SANSA

The wildling camp was wide and sparse, filled with tents and small constructions that could be moved every day and rebuilt every night.

They had come from the Gift and their seats on the Wall. Giants came from Eastwatch and spearwives from Long Barrow, led mostly by a woman called Black Maris. Soren Shieldbreaker's people came from Stonedoor while the bulk of Tormund's fighting men and woman marched from Oakenshield. Gerrick Kingsblood had no fighting men, but he stood with the others in councils, although Sansa noticed he was mostly ignored. Brogg and the Great Walrus barely spoke to anyone while the Oldfather whom Jon said had almost eighteen wives would listen intently to every word, all three brought men to the fight. The last to arrive had been Dim Dalba, a gruffly looking man, who brought warriors from the settlements. Sigorn, the Magnar of Thenn followed them everywhere, but Jon had told her he probably wouldn't fight.

"I'm responsible for his father's death" Jon told her one afternoon as he explained to her about them.

It was a sad idea, for as far as Sansa could tell the almost two hundredth thenns were the better armed of the free folk. They wore bronze armor and weapons. The rest bore axes, short swords, spears of stone and hardened wood, hardly they had true steel, although almost every wildling knew how to use a bow. She knew Jon had the intention of instructing them in warfare as best as he could as they gathered support from the rest of the North. He talked them into digging trenches every night and building stakes that could be carried in the march, he spoke of formations and attacks, but Sansa was not sure it would have any effect in such a short notice.

"It will be good for them to know the enemy anyway." Jon said when she questioned him about it.

She was not convinced, even more as she compared them to the many armies she had seen in King's Landing, the Vale and from the Boltons themselves… Still, they were almost three thousand strong and the giants certainly caused an impression. Sansa had stood mounted at the side of the road as they passed, a dozen of them led by Wun Wun, all big, haired and with the heads small in comparison to the bodies. They came bearing big pieces of wood as clubs, almost tree trunks to fight, five were even mounted on the mammoths, hairy beasts with tusks and an awful smell which she didn't notice until Tormund spoke of it.

"Always keep yer tent away if yer not used to the smell, although why someone would want that? Har!"

Sansa hadn't been affected by the comment though. "They are still beautiful" She had remarked, almost letting herself feel in one of Old Nan's tales as the great beings made the earth shake at their passing, listening as Jon spoke about them.

"They can be even bigger in some cases" Her brother explained, looking quite good in his new cloak. "When they get older their fur becomes gray and white, and they value their mounts a lot. The mammoths are sacred to them, and each has a bond with their mount."

"Like our Direwolves" She remarked seeing the corners of his lips tug slightly as Ghost nudged his hand.

"Aye, I suposse so." Her brother answered, his gray eyes watching their passage. "When Mance attacked the Wall he had almost a hundredth giants in his army…"

His voice trailed off to nothing and Sansa could feel the sadness edging the eagerness in which he spoke. There were thousands, then hundredths, now there is less, driven away by men, away from their lands and hills, and the thought made Sansa sad.

They are just like us, once there were many Starks, now we are lost and scattered and hoping to be alive when everything ends.

"Ygritte really filled yer head, crow" Tormund remarked as she saw a widling speaking with the giants in the Old Tongue, the grumbles and noises barely seeming like words as far as she knew. Jon's eyes turned away from the sight to the ground, with a deep sadness; almost as big as the one she found when she chased him into his quarters after his execution of the traitors.

After that she merely kept watching as Wun Wun greeted his people, and moved them to the sides of the camp altogether.

Their march was a good and steady pace, Jon told her, and yet sometimes Sansa felt as if they hadn't moved at all. In some ways, it was almost slower than her travel from Winterfell to King's Landing had been. Of course, then she had been all young and giddy, sharing a coach with the Queen and blinded in her impressions of Joffrey. Now, she felt like a stranger amongst these free-folk as they called themselves.

She would ride with Jon most of the time, trying to learn about the people he spoke too, joining him like a shadow. Never she dared to be alone, an uneasy feeling settling in her guts whenever she had to walk amongst men by herself, thankfully Ghost seemed to be always close, and Jon never hesitate to sate her curiosity.

"They steal their wives?" She had asked him one night, shocked.

"Is not how it sounds" He had chuckled, the light was dim on his face, making the lines around his eyes appear strongly, almost erasing the scar on the side. He had a good smile, she noticed as he shook his head. She had first realized this back at Castle Black, when she presented him with the cloak. Had he always had that smile? "They can only steal daughters, never a wife, and they must steal them from another clan or village to strength the blood. The men do it to prove they are strong and worthy, and the woman fight against them to prove the same, but also to prove they are independent. There is not suppose to be death involved or mistreating in any way."

She had blinked at his explanation, taking small sips of water as the night evolved around them. Their tent was small and black, borrowed from the Night's Watch, and was her sleeping place as much as the Council's tent. The day had passed with Jon leaving information on how they should move north around the mountains, where he knew to be defensible positions and how best to secure the camp. Next day they would start their march for the Clans, and what could be their victory or defeat.

"They will fight for you" Jon assured when she made her worries known

"I'm a woman Jon, and one that had too many husbands" She explained sadly. "You are Father's son"

"A Snow" She sighed.

"I swear Jon Snow, sometimes you can be thick as the Wall" She said aggravated when he laughed. "What?"

"Sorry, but you're not a respite of understanding either" He claimed looking down, his shyness in how he worded his observation completely exposed.

She wrinkled her nose. "That is not how you should talk to a lady, Jon"

"I apologize for the truth then"

"Gods, you're impossible" She said earning a smirk from him, as they settled in silence. She was not Arya or Robb, who knew exactly how to make Jon talk, of how to tease and be playful, but she had been learning, and it was sweet. "Do you like them?" He looked up. "The wildlings?"

"I admire them a little" He said softly, his eyes flickering to the lit candle at the table and back at her. "At first I couldn't believe how they all wanted an opinion over something. Mance would have these war meetings, and every man spoke as if they were kings. I thought it was foolish."

"It sounds so."

He nodded. "Aye, but I learned that it was also their strength, I mean, there is no way a man believing himself an equal would accept been mistreated. Their woman would drive an axe through their husband's skull if something bad was to happen." Sansa took care to listen, feeling a slight chill from outside. "That gets them too quarrelsome though, and I don't think it is something completely good. Sam would never survive amongst them for once"

"This Sam is your friend?"

"Aye" He had a real smile as he remarked the name. "A coward he called himself, but he could read and write and rationalize better than many. He was useless in a fight, but his mind was something else and he was kind as well. He helped me"

She felt his silence, at the same time that she was thankful he had a friend like that. His eyes shone as he spoke of him, remembering times as recruits, of defending him of Ser Alliser's torments. This is what the world should be, she thought, remembering Winterfell and distant times when she played of knights and maidens. This is what a true knight does, what a good ruler should do. Protect and care for, bring out the potential and learn from it.

"Did you?"

"What?

"Had any… any friends?" Was that hope or sorrow she detected? Sansa was not sure. She thought about his question and her mind moved immediately to Jeyne Poole, but her childhood friend disappeared the day she wrote those letters to her family. After that there was only King's Landing, there had been no friends there. At one point, under the pressure of living amongst enemies, fearing her actions spied and never allowed to voice her own thoughts, she had been so desperate for companionship she had opened up to Tyrion Lannister.

Even now, the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. There was the Hound of course, and that Handmaiden who tried to help her when she bled, and Ser Dontos, but they were not friends, they were allies at most. Margaery tried to seem her friend, but looking back at it, she doubted the future queen truly cared for her in the way a friend should, under her kindness there had always been that underlined interest in her family name…

A friend should be someone you like, and someone you can like back. Someone to whom you can truly be who you are, and Sansa hadn't been allowed to be herself in a long time. The closer she got to it had been the Vale…

"I had two friends..." She told Jon now, rubbing her hands. She felt weak sharing this with him, and at the same time eager to do so. "They were Alayne's friends though, but I like to think they truly cared for me."

Jon nodded solemnly. "Maybe you can see them again as Sansa"

"Maybe" She tried to picture Randa fretting over her being of noble birth, and trying to talk to her about her bedding experiences and what not… Then she remembered Mya and her mules, and how she seemed more fond than rilled as Randa listed marriage prospects, offering mirthful comebacks here and there... I would never have befriended them if I wasn't a bastard.

"It is late" Jon said suddenly, getting up. "You should sleep, we ride to the clans at dawn, tomorrow"

She nodded, feeling her smile fading, whenever he left it was too early. "Where is Ghost?"

"Hunting most likely." There was a pause in which he stood at the flap of her tent, awkwardly fidgeting with his thoughts. Of course he hesitated, but still, she looked up at him hopefully. Did he know? Had he been told of how she struggled in her sleep? Probably, or maybe he heard it himself, sleeping so close by.

After she sent Brienne away to seek her uncle, Jon hadn't left her side at night. He would gather his furs and sleep outside, close to the fire. She still felt a small stab of guilt for it. The Raven had been a short message, but it had been for her, his words and apologies and promises. Sending Brienne to the Blackfish, was as far as she would go in trusting him again, no one needed to know the rest.

Jon left after one last smile, and Sansa was alone to ponder. Ramsay's letter full of threats of rape and skinning filling her mind. Trueborn Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he had written. Roose Bolton was dead, that much she knew, but did he kill Fat Walda as well? Did he kill the baby? Would he be smart enough use that leverage and call for the Freys? Sansa hoped he did so, it would make much easier to gather support if Ramsay threw the Red Wedding at people's faces. He had no political cunning like Roose, but he was dangerous nonetheless.

Slept came to her much later in the night, and when it did, she dreamed of his face and his cruel smile, deaf to her pleading and delighted in her screams and whimpers of pain. His knife always moving, cutting, his teeth, his nails, his member, his pleasure was on her disgust and in her torture. As he chuckled over her, strengthening bonds around her wrist she could hear the dogs by her side. They barked and snarled, tearing something apart amidst his laughter.

"He made a fine meal" He taunted, with pale small eyes, and too late she recognized Jon's scream.

Sansa awoke with a start.

She panted heavily as her heart pounded, her furs falling only for her to clutch them tightly against her chest, trying for any comfort in her terror. It wasn't real, she thought, it wasn't… It wouldn't happen, never… I won't let it happen...

"Sansa" His voice was muffled with an edge of panic, his touch was tender and he approached the bed. Sansa could only see his form and shadow by the corner of her eye. When she finally mustered the courage to stare, relief flooded her body to find his grey eyes alive and well, gentle eyes, worried eyes...

"I-I'm well…" She whispered, even as she felt her body sticky and cold due to her sweat.

"Are you sure?" He was only in his leathers, hair disheveled under a thick wool hat, face almost breaking, as she nodded, taking the hand from her shoulder to clutch it in her palms.

"Yes" She answered. "Just nightmares, that is all"

"Aye"

There was a moment's silence as she took comfort in his presence, hearing the howling wind and the silence of the night, but her world was her dark tent and Jon by her side, staring with all the patience of the world. Falling back down slowly, she pulled his hand with her. Should I dare? She wondered, remembering the last good night of sleep she had. In the darkness his eyes were shining, looking at everywhere but her. What was he thinking? Was he wishing he was Robb, the brother she would seek for bad dreams and hurt feelings? She certainly wanted to be Arya to take that hurt from his eyes that was there far too often. A dark cloud that would hide his gaze whenever he would be reminded of his brothers, and his death… And that sometimes would make him trash about in front of her tent...

When he finally made to move away, she clutched his hand tighter. "Stay," She asked with every bit of courage she had. Slowly, she moved aside, opening space in her furs for him to lie down, almost fearing that he would leave.

He didn't.

There was no hint of his feelings as he did her bidding, laying by her side as stiff as a log.

Sansa simply kept his hand in hers as she stared at his profile, memorizing the lines of his long face, the bags under his eyes, and the beard he was growing. I can be myself with you, and not fear for it. She hoped he could feel the same for her.

"Close your eyes Jon" She asked, closing her own as he relaxed. The nightmares didn't seem so scary. As she faded into sleep, her last thought was that everything would be fine with him by her side.