocked the breath out of me. I quickly scanned the room in the moonlight and found only Jon on his bed, thrashing around and whimpering with a pained expression on his face. The window was wide open, letting the snow and the frost inside and there was no fire in the hearth.

What was he thinking, falling asleep with the window open in winter?

I wondered as I bolted it, careful not to step on the snow on the floor and then I quickly walked over to Jon. Ghost was pacing beside him like a wild beast in a cage, but I walked past him and sat by Jon's side.

He was panting and crying out in pain, as he thrashed around trying to protect himself from invisible enemies. He had kicked off his furs and he was naked save for his cotton undergarments. A fleeting thought came into my mind that I shouldn't be in the same room as my half-naked brother, but Jon's cries drowned it.

He must be freezing.

I thought, but, in the faint moonlight that streamed through the windows, I saw that his skin glistened like polished silver from sweat, making the terrible black wounds on his chest and abdomen more prominent. When he told me of his death, I believed him only because of the haunted look in his eyes and later when he showed everyone in the Wull's Hall his chest, my doubts diminished thanks to the men's reaction, but now that I was seeing them with my own eyes, there was not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that Jon had indeed died.

Poor Jon… What have they done to you?

I wondered silently, feeling sad for him. I put my freezing hand on his damp forehead, brushing away his dark curls and started singing to him a song mother used to sing to me whenever I had nightmares as a child. It was the first time in years I sang for somebody because I wanted to. I sang for the Hound because I was afraid of what he would do to me if I didn't and for Littlefinger I sang because it was expected of me, but for Jon I did it because I wanted to, with all my heart. The tune was familiar and soothing, the words soft and calming, but it did nothing to relax him. When I reached the third verse he woke with a sharp gasp.

My voice faltered at the promise of violence in his eyes and the song died in my throat. I instinctively pried my hand from his hair, but he grasped it with surprising gentleness, stilling it somewhere above his chest. His eyes trained on my face and they were sad now, sadder than I had ever seen them and desperate.

"Please, don't stop."

He whispered hoarsely, letting my hand go.

I should leave…

I thought, feeling shocked at his unexpected request and a little frightened by the way he looked at me the moment he woke.

He appeared feral and dangerous. He can hurt me.

My inner voice continued.

No, Jon is not a threat. He is just Jon and he needs me now, just as I needed him that night.

I retorted to the scared Sansa, feeling determined to return Jon the favor. I resumed my singing and my hand returned to his soft black curls, caressing them soothingly. Slowly his muscles relaxed and his expression became serene. I was shivering and my breath was misting before me from the frost, but I kept on singing, determined to offer him what little comfort I could. By the time the song ended, Jon was asleep once again; his chest rising and falling rhythmically with every puff of breath he released.

I covered him with his sleeping furs and lit a fire to chase away the cold that had settled in the room. I left him to rest, returning back to my own chambers with Ghost in tow wondering what kind of monsters plagued Jon's nightmares.