Sansa jolted awake at the slamming of her bedroom door. It took her a few seconds to realize she was in bed alone and even fewer to realize that it was Myranda in her doorway. Myranda had a large purplish bruise around her eye that Sansa could have sworn she was wearing like a badge of honor. She watched the young girl lock the door and scanned her room for something- anything to defend herself with. Her eyes landed on that dager, the one that she had taken out of the bone of a man's hand. Ramsay had never asked for it back so she had never returned it. Sansa looked at Myranda. Myranda glared back. Sansa jumped for the dagger on her vanity. Myranda lunged for Sansa. A scream tore through the halls of Winterfell.
X
Ramsay walked between his warriors. They weren't volunteers. They weren't people that were pulled from their homes, handed swords and pushed in to battle. These people were trained killers. They were bred for this. Ramsay walked between the different spars going on making comments and barking instructions. There was no room for error on the battlefield. He wasn't going to lose a battle or war ever again in his life. It could cost him his wife and unborn child. He'd rather bend the knee to Joffery.
"Ramsay!"
He spun around and towards Orys.
"What?" he barked.
"Sansa," Orys choked between breaths, "and Myranda. Bedchamber. Locked door."
Ramsay had gotten enough. He brushed through his men quickly and in to Winterfell, beginning to run when he entered the hallways. He was going to flay someone in front of his wife. He was going to skin Myranda alive right there in the bedroom. He turned the corner just in time to see Brienne and Osmund kick the door open in a joint effort of one solid kick. They both paused and Ramsay slowed to a fast walk.
"What the hell are you doing?" He asked as he closed in on them, "Why aren't you helping my w-" his voice caught when he pushed in to the bedroom.
Sansa was straddling and stabbing Myranda nonstop, quick fast movements. He walked up behind her and took in the scene before him. Sansa's hands were covered in blood. It pulsed out of Myranda's chest and throat. Tears were streaming down Sansa's face but she didn't look up from Myranda's face and she didn't show any sign of slowing down. Under normal circumstances he may have been elated with the murderous look his wife displayed, but at the moment it wasn't the most significant thing on his mind.
Brienne, Orys and Osmund stood in the door. They had all heard the shout at the same time. Orys and Osmund had been walking towards the bedroom and Brienne had been almost to her room after leaving it. Osmund had sent Orys to Ramsay immediately after they reached the door and heard the two women yelling at each other. Orys had almost instantly been replaced with Brienne. They'd both banged on the door and attempted to knock it down before realizing they would most likely get the job done with the both of them. It had worked and Orys had gotten Ramsay with impeccable speed.
Ramsay grabbed his wife by her upper arm and pulled her off of Myranda and in to his arms. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and looked at her from her head to her feet. Her hands were bloody and her face was tear streaked. Her hair seemed knotted but he was sure that was from sleep. Blood had made its way on to her night gown, covering a small part of her stomach and the bottom rimming.
"Are you okay?" Ramsay asked.
Sansa opened her mouth and sucked in a large amount of air. Her husband shook her two quick, hard, shakes.
"Answer me," he growled.
"I'm okay," she choked out, "It was- She was- It was her or me,"
"I don't care," Ramsay shrugged, "Is the baby okay?"
Sansa put her hands over her stomach as if she hadn't even thought about it. Ramsay placed one of his hand on her two and she nodded meekly. He wasn't impressed or pacified. His worry turned in to anger.
"You're not walking around here alone anymore," he snapped, "Brienne, Bronn, Orys or Osmund will ALWAYS be with you and I don't care if you cry, get angry or stomp your feet, Lady Stark. You are carrying a child now. YOU SHOULD THINK OF BOTH OF YOU!"
He had shouted the last sentence at her so loud she'd jumped. She nodded mutely and then the tears pooled out of her eyes. The blade fell from her hands with a clatter.
She was an idiot. She was the person that always sent her help away. She hadn't thought about the fact that she was carrying a child now. What if Myranda had stabbed her in the stomach? Ramsay was right she was caring for the both of them now and she was to a very horrible start.
Ramsay sighed and jerked her roughly in to him. He didn't like tears. He didn't like feelings in general and while sadness of others normally made happiness come from him, this was different. This was Sansa, the woman carrying his child, standing before him crying.
Sansa attempted to pull herself together and Ramsay wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and started to lead her out.
"Osmund feed Myranda to my hounds. There's no need to waste good meat," Ramsay said casually, "Orys get our door back on the hinges. Brienne, fetch Shae and have her sent to the bath in the room that used to belong to Catelyn and Ned. Have her pick out some clothes for our lady of the house too, will you?"
"Of course," Brienne took another look at Sansa and then turned abruptly away and started down the hall.
Ramsay helped Sansa quickly down the hall and in to the room that had belonged to her parents and then his father and mother by law. He pushed her in and followed, closing the door behind them. He stripped her and ushered her in to the bath and she sat in the large tub despite the fact that it was empty. He sat on the ground beside the tub, their backs to each other. Silence spilled between them.
Ramsay regretted not killing Myranda when he had the chances. He had so many opportunities to kill her and he wasn't sure why he hadn't. He wasn't going to make that mistake again. He was going to kill anyone that even gave his wife a look he disliked. He was protecting his unborn child and he would not fail at the task no matter what it caused.
"I don't feel remorse," Sansa said, her eyes trained on her legs.
"Good," Ramsay answered.
"I didn't feel anything when I killed Roose. It was a job. It was deserved. It was revenge⦠but when I stabbed Myranda and she began making those- those," her voice hitched, "sounds," she finished, "It was different. I was happy- actually happy to be stabbing her and then I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop stabbing her."
Ramsay stole a glance at his wife's bare back.
"And now you're afraid of yourself?" he snorted, "That's why you were crying?"
"I'm afraid of what I'm capable of."
"You can stab the entire damn north if you want," Ramsay shrugged, "There's just the two of us and our baby, Sansa. I could care less about the rest."
Sansa searched his words and put a hand to her stomach.
"You're right," she said to his surprise, "Just the three of us."
Ramsay hopped to his feet in one swift movement and walked over to the tub. He looked down at his wife, her head leaned back, her bloody hand cradling the life they had both created and for a second- just one his blue eyes glinted.
X
Jon looked to his left where Tormund stood. Tormund was a solid man with shaggy red hair and a rather large beard. He was the leader of the free folk as they liked to be referred to as. He was dressed in the typical wildling clothing made of more animal skins than actual fabrics. He was a contrast to the leaner, but not muscularly inferior Jon Snow, still in his Night's Watch clothing. Jon's black hair had grown a little since his rise from the dead. It was funny how small things like haircare became nonexistent when you'd managed to come back from the other side.
They were looking out over the wall. They were set to leave at the next day break. They were prepared. They had packed all that they needed and he had sent a raven to Sansa letting her know that they would be on their way soon. He was ready to be rid of this damn wall and all of the memories it held. He was tired of being haunted of the deaths of his brothers, of his lost love Ygritte, and his own death. He was sick of looking over his shoulder every three minutes in anticipation of one of his friends stabbing him. He was sick of checking for night walkers ever hour on the hour. He would never be rid of any of that though. He would never be rid of the memories and he surely would not be rid of the night walkers. The long night was coming and there was little that he could do. Sansa had written to him that she had a plan to get him help for the long night. He believed and trusted her. He was happy to know she was okay. He couldn't help worrying about Arya though. They had always been the closest. He had been the unwanted son and she had been the daughter that wanted to be a son. They had been two different sets of disappointments to their parents. His thoughts went back to the night he had given her needle. Sansa had said she'd gotten word that Arya was okay. He wasn't going to get his hopes up. If she was okay, he was trusting the old Gods and the new to return her to them. That was all that he could do. The world was too big for him to scour it in search of her no matter how much he wanted to try.
"So," Tormund awoke him from his trance, "You're sure my people will be fine there?"
"Of course," Jon nodded, "Sansa has given me her word and that of her husband. My sister wouldn't betray your people."
Tormund nodded once and crossed his arms over his chest.
X
Tyrion had heard of the drama with Myranda and Sansa and honestly it made him afraid. It made him afraid for his queen and the child that she was carrying. According to Brienne, Ramsay wouldn't be letting Sansa out of his sight any time soon. He couldn't blame him.
Shae had been summoned to meet the couple and Brienne had raged about Orys and Osmund not being on time to their watch. Tyrion personally felt that it was no one's fault. Myranda had merely walked right by Brienne. She had been a handmaid. People were used to seeing her walk the halls. She hadn't looked out of place.
However, while Brienne was more than happy to fill Tyrion in on what she knew, Orys and Osmund weren't much of talkers. They typically only spoke to each other and Ramsay. Tyrion had decided that they were who the "Bastard's Boys" were. He had heard tales of them and Ramsay terrifying people throughout their territory. He was happy that they were on Sansa's side.
Brienne had told Tyrion that Sansa's room was a bloody mess. He had gone to see it himself all the same. The room Sansa and Ramsay had shared was in chaos. The bed was in disarray. A chair was shattered. Blood littered the floor between the bath bin and the bed. There were bloody footprint leading down the hall. There were feathers tossed around from what looked like a slit through one of Sansa's pillows. Tyrion had scratched the back of his head as he'd walked around the chaos. He was glad Sansa was okay. There were so many ways this could have ended. Two of Sansa's handmaid had come to clean the mess when he let himself out of the room and heard what sounded like horns in the distance.
Tyrion headed up the nearest stairs and out in to the blistering cold. He could see pretty far from where he stood in Winterfell. He looked out through the soft snow that threatened to continue to spill and could have sworn he saw an army- a rather large one. Tyrion shaded his eyes and saw it- a bird.
"Damn it," he cursed.
Peytr Baelish. He turned away from the scene before him and headed back inside. He needed to fetch Sansa and Ramsay. He understood that she had, had a highly eventful morning, but there was no rest to be had when you're the queen of the north.
A/N: This was that filler I've been warning about, but at least I got Myranda killed. Also, chapters MAY be a little slower now. I caught some sort of cold and when I'm sick I'm a huge baby that just takes medicine and sleeps all day. I apologize. I will still write in between conscious moments. Thank you to everyone that reads, reviews, and follows this story. Thank you to the people that just read a little and decide that this isn't the fic for them. I appreciate you all and I am honestly blessed and humbled by the amount of love this fic has received. I never thought I'd have so many people reading my work. Thank you again! I can never say it enough.
