SANSA

The weak winter sun was high in the sky, providing little warmth amidst the frozen northern mountains. I was riding my white palfrey on the path that had been cleared from snow a few days before our march, by the men of the mountain clans. Artos Flint had come to ride beside me, taking advantage of Ghost's brief disappearance to make polite conversation. He was quite a jovial fellow and he was comely enough for a northerner, with his curly brown hair and the dimples on his cheeks that were constantly visible due to his ever-present smile. Despite all that, his presence beside me unnerved me and every time his knee brushed mine, when the path became narrower, my shoulders would stiffen.

Still, I talked to him in the way my mother had taught me a lifetime ago, with polished courtesies that befit a lady, until Ghost returned, to scare him away with growls and bared fangs, following the pattern that was set on the first day of our march with the rest of the unwed, highborn clansmen. They all came, one after the other, and since Ghost had no tolerance for them, they would come only when he was away, making it almost look like a child's game. It was as if the albino direwolf knew my fear of men and he strived to protect me from them.

They used various excuses for coming to ride beside me, but I knew what they all had in mind… If the gods were good, we would win and I would be a widow. A widow, whose hand in marriage, was worth killing for, as it was the key to the North; taking into no account my claim to the Riverlands through my mother's side. My virginity, or the lack of thereof, seemed not to hinder them in their advances and my pretty face surely was an added bonus for them, but they would surely reconsider should they see the ruin that was my body.

The only man who avoided me like the plague was Jon. Ever since the night I told him what I had done in King's Landing, he couldn't abide my presence and the only times I caught him looking at me, his eyes were hard as stone and gave nothing away. Even though I knew that outcome had been a possibility, somehow, that night when I went to bed, I had naively believed he would understand and that he would even give me the thing I craved for the most; his forgiveness.

He may have a big heart, but what I did is unforgivable. How could I even expect him to forgive me when I can't even forgive myself?

I wondered wryly as I looked ahead to the snowy mountaintops that glistened like diamonds in the sun. The landscape was eerily similar to the one in the mountains of the Moon, with all that rock encompassed in snow and ice and the crisp cold air that smelled of snow and pine-needles. This time though, I was riding a horse, as befit the Lady of Winterfell, with an army on my back, set on reclaiming my home. On the other hand, as I climbed to the Eyrie, I was riding a mule in the company of Petyr Baelish. I was a fugitive pretending to be his bastard daughter and I was simply looking for a safe place to hide from Cercei's wrath.

In the end the Vale hadn't been safe at all… Aunt Lysa was a demented woman who tried to throw me out the Moon Door, Sweetrobin was a sick, spoilt child, who was afraid of everything and Littlefinger was a scheming whoremonger who told me he cared for me and then sold me to the highest bidder in order to promote his own agenda.

And now I was on my way of promoting my own agenda with flattery, courtesy and tears; the weapons of a lady. I had already started spinning my own web, stroking the young men's egos in order to have them protect Jon during the battle. I took advantage of their advances towards me to ask them of that favor, with tears glistening in my eyes. Obviously, all of them swore they would give their last breath to protect the only brother I had left. My plan may be much more intricate than that, but, for it to work, Jon had to stay alive.

Stop it! Jon is not a pawn. Plans can be changed, but Jon… Jon has to live. He is the only family I have left…

I thought as I felt Ghost's massive head bush against my leg affectionately, easily reaching my calf as he walked beside my palfrey. If it hadn't been for him I would have been completely alone all those days, as there were no ladies present except from me. I lowered my right hand from the reigns and stooped lower to pet him behind his ears lovingly, ignoring the pull of my wounds that had just begun to mend. The great white beast had scarcely left my side in the past three days, as if to make up for his master's disdain towards me. He slept beside me at night in our small tent, pressing his huge, warm body close to mine, to share his warmth with me, and he followed me during the day, giving me his undivided attention.

Old Nan used to say that skinchangers and their animal were of one mind, sharing the same thoughts and feelings, but obviously she had been wrong…

I thought to myself as I searched for Jon in the front lines. My eyes were immediately drawn to him. He was wearing the clothes I had made for him, along with his Valyrian steel sword. He was riding his white destrier with his back straight and his head held up high, looking like a hero from a song, even though such heroes were not supposed to exist.

He doesn't just look like a hero. Jon is a hero; my hero.

I thought with a sad smile. I hadn't even told him that night how I had wished for a hero to come take Slynt's head when I was in King's Landing. I was too embarrassed to admit I had been such a stupid little girl and the moment passed, without me even thanking him.

It was quite ironic, how my bastard half-brother at the Wall had accomplished what all the shouthron knights combined could not. He had taken Slynt's head, avenging our father, he had saved me from Ramsay and he had even started a campaign on my behalf to take back Winterfell…

I could picture Jon's brooding face in my mind's eye. All I could see though was the back of his head, with his black curls that bounced with every step his horse took. I missed him terribly. I had just gotten him back and, thanks to my stupidity, I had lost him all over again… I had tried many times to approach him, but he continuously eluded me.

And even though I had expected him to hate me, when expectation became reality, it hurt more than I had anticipated. It hurt so much that the first two nights I cried myself to sleep in the privacy of my tent.

He wanted nothing to do with me, but today I would talk to him, no matter what. It was necessary for him to know at least part of my plan and agree to it. Else, I would have to think of another, in order to protect us in the future from our 'bannermen' and Littlefinger alike. Of course we would have to defeat the Boltons first, but I couldn't sit idle and not plan ahead. It would be foolish and dangerous to let somebody else shape the political structure of the North in our absence.

I didn't want to talk to him about the plan though. I wanted to beg for his forgiveness. I wanted us to be in good terms again. I wanted us to take back our home together and to be a family again. I wanted him to trust me and most of all I wanted him to −

My thoughts were interrupted by the Wull, who came to ride beside me, taking the place Artos Flint had vacated only moments before.

He is breaking the rules of the game… they are supposed to come only when Ghost is away.

"How are you today Lady Stark?"

He asked with fatherly concern.

"I'm quite well my Lord. I'm enjoying the view actually. The northern mountains have a wild beauty to them that is hard to come by."

"Aye, they are beautiful, but terrible during winter. Many a good man have lost their lives in those mountains."

He said solemnly as he reigned in his horse that was bucking in fear with Ghost so near.

"Ah yes, I remember father telling me once how the old men of the clans go 'hunting' during winter, only to never return again, leaving more food for the young."

I replied and I saw the surprise on his face at my knowledge of such a thing.

"Aye your father spoke true. Brave men all of them."

No, not truly. Death is the easy way out. Living on is what takes true bravery to do. I could have died a thousand times over. I could have taken my own life by jumping off a tower and the singers would have sung of my bravery in opposing the Lannisters, or the Boltons with my actions. It was surely expected of me to do it and, had I done it, the whole realm would have called it a noble and brave act; an act of defiance against my captors, as if it would have accomplished anything other than bring further ruin to House Stark.

I thought grimly. But those were not the words the Wull wished to hear.

"All northerners are brave, but, obviously, the men of the mountain clans are the bravest of them all my Lord. It is a great comfort knowing my brother will have such courageous warriors by his side during the battle to protect him."

I said courteously and he bellowed in laughter.

"I doubt your brother will need much protection my Lady. Had you seen him fight, you would have harbored no doubt about it."

He said with a smile on his bearded face, which made his eyes crinkle.

"My brother is skilled swordsman, but in a battle anything can happen and Jon has to live. He is the only surviving son of Eddard Stark after all."

I replied, choosing my words carefully. The Wull already pictured Jon as the head of House Stark. I could see it in the way he looked at him. But he would never voice such a thought when the Ned's trueborn daughter still lived. The seed was already there, so I only had to nurture it. I had to make him see, through seemingly innocent comments, that I did not aspire to be the head of the house and that I wanted to put Jon in this position instead. Jon had not agreed yet, but he would today. I would make sure of it.

"Aye, he is the spitting image of your father when he was his age, gods rest his soul."

Big Bucket said with a reminiscent, sad expression on his face.

"Jon resembles our father more than any of my other brothers did, not only in appearance, but in character as well. He had always been sullen and quiet, but kind as well and honorable to a fault, just like father had been."

I told him with a smile that resembled his, as I remembered watching from my chambers Robb and Jon fight in the yard with wooden swords, while Bran was trying in vain to learn how to fire a bow, a few feet to their left. They had been laughing and teasing each other, all of them; even Jon, who was always moping in a corner…

Oh, it had been so sweet… we had all been laughing and playing and running around without a care in the world. Why did I ever want to leave? How could I have been so stupid?

I wondered and I felt my eyes burn with tears that I couldn't let spill in front of a stranger.

"They say the Young Wolf was also much like your father. I hadn't had the honor of meeting him, but my eldest son Rickard marched with him and he had worshiped the ground he walked upon. In one of his letters he wrote me he would gladly die for him and in the end… he did."

He said looking straight ahead to hide his grief from me, but his voice betrayed his emotions more than his face would.

"I'm sorry for your loss my Lord. I hope he is with the old gods now."

I replied after I cleared my voice. It still sounded hoarse though.

"My son died at the Twins; a cursed place. The old gods have no power there… They say the Freys piled all the bodies in one mass grave just outside the caste, highborn and lowborn alike, leaving them there to rot. I never got my son's bones to bury."

The old man said, hate dripping from his voice. The same hate surged through my veins like poison, because I knew what the Freys had done to my brother after he died. Before my marriage to Ramsay, I hadn't known the details of Robb's death. Obviously, my previous husband, Lord Tyrion, had wanted to spare me the details and it never occurred to me to ask for the gruesome details.

My second husband though, had felt the need to remedy that. He had described the whole thing in great detail, making me vomit the first time I heard it in revulsion. He said they mutilated his body, cutting off his head, along with Grey Wind's, sewing the wolf's head on my brother's decapitated body and nailing a crown on top of it in mockery.

"The North remembers my Lord. We will avenge them all."

I promised him with icy determination. The Wull was stunned for a moment, but in the next he smiled a wide smile at me showing me his crooked teeth.

"Aye, the North remembers… And you are a true daughter of the North my Lady. Your father would have been proud of you."

He told me and I suppressed the grimace that threatened to undo my carefully drawn image.

Father would have been disappointed in me and ashamed of me had he known what I had done to survive all those years. And now, if he could see the person I've become, he would have been appalled.

I thought as I thanked him with a smile of my own, as fake as the ones I used in King's Landing when I had to lie to the Queen about my undying love for Joffrey; only this time it was much more believable and efficient.

He rode ahead then, leaving me alone with Ghost once more. It was quite strange, how he let the Wull come near me to talk for so long without growling menacingly at him, as he did with everyone else, but maybe he could feel somehow that I wasn't that scared of him. Maybe he could smell it…

By the time night fell and the men started to make camp, I was feeling as if I had become solid ice. Every muscle in my body was either sore or numb from the cold and I had lost the feeling in my hands and legs hours ago. I dismounted carefully and pressed my cloak closer to my chest, looking around and trying to figure out who would volunteer to set my tent for me tonight. Yesterday night it had been Rickard Liddle and the night before it had been Brandon Norrey. This was another game the men played with Ghost and the rules the direwolf had set were abundantly clear. Raise the tent and leave immediately, or face the consequences. As it seemed, tonight was Artos Flint's turn to face the challenge.

"My lady."

He greeted me with a bow, making no move to come closer to kiss my hand. I returned the courtesy in the same manner, keeping my left hand on Ghost, whose fur had bristled at the man's close proximity.

"May I have the honor of raising your tent tonight?"

He asked most chivalrously with a crooked smile, which died the moment Ghost bared his fangs at him.

"You would do me a great service Ser."

I replied politely, giving him a small smile of my own. He set to work at once and I watched him raise the tent with practiced, deft moves that spoke of experience. He was stealing alarmed glances towards Ghost every few heartbeats, obviously scared of him, as he should be.

"All done Lady Sansa."

He said as he wiped his hands on his breeches. The moment he took a step closer to me, Ghost took a step towards him, with his fangs bared, and that was all it took for him to take his leave as hastily as possible, his reaction making me smile inwardly.

Obviously Brandon Norrey was quite vocal about how he got that nasty bite on his left calf.

I thought, as I scanned the opening we had set our camp in for Jon, finding him nowhere. The smell of roasted goat the men had put on their fires, had mixed with the stench of manure the horses had left all over the place, causing my nose to crinkle in disgust. My stomach was empty though and demanded food, so I chose to eat in my tent again, to avoid the men, as well as the smell of manure. I would find Jon later.

I approached the nearest fire, which was being shared by seven clansmen, all unknown to me and of common birth. They all went quiet the moment I greeted them and clambered to get up and bow to me. A moment later they started to fidget awkwardly and look at each other for guidance, so I decided to put them out of their misery.

"Please sit. Get warm. I only wanted to ask whether you could bring me a serving in my tent when your goat is ready."

I told them and I saw them all nod and agree profusely as they sat back on the ground. I thanked them and turned on my heel to walk back to my tent, listening to their voices fade with every step I took. I crawled inside with Ghost in tow and started unbinding my braids carefully. Then, I detangled my hair, using my fingers in the absence of a brush, feeling the direwolf watch me from where he was sprawled on the floor.

What I'd give for a bath right now…

I thought, even though I knew I was asking for the impossible in the wilderness. The intense cold had prevented me from sweating as I rode and there was not a speck of dirt to be found on me, or my clothes, thanks to the packed snow and ice, but I felt soiled all the same. I always felt soiled…

Ghost got up and started to stare intensely at the flap of the tent. The next moment, I heard footsteps approaching.

"Milady, I've brought you some o' the goat, just like you asked."

A man informed me from outside. I crawled over to the flap and lifted it, only to be met by the bearded face of a stranger. I flinched at his unexpected proximity and, at the same time, he took a step back with an apologetic look, pushing the plate towards me.

"Thank you Ser, you are most kind. Enjoy your meal and have a good night."

I told him with a small smile and I saw his face beam at my words. I took the food inside and sat on the furs next to Ghost. I ate the crispy meat with my fingers, feeding Ghost more than half my plate. I knew it wouldn't be enough to abate his hunger, as he had not hunted in three days and three nights, but hopefully it would help with the intense pain he felt because of it.

He was a stubborn beast. Even though I sent him off half a dozen times, ordering him to go hunt, he never did, settling with the morsels of meat I fed him off my fingers and the bones the men threw away. When I finished my food I crawled once again outside and used some fresh snow to wash my hands, even though the direwolf had already licked them clean. I was about to go search for Jon when I thought I spotted him in the corner of my eye.

I turned around and walked towards him with purpose, determined to talk to him about my plan at last. The moment I got a little closer though, I realized it hadn't been Jon, but Artos Flint who had a similar build to Jon and whose hair looked black in the darkness. I fumed in exasperation.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I thought and I turned to the white direwolf, leaning down to come to his level.

"Ghost, can you take me to Jon?"

I asked him, staring deep into his red, unsettling eyes. He seemed to understand my request, as he started to walk through the camp with his tail swinging back and forth in happiness.

I believed Ghost would take me to his tent, or maybe to a campfire, but he did neither. He walked me through a small trail on the mountain, which was leading away from the camp. I gathered my skirts in my left hand and kept my right on the icy stone next to me for support. The moon was high in the starry sky, lighting my way, but still, the ground was uneven and the rocks I was stepping on were slick with ice. At least there was no snow falling from the sky to impede my vision and no strong winds to make me sway and lose my footing. I followed in Ghost's footsteps cautiously and slowly and, in the end my determination paid off. I had managed to climb the whole thing without twisting an ankle, or falling to my death.

The trail had led me to a small clearing at the edge of the mountain and at the very edge sat Jon, gazing into the darkness. I stood there, watching him transfixed. He was brooding, as always. In the moonlight his skin looked white as marble and, in his stillness, he resembled more a statue in the crypts of Winterfell, than a man.

My staring was interrupted when he turned towards me, fixing his eyes on me. He was surprised to see me there. Suddenly my stomach was in knots at the prospect of talking to him.

"My Lady, what are you doing here?"

He asked, the formality of his words piercing me like needles.

"I asked Ghost to bring me to you… I… we need to talk Jon."

I replied with as much determination as I could muster, using his name; ignoring the voice in my mind that compelled me to hurt him by calling him my half-brother, or something worse.

"He shouldn't have done that. It was dangerous and foolish."

He said harshly, as I walked towards him. He made no move to get up or get away from me, so I sat beside him carefully, minding my new dress.

"It was necessary and it wouldn't have been, if you had not avoided me for the past three days."

I said sternly while lifting my chin, taking the same expression I always took whenever I reprimanded Arya about something improper that she did. I tried to reign in my anger and tone down the arrogance. They would not serve me well in this case. Jon gave me no reply. He wasn't even looking at me. He was looking at the horizon instead, sullen as ever.

Maybe he thinks that if he ignores me, I will leave on my own.

O though wryly, as I flipped my hair behind my shoulders. I steeled myself and took a deep breath, ready to say the words I had been preparing for days now.

"I know how you feel Jon and I understand that you can't tolerate my presence. You can hate me all you like, but you should at least−"

"What?"

He asked me, interrupting me before I had a chance to put two sentences together. He was looking at me with the most dumbfounded expression I had ever seen on his face.

"I… I said I know how you feel about me. I don't blame you for it. I hate myself as well for all that, so I understand."

I told him slowly and clearly, in case he did not hear me in the first place. It was all true, but still the words left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"I don't hate you Sansa. Why in the world would I ever hate you?"

This was my turn, as it seemed, to get surprised by his comment. His disdain towards me had been so clear, I was certain my assessment was true.

"It's ok, really. You don't have to deny it. I have made my peace with it."

I told him reassuringly, sounding more composed than I actually felt, successfully keeping up the façade. I ached to take his hands inside mine, but I stopped myself; he wouldn't let me anyway… he turned his gaze away from mine and started to clench and unclench his right fist in nervousness.

"Others take me."

He muttered under his breath and suddenly turned his head towards me once more. The look in his black eyes was intense and it caused something to clench low in my belly, creating the same feeling I had experienced three days ago in his room, right before Morgan Liddle burst in.

"Sansa…"

He breathed out. His voice was strained and I couldn't help but think that saying my name caused him pain somehow.

"I don't hate you. I would never hate you. Forgive me for giving you that impression."

He apologized as he gently took my hands inside his.

Did he read my mind?

I wondered and I tried to stop biting my lip, which once more had found its way between my teeth. I was looking at our joined hands, avoiding his face, feeling embarrassed about something I couldn't pinpoint. To make matters worse, I truly couldn't make sense of his words. I was at a loss and that made me more nervous still. I no longer had my wits about me…

"Aye, all those things you told me were ugly and disturbing and infuriating, but none of them was your fault Sansa. You were only a child."

He said gently and I felt shame fill me and guilt as well and I realized, somewhere along the conversation, my mask had slipped off my face; fallen into the abyss below.

"Don't say that. I killed father Jon and Arya and Lady."

"You killed nobody! The bloody Lannisters killed them and they would have done it no matter what you said or did!"

Jon said vehemently, squeezing my hands inside his own. I chanced a look up into his eyes again, to see whether he meant it.

Can he truly believe that?

I wondered in awe, as I saw the unmistakable conviction there.

"I… I don't understand… if you really believe that, then why?"

I inquired, desperate to know; desperate to understand. He let out a long sigh and I watched as it misted before his face, before it got carried away in the winter wind.

"It's complicated Sansa."

He said with finality, as if his words explained anything.

"Things rarely are complicated. We just make them so in our minds."

I told him and I felt his right hand spasm above my own as he tried to stop it from tightening.

"I believe coming back from the dead counts as complicated."

He said flippantly with a lopsided smile, making it seem as if he was sharing an inside joke with me.

"What does it have to do with giving me the cold shoulder?"

I asked him accusingly and watched his smile fall.

"It has everything to do with it, because I came back wrong Sansa."

He said forcefully, raising his voice a little.

"There are unnatural and wrong things in my mind that were not there before. They became overwhelming that night and I just couldn't…"

He said a little quieter this time, leaving his thought unfinished. Even though his explanation was vague and incomplete, I didn't need him to say anything more to understand him. After all, I knew better than most what it's like to have dark, unnatural thoughts that nobody could know about. Thoughts of suicide; thoughts of murder.

"You are not 'wrong' or 'unnatural' in any way Jon. You just changed through a traumatic experience. Don't beat yourself over it."

I told him reassuringly, as I watched his features twist into a wry grin and his eyes harden, becoming twin chips of dragonglass.

"Ha!"

He scoffed.

"I hanged a boy Sansa, younger than Bran and you want to tell me there is nothing wrong with me? I told Edd to make the drop as small as possible, so they would all die slowly and painfully, just because I thought it would feel good to watch them suffer and you want to tell me that was not unnatural?"

He spat at me, almost mockingly, but I did not even flinch at his words. After all, my ability to get shocked by violence and death had substantially diminished during my marriage to Ramsay Bolton.

When your husband whispers to you as he rapes you that he fantasizes about hunting you through the woods with his dogs and skinning you alive, it is really hard to get shocked by anything less.

I thought and I felt my skin crawl at the memory. Jon beside me had gone silent and he was looking at the moon in the sky as if it was responsible for all the wrongs he had suffered.

"Did it feel good?"

I asked him, sounding as unimpressed as I felt, because I knew the answer he would give me beforehand.

"No… I felt nothing as I watched them die and that wasn't really any better."

He told me gravely, giving me the exact answer I expected to hear. He wouldn't expect mine though…

"When Joffrey died at his wedding, I wept and sobbed and someone told me, as I fled, that I had a big heart because of it. For months I had thought I would want to dance from joy when he died, but all I had felt was shock in the end. I am not shocked as easily anymore. When Ramsay will die before my eyes, I'm going to feel nothing but satisfaction."

I told him unapologetically and he gave me no reply, only silence. I realized that, as we talked, I had crept closer to him for warmth and I was practically leaning on him by now. I was shivering as the wind crept inside my clothes, but Jon was extruding warmth as if he was burning from the inside and I wanted to somehow surround myself in him and bask in his heat.

"The night is too cold for you to be outside. You are shivering. We should head back."

He said, and shifted his weight to get up; I squeezed his hand to stop him.

"Soon, but not yet. I have yet to tell you what I came here to tell you in the first place."

"Can't you tell me by a fire in the camp?"

"No, it has to be here, where there are no prying eyes and ears. What I'm about to ask you is very important Jon, for both our safety and for the safety of the North and it has to stay between us."

I told him, no doubt piquing his interest. He was listening intently, so I took a deep breath to continue.

"Should we win, I want you to take the position of the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

I told him resolutely, watching the emotions dance in his eyes, changing in quick succession.

"Those titles belong to Bran and to Rickon after him."

He finally said with equal conviction, as if there was even a small chance Rickon would survive Ramsay.

"Rickon will be dead by the time the battle ends, no matter the outcome. For all we know Ramsay has already flayed him. And Bran is lost and probably dead as well."

I was being cruel and I knew it, but Ramsay was crueler still and there wasn't even a slight possibility of him sparing Rickon, even though he was just a child.

"After the battle is won we will bury Rickon in the crypts, as befit the Lord of Winterfell and you will have to step in and take his place."

I said finitely and I saw him close his eyes, as if in prayer. He breathed in deeply, his breath forming little white clouds before his face every time he let it out. His Adam's apple bobbled a few times. He appeared tormented and I felt a pang in my chest for being the one to cause him such pain.

"Even if they are both… dead, Winterfell will be yours, as the trueborn daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark."

He croaked in a coarse voice.

Yes it is… for all the death and destruction such an outcome would bring us.

I thought to myself as I tried to gather the words I had prepared the past three days for this occasion. All the arguments were there, but the pretty words I had shrouded them in were gone…

"The North will never accept a woman as their ruler, especially during times of war and unrest. They will marry me off to some power-hungry lord before Ramsay's body is even cold and he will rule the North in my stead. I will be set aside and, in the best case scenario, he will keep me around to pop out his children, like some brooding mare in the stables."

I said, not mincing my words in the least, thinking how Littlefinger would worm his way into my life, forcing me somehow to marry him, just to turn his twisted fantasy into reality.

"And, as soon as I'm wed, you will probably find an untimely death for a second time. Be it in the battlefield by a sword, or in the privy by poison, you will still die, in order for my husband to further secure his claim. Of course, your death will also give him free reign to do as he pleases with me. For all I know, he will continue what Joffrey and Ramsay left unfinished, making a second Lady Hornwood out of me."

I continued mercilessly, painting a vivid picture for him that came straight out of my nightmares. I felt him balk at my words, as if I had hit him.

"You don't know any of that Sansa."

"Oh but I do. You are the one who knows nothing Jon Snow, but I can teach you."

I promised him and I saw him wince at my words.

It seems everything I say hurts him.

I thought, loathing myself for it.

I used to be a beautiful porcelain doll, bred and trained to please with sweet songs. And now, look at me. Broken into a million pieces; beautiful no longer, with songs that had turned tart and bitter in my mouth… The only sweet songs I can sing are ones of deception…

"The men of the clans already respect and follow you and the Wildlings have practically declared you King Beyond the Wall. They want you as their leader Jon, not me. And should you defeat Ramsay and become the head of House Stark, the whole North will worship you, respect you and even fear you."

He scoffed, but I continued as if I hadn't heard him.

"Of course that doesn't mean they will not try to undermine you or kill you, but they will think twice before doing such a thing to a man with your reputation Jon; especially after they see how you came back from the dead. And I will be there to help you every step of the way with their politics and their scheming, I swear it. The only thing I will ask of you in return is to turn down any and all proposals for my hand; I do not wish to marry again."

I told him, my voice turning from passionate to barely audible at the end of my speech. Jon appeared unaffected though. His eyes were unwavering and hard and I knew his reply before he opened his mouth to give it to me.

"I already refused that offer to a king Sansa, no matter how tempting it had been at the time. I refused to steal your birthright then and I will do so again."

Jon said and I wanted to hit him for listening to his stupid honor, ignoring logic and reason. He was too much like father and, in this case, it was not a good thing.

"You can't steal what is being freely offered to you Jon! I don't want to rule. I just want to feel safe for once and the only person I trust with my life and our home is you my brother."

I confessed, feeling as if I just cut my heart out and offered it to him. It had been too long since I had used my true feelings as a way to persuade someone and it felt almost wrong…

"Even if I agree, do you really think the Northern lords will accept a bastard as their liege lord?"

He asked me and I could see that my previous heartfelt comment accomplished more than all my other arguments combined. His eyes were wide and unsure. I had cracked his resolve.

Jon always yearned to become somebody. He always wanted to make a name of himself.

'I am the Lord of Winterfell.' I remember him shouting at Robb in the yard, too many times to count when they played as children.

He wants it more than he can even admit to himself, yet he denies himself his undisclosed desire for honor.

"I don't think they will… I know they will."

I told him with certainty.

"Sansa I… I can't do it. It's not−"

I put two of my gloved fingers on his lips to silence him in a flash of boldness, remembering vaguely his reaction the first time I did it in the tub. Even though it was the second time, he appeared as stunned as the first.

"You don't have to give me a reply tonight. You can consider it and give me your reply tomorrow. But please, don't let your honor be our undoing Jon."

I pleaded him as I let my fingers drop from his lips, feeling embarrassed for touching him like that.

"Aye, I'll think about it."

He breathed out hoarsely, as I entwined my fingers with his, needing to feel connected to him somehow. He didn't even seem to notice I had done it. He was staring at the sky again and I was staring at him. He no longer looked like a statue, but like a man; a handsome, melancholic man, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And now I have given him my own responsibilities to carry as well; as if his own were not enough.

I thought despondently, thinking myself to be the most selfish person in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Jon will you tell me a story?"

I asked him, wanting to get both our minds off the upcoming battle and the political games of the North. Jon turned to look at me with surprise etched on his face at my request.

"I… I don't know if I can remember any stories Sansa."

He confessed, sounding regretful. His eyes were sad again and his mouth downturned, when I only wanted to see a smile grace his lips…

"Why not? It doesn't have to be a love story. It can be one of the scary ones Bran used to like, or one from the Dance of Dragons, you wanted to hear all the time. I really don't mind."

I assured him with a smile, but he shook his head in denial, making the curls at the nape of his neck bounce.

"When I said 'any stories', I meant it literally. Ever since I came back, my childhood is by a large part gone from my memories."

He said miserably, his words so quiet, they almost got lost in the wind, before I had a chance to hear them. My heart went out to him. I couldn't imagine having to live in this wretched world without the beautiful memories I had from my childhood. For so long they had been my only solace in my thoughts and dreams…

How could you be so cruel? Why did you have to take those memories from him? They were the only sweet and beautiful thing in our miserable lives. He deserves to have this much at least! Why? Why? Why?

I repeated, my mind demanding answer from gods that were not there to listen, as hot tears pooled in my eyes and spilled on my dress.

"Oh Jon!"

I sobbed and wrapped my arms around him. I pressed my face on his shoulder and fisted his cloak tightly, holding on for dear life. He tensed the moment I embraced him, but after a moment he enveloped me in his arms as well, letting me weep on him without complaint.

I cried for Jon's lost memories and I cried for my tainted ones. In my mind, the rooms of the Great Keep, which had once been full of laughter, had been filled with blood and screams of pain instead. The walls of the Great Hall, that had witnessed me share a thousand dances with Robb and father, had also witnessed my dances with the monsters that killed them both and the monster that wanted to kill me. The yard, which used to be full of playing children and happy servants, had now been strewn with flayed corpses. The godswood, where father used to pray, now held the memories of my hellish wedding. Even the crypts, where we used to play as children, had been tainted by Littlefinger's unwanted kiss…

But at least, I have the good memories, along with the bad ones. Jon doesn't even have that.

The thought made me cry even harder than before and Jon still held me, rocking me gently back and forth, whispering in my ear that there was no reason to cry; that everything was all right, despite the fact that the whole world was wrong. He was comforting me, even though I was the one who was supposed to be comforting him and I suddenly realized it was impossible for him to cry for something he had no memory of.

I have enough memories for the both of us… I will sing them all to him and he will remember, because it all happened. I hadn't dreamt them. I know I hadn't, else Jon wouldn't be warm and tangible in my arms right now.

I tightened my hold on him, as if to make sure he was truly there. His hard muscles did not give under my fingers and his heart was beating rhythmically in his chest, under my palm. He was real and alive. I could feel his breath on my hair and I could smell his unique scent that was a mixture of smoke, leather, sweat and wolf; the smell of home.

And I could still hear him whisper comforting words in my ear. I concentrated on his deep voice, focusing on the way the words sounded as they came out of his mouth and after a while my tears dried and my sobs stopped. I felt drained and tired. I closed my puffy eyes and I snuggled closer up to Jon, breathing him in. Once. Twice… drifting off to sleep in his arms, where all the dreams were of home.

Gosh, that was a tough one to finish. Sansa is obviously coming into her own, making her own plans and taking her own decisions, based on what she thinks is best. Jon had to stay away, because he is... well, Jon and he had to, at least, try after what happened in the last chapter. I guess I ended the chapter on a sad note... I hope you liked it! Let me know in the comments!