It mattered not how many arrows Ramsay flung his way, Jon would not stop.

Every step that he took drew him closer to the monster that was his sister's captor, her living nightmare. He would never forgive Ramsay Bolton for what he had done to Sansa and the only thing he could think of was tearing him limb from fucking limb.

And then anger like he had never felt before rushed through him, sending chills down his spine as his fist first connected with Ramsay's jaw. One hit, two hits, three... Soon Jon lost count of how many times he slammed his fists into Bolton's face, all he knew was his skin was becoming slick with the man's blood, his own knuckles beginning the dull ache of a deep set bruise. For several long moments (or perhaps years had gone by, Jon truly did not know) he pummeled the man that had broken Sansa almost beyond repair, the man that had stolen their home, beating him until Ramsay was almost unrecognizable.

It was as he drew back for one final hit that something compelled Jon to raise his face, as if something told him there was something else he needed to see. And it was then that his eyes locked upon Sansa's beautiful face, her features twisted with grief and unease, her cheeks drained of color. But it was her eyes that told him everything... This was not his fight to finish.

Without a word, Jon got to his feet, stumbling towards her, but she was not looking at him anymore. As he came to stand beside her, he followed her line of sight to where Ramsay lay bleeding on the ground, wishing for a moment he might know what it was she was thinking. He opened his mouth, his every intention to speak her name but she turned on her heel and vanished through a doorway without a word to him or to anyone at all. Brienne of Tarth immediately went after her and though Jon wished to follow, he suddenly found himself staggering, the weight of his limbs almost too much for him to bear. As he fell, his last thought of was of her and everything he'd ever wanted to tell her.

[ x x x ]

When Sansa returned inside that night, she no longer felt the chill of winter.

Rather, a fire spread through her, changing her, molding her into someone entirely new. Gone was the Sansa Stark she once was and in her place was this new Sansa that the world around her had created. Ending Ramsay's life had solidified her rise from the ashes of despair and she swore from that moment on, he would hold no more power over her.

Returning to her rooms, Sansa was truly not surprised when she found her chamber to already be occupied, knowing Jon had shown quite the restraint in waiting this long to see her. Granted, she knew he'd been confined to his own set of rooms that day, ordered to bed to rest so he might recover from the battle. Already, whispers of his rise to King in the North circled Winterfell, sweeping out across the countryside too, the once proud words of their father in every Northern lord's mouth... There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. "Sansa..." he spoke her name softly as he turned around to face her, the dying flames in her fireplace bathing him in dancing light.

Hundreds of questions he wanted to ask her but now that she stood before him, he could not find his voice. The firelight cast her into shadow, its fading light unable to reach her across the room; in that moment, she was like a queen of ice, untouched by even a flame. He watched as she shed her cloak, draping it across a chair as she passed it by, coming to stand before him, her blue eyes piercing in the darkness. "I was worried... I sent to see how you faired and the maid said you were not in your rooms." Jon finally spoke, speaking to her the truth, having indeed sent an inquiry after just just half an hour before. She did not speak as she stared at him, so close to him that Jon could see every droplet of water that clung to her hair and dress. He found he longed to reach for her but kept his arms at his sides rather, clenching his hands into fists in an effort to keep them where they hung. "You went to see him." It was not a question but a statement. He spoke simply, his heart turning over at the way she flinched from his words, her pale cheeks flooding with color as she pushed past him to stand in front of the fire place, hands outstretched to warm them over the flames.

"Yes."

Her soft, but simple response came a few moments later and Jon turned around to focus on her standing there, shoulders curved ever so slightly inwards, hands still yet extended out, a single silver ring glittering on a slim finger. "He's dead." She spoke matter-of-factly, as if speaking of the weather, not a man's life. As Jon came to stand beside her, she turned to look his way, a guarded sort of smile curving her lips. When Jon did not speak, the smile vanished and she gave her head a little shake, turning back to face the fire with a small sigh. "You think I've done wrong, don't you?" She asked softly, hands suddenly twisting together, a helpless sort of look taking root in her eyes. It was then that she made to go, as if she meant to storm away from him, but Jon reached out and took hold of her wrist, preventing her from going far. "Let me go!" She hissed, trying to wrench her hand from his grasp, her heart aching within her very chest. "Let me go, Jon," her words were a whispered plea and Jon pulled her into a tight embrace, holding on even when she squirmed to free herself. He held on as she cried softly against his shoulder, feeling no guilt for the life she'd taken, but crying for the life that hers had become. Blood was blood when it stained your hands, Jon had learned that a long time ago. Claiming the life of someone who wronged you did not always alleviate the pain, but rather you traded one kind of pain for another. And so he spoke soft, comforting words against the shell of her ear as he stroked her hair, hoping he could offer to her even an ounce of comfort.

When she finally drew back several minutes later, it was to sniff and wipe her eyes, looking embarrassed as she stammered through an apology. "There's no need." He finally spoke, reaching out himself to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. "You're wrong you know," he went on, his fingertips ghosting across her jawline, her lips parted ever so slightly as their eyes met. "I don't think you're wrong for killing Ramsay, I think you had every right. God knows I'd have done it myself... But I knew it was a choice you had to make for yourself." Jon had every intention of seeing to Bolton's trial and execution had Sansa not carried out the deed on her own. "If I was a better brother, I'd have warned you on what killing a man does to you, but part of me wanted you to do with him as you pleased."

"In other words, you thought I was not capable." Sansa's words were not harsh, but they still stung a bit as Jon let his hand fall back to his side, surprised by her yet again. "I am not bothered by what I've done." Sansa was not a good liar and he could see that in the moment, she was telling him the complete and utter truth. She was unbothered by what she had just done, because in the depth of her heart she knew it was right. "Ramsay deserved everything he got after all he's done." She had done what she had done to ensure her own sanity, her own healing. In a world where Ramsay yet lived, she would never be safe. In a world where Ramsay went unpunished for his crimes against her, against her family, and against the North, she could never find peace. She had stained her hands with his blood to protect what once had been hers and all she had left.

This was not the Sansa he'd once known. This was someone new, someone different from the sister he'd known as a child. And now... Now he understood that she was not like ice at all, but rather she was like a burning flame. No, even that was not enough to describe Sansa, in truth she was most certainly like a phoenix. Like the bird of legends past, she was born of light but grown from ashes, burning brightly when everyone thought she might fade out. No matter what was thrown her way, she would overcome, she would rise above.

For Sansa was not a woman of snow and ice, but of fire and flame, born to rise again.