A.N: Trigger warning: Scenes of violence and death. Anyone who doesn't want to read these can skip the part labelled.

Disclaimer: As always, Sansa and Roose belong to George R.R Martin and the dialogue between Sansa and Roose about the North belongs to David Benioff and D.B. Weiss.

Chapter 14- The Journey to Winterfell Part 2

"The King is dead." Roose's words reached her ears and the colour drained from her at the mention of Joffrey. But wait, he had said dead. Joffrey was dead. Her tormentor was finally dead. The colour quickly flooded back. Sansa turned to her husband, questions flickering across her face before she settled on one.

"How?"

"He was poisoned at his wedding to Lady Margery Tyrell." The response was void of emotion.

"Is Margery okay?" She asked. Roose narrowed his eyes, she had just been told the King had been poisoned and she was more interested in the Queen.

"I believe so… there is no mention of otherwise."

"Good." It was more enthusiastic than he had suspected and he stared at her waiting for an explanation as to such enthusiasm for the Tyrell girl. "She was one of my only friends in Kings Landing."

"Indeed." Roose was finished with the conversation and ready to both dismiss the maester and return to bed but Sansa continued speaking.

"It's a shame I wasn't there for her wedding. I wish I had still been in Kings Landing to see it."

"I'm sure your return to the capital could be arranged My Lady." The words were harsh and cold and panic washed over Sansa. Quickly, she pushed it deep down and stepped out of bed cursing inside as she realised her dress was on the other side of the bed and her robe was nowhere in sight. Perhaps it was still packed. Channelling Margery, she ignored her fear and embarrassment and walked towards him.

Watching the sudden brazenness of his young wife, Roose noticed the maester staring at her naked body as she stopped in front of Roose. A jealous possessiveness took hold of him.

"Rhodry, if you want to be able to see tomorrow, I suggest you leave." With his head hung in shame, the maester quickly left the tent.

"That was unnecessarily cruel, My Lord." She placed a hand on his naked chest, he covered it with his own, intertwining their fingers.

"You're mine and mine alone to look at Sansa." He growled and it sent electricity through her body pooling in her centre. "But we need to get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow, I want to reach Winterfell by night fall in two days' time."

"Two days?" Her eyes widened as she realised what that meant.

"Yes, Sansa two days."

A gentle wind whistled through the tent as Sansa stirred from her sleep. Turning over in the bed, she reached her arm out and frowned. The bed was empty. Where was her husband? What time was it? No sooner had the thought crossed Sansa's mind than she turned back over and closed her eyes again. Just as she was drifting off, there was a load bang outside and then raised voices followed. She kept her eyes shut. Suddenly, the door of the tent opened letting cold air in and causing Sansa to shiver.

"Sansa." His voice was abrupt but not harsh. "Sansa, the camp is nearly packed up and we are nearly ready to ride out." Still she kept her eyes shut, hoping he would leave her to sleep.

"Sansa… if you delay our departure I will not be happy." She groaned and opened her eyes. Roose, seeing her finally awake, made his way out of the tent to oversee the final packing up of their camp. A few moments later, Lyra entered the tent with fresh water for Sansa to wash. She did so quickly whilst the maid disappeared in search of her mistress' breakfast. Before long, Sansa was dressed, had eaten and was watching as her tent was dismantled. It was the last tent to be taken down and she could feel her husband's annoyance that she had prolonged their departure but Sansa didn't care. He had woken her up early enough as it was, any earlier and she would not have been happy.

Roose had decided they would travel at an extremely fast pace and whilst Sansa had tried to remain by his side at the front of the caravan of people, the inevitable had happened; her legs had started to ache and she had slowed down. This had resulted in her falling back to the middle of the swarm of people. At the sound of Sansa's warm laugh, Roose looked behind him. She was quite far back surrounded by his men. Jealously surged through him at the sound he had not heard before and the knowledge that he was not the one to make her produce it. On a spur of the moment decision, he pulled his horse to a stop.

"Send for Lady Bolton." He instructed one of the men and dismounted. Before long, Sansa stopped her horse beside him.

"Walk with me, My Lady." It was not a request. Confused, Sansa dismounted, her legs still sore from the ride and placed her hand in Roose's. He led her to the top of the nearest hill, Sansa's legs were in agony from the steep climb. When they had reached the top, Roose came to a halt. He turned to Sansa, studying her intently. She was still confused.

"Look around My Lady, what do you see?" Even more confused, Sansa did as he said. There was nothing but green. She turned back to him feeling like that stupid little girl in Kings Landing.

"The North, Sansa… three hundred miles that way you're still in the North." He said pointing behind her. "Four hundred miles that way…" pointing behind him "and seven hundred miles that way," pointing in front of them. "This is the North and its ours." Roose had intended to tell her his plan but looking at her confusion in that moment, she wasn't ready to hear it. Instead, he watched her, the wind whipping through her hair. How was this fiery perfection his?

"When we arrive in Winterfell, Ramsay will be there… if he… if he does anything to harm you or threatens to harm you… tell me." Sansa's eyes narrowed as realisation took hold: the stories about the mad dog were true. She paled and Roose reached a hand to cup her cheek.

"You have nothing to fear My Lady. I made a vow to protect you and I will."

She smiled. "Thank you, My Lord but he can't be worse than Joffrey." She had opened the door, should he push for the truth? It couldn't hurt surely?

"You never told me what happened exactly with the late king." Sansa didn't respond. "My Lady, I won't push you to tell me if you do not wish to but I will expect you to tell me at some point." Closing her eyes before sighing, Sansa removed herself from Roose's touch. She turned away from him and walked to the edge of the hill's peak. Roose watched her silently, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, Sansa turned back to him.

"I was a very naïve child when I first arrived in the Capital. After they arrested my father for treason, Joffrey promised to show mercy if he confessed." Tears were threatening to fall and it took all her strength to stop them from falling. She would not cry in front of him.

"Afterwards, he took me to the traitor's walk way to see his head, he made me stare at it." Roose pursed his lips about to say something but Sansa kept talking.

"Every time Robb won a battle, Joffrey would call me to the throne room so he could punish me for Robb's victories."

Roose closed her eyes, anger threatening to consume him. "Your scars…" She nodded, a stray tear rolled down her cheek. Roose reached for her and brushed the tear from her face as she leaned into the touch.

"Then during the bread riot…" Roose placed a finger to her mouth.

"That's enough for now Sansa. The rest, if you wish to, can be told another time." Sansa blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall and smiled.

"Thank you."

"Come, let's return to the road." He said, taking her hand and leading her back down the hill. "And Sansa, stay by my side." Roose couldn't explain it but he had this overwhelming urge to protect her. For some time after their conversation, Roose didn't speak to Sansa, a deep guilt had taken root in him. He couldn't brush it off. Perhaps, he shouldn't have asked about her torment. Of course, he'd heard tales of how sadistic Joffrey Baratheon was but he hadn't expected him to be as cruel as Sansa described. It did explain why Cersei thought her to be meek and why she was fearful of him even now.

After a few more hours, Roose decided it was time to make camp for the night. They had reached the White Knife and the river's valley would offer protection against the elements if they needed it.

"My Lady, I think we'll stop here for the night." His words came as a surprise to Sansa who had become used to his silence. She had been grateful for it, she wasn't sure if she was ready for any more trips down memory lane. The company came to a halt and then descended into a flurry of activity around her. Lord Bolton dismounted his horse, handed the reins to a stable boy and helped Sansa out of her saddle.

"How are your legs today?" He asked, concern laced his voice as he placed her on the ground.

"Still sore but better than yesterday."

"Are you cold, My Lady?" She shook her head. "Very well, ask your maid to find you a change of clothes and then follow me." Sansa watched him walk off in search of his squire before she looked for Lyra. Locating the maid some time and by the time she had done as Lord Bolton had instructed, he had wondered off up river.

When she finally caught up with him, she found him waist deep in the water. Sansa watched him from the riverbank for several minutes, his back to her.

"Will you be joining me, wife?" He asked when he eventually discovered her presence. In response, she raised an eyebrow. He couldn't be serious? Roose simply smirked at her reaction.

"I'll need help…" She stated and no sooner had the words left her mouth than her husband had emerged from the river and turned her around. The heat from his body was flooding through her as he undid her stays. With little care, he pushed the dress off her leaving her standing in her shift and small clothes. Next, he removed her small clothes, placing a kiss to her neck.

"I'll let you decide what happens to your shift." He whispered, the vibrations causing goose bumps to form. She turned to face him but he was already making his way back into the water. Sansa watched, admiring his half naked body. Roose sensed her staring.

"You coming?"

With little hesitation, she followed her husband into the White Knife. The icy water pierced her body like a thousand knives stabbing her over and over but she didn't care, Roose had pulled her towards him and his heat was warming her through. Lord Bolton looked down at his shivering wife and smirked when he saw the now see through material of her shift. She had kept it on to preserve her modesty but the water had made that impossible. He could see the curve of her breasts, her hardened nipples and he wanted her but he refused to take her there. Instead, he reached down to her thighs and gently massaged her sore muscles. She moaned at his actions, no doubt wanting something else but he wouldn't grant her that. Not there.

Sansa wasn't sure how long she stayed in the freezing water of the White Knife but it was long enough that she no longer felt how cold it was. Roose had successfully massaged the hurt out of her sore thighs and she was content. Disappointed somewhat that he had kept their little swim clean but content nevertheless.

When they returned to the camp that evening, all the tents had been erected and the place was bustling with noise. Sansa smiled at this, it was a welcome surprise to discover that life with her husband or in his service at least wasn't as cold as everyone claimed it to be. They entered their tent to find dinner waiting for them and Sansa cursed inwardly to discover that first it was game again and second she was dining alone with her husband. He pulled a chair out for her and she sat down slowly despite trying to hide her hesitation. Amused, Roose took the seat next to her and dismissed both her maid and his squire; they would dine alone tonight.

"Wine, My Lady?" He asked picking up the jug and moving it to her cup. She considered rejecting it but if she had to endure making conversation with him, perhaps it would help. Roose filled her glass before filling his own with water.

"Once we've reached Winterfell, I'll send for some Arbour Gold for you to try, you might prefer the taste."

"Thank you, I've never had Dornish wine before."

"It might be advisable for you to instruct our kitchen staff that you don't like game." Sansa smirked, she hadn't been very good at hiding it.

"I'm good at reading people. Unfortunately, whilst we're on the road, we eat what is hunted." Sansa nodded, she wasn't stupid enough to not know that, she just wished they would catch something else. After that they fell into a uncomfortable silence with neither sure of what to say. When Sansa could not take the silence any more, her mind flickered through the many topics they could possibly talk about until her mind settled on one.

"My Lord, you mentioned your son will be at Winterfell when we arrive…" she raised her head to look at him dead in the eye. "Will he be staying there permanently."

"My bastard, Sansa. Our male children will be sons… Ramsay is a bastard." Sansa swallowed at the word children. There was once a time she had been ecstatic to have children to continue her husband's line but that died around the time Joffrey had executed her father. The thought hadn't crossed her mind again since her betrothal to Joffrey had ended. Of course, she was expected to give Lord Bolton heirs and they had certainly made it a possibility but the thought hadn't really occurred to her.

"Ramsay will stay for as long as he is useful." That brought a swift end to Sansa's attempt at a conversation and they returned to the same awkward silence. This however, was abruptly ended when Maester Rhodry entered the tent holding a letter; Sansa recognised the sigil as it was handed to Roose: House Frey. Roose dismissed the man before breaking the seal and reading the letter's contents.

"It seems Lord Frey has successfully besieged Riverrun…"

"And my great uncle?" She asked not sure if she wanted the answer, not sure if she could handle the news of another family death.

"He fought bravely but he's reunited with your mother." A shallow gasp left her mouth as a single tear rolled down her cheek. His words confused her but she didn't dare ask if he meant that Uncle Brynden was in the Trident with her mother or if he just meant he was dead.

Roose stood from the table and sat at his desk before drafting a response to Walder Frey's letter. His wife sat frozen. The Blackfish's death had been inevitable and was necessary if House Frey was to remain a powerful but he knew Sansa wouldn't understand; she would see it as the death of another family member caused indirectly by him. He finished his response, called for the guard on duty to take it to the maester and then turned to his wife. She still hadn't moved. Roose walked behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

"Come to bed wife." Slowly, Sansa stood and he led her to the bed before turning her around and loosening the stays of her dress. He pushed the soft material off her shoulders and it fell down her body, pooling at her feet. Roose then removed her small clothes and Sansa stepped out of her discarded clothes. She climbed into the bed as he readied himself for bed before climbing in beside her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him but nothing more.

"My Lord… aren't we going to…" She asked in confusion.

"Not tonight Sansa."

"But don't you want children?" In other circumstances, Roose would've smirked at her still somewhat childlike nature but not tonight.

"Of course I do, but you're grieving and I won't make you tonight." He heard her draw a ragged breath before she settled against him, her back touching his chest; he ran a hand through her hair. It smelt sweet like flowers. He'd never noticed before. Sometime later, they fell asleep exactly as they were and for the first time since they'd cut her father's head off, she felt safe. Roose Bolton might never love her in the way her father loved her mother but at least he would keep her safe.

Trigger Warning- this is where the violence starts.

Suddenly, Sansa was awoken by a loud noise, the sound of metal scraping against metal. She felt Roose jolt awake beside her as raised voices came from outside. The guard on night duty outside their tent rushed in.

"My Lord, we're under attack." Without any hesitation, Roose jumped out of the bed, got dressed and grabbed his sword from where it rested on the table.

"Stay with Lady Bolton." He instructed the guard and with a forehead kiss to a panic stricken Sansa, he left the tent.

Time passed so slowly in his absence and Sansa was unsure of how long she sat in bed shaking, frightened tears streaming down her face. In an attempt to reassure her, the guard offered to find out what was happening leaving Sansa alone in the tent. Several minutes passed by. Suddenly there was a noise outside. It sounded like a grunt. The tent door opened. The body of her guard fell backwards onto the ground, a sword sticking out of his stomach. Sansa screamed.

"Well, well, well… what do we have here?" A man she'd never seen before entered the tent. Every part of Sansa went numb. "The Stark bitch who married a Bolton… The North remembers My Lady."

And with that, he climbed onto the bed. Sansa tried to move but her muscles weren't working. She screamed as he pushed her down. He pulled back the furs. Sansa kicked him but it was no use. He pinned her down. She screamed louder praying that Roose would come for her. The man covered her mouth with his hand. She bit him and he slapped her across the face twice. When Sansa felt his hand pull up her shift, she stopped struggling. Her body paralysed. She closed her eyes as tears fell.

There was a grunt, the sound of metal and then the weight lifted off her. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Roose was stood in front of her, her attacker on the floor, still alive… just.

"Take him." Roose instructed Ser Banefort and another of his men. They followed his instructions leaving Sansa alone with her husband. He stared at her, her dishevelled state, her shift bunched up around her waist and the haunted look in her eyes.

"Sansa, I need to ask you something, I'll only ask it once and then I'll never mention it again if that is what you want." He said as softly as he could. She nodded.

"Did he rape you?"

Sansa sniffed before answering. "No, My Lord, he was going to I think but you got here before he could do anything." Roose nodded.

"Get dressed and come with me." He told her and left the tent again. Hesitantly, Sansa got of bed and found her dress. It took some time for her to tie the stays herself but eventually she left the tent in search of her husband. There were dead bodies littering the campsite and it took everything in Sansa not to throw up from the sight and smell of so much blood. Roose was stood not far from their tent in front of four kneeling men. He was surrounded by most of his men and talking to Ser Banefort. As Sansa approached, their conversation ended. She stopped by his side, confused as to what was happening.

"You stand accused of treason against your liege lord, how do you answer these charges?" His voice silenced everyone gathered.

"Treason?" The one who had attacked Sansa laughed.

"You launch an attack on the Warden on the North and whilst the rest of your men are distracting him and his men, you attack his wife and attempt to violate her. That is treason." Sansa paled. There was only one punishment for treason.

"You will never be Warden of the North and she's nothing but the bitch who betrayed her house by marrying their enemy." He spat.

"Very well… I Roose of House Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and the Dreadfort and Warden of the North sentence you to die." At his words, Sansa turned to walk away but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him.

"You need to watch this." He whispered. She nodded and her eyes turned back to her attacker. Roose gave the order to Ser Banefort, who walked behind Sansa's attacker, dagger in hand.

"The North remembers." Were his last words before Ser Banefort slit his throat. Two of the other men knelt before them received the same fate. The fourth man, however was punched several times in various places, blood pouring from his nose and mouth but kept alive.

"Give the new Lord Manderly a message: I am Warden of the North and this is what happens to traitors in the North. And let this serve as a warning to any who dare cross me or those who dare to refuse to bend the knee." Roose declared before instructing his men to let the prisoner free.

Sansa frowned. Lord Manderly had ordered the attack? That didn't make any sense. She was still trying to process it all when her husband turned his attention back to her. He reached out and took her hand.

"Come, My Lady." His words were soft. "Someone send Rhodry to my tent." He barked at no-one specific and then led her back to their tent. Once there, he sat her down at the edge of the bed. She was shaking both out of shock and fear.

"Sansa." He placed a hand under her chin and gently lifted her head up so her eyes met his. At once, he saw her fear.

"Sansa, I'm sorry I didn't protect you." She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes but she wouldn't cry.

"No-one's protected me for a long time." Roose watched her, expecting her cry, expecting her to fall apart. She wasn't. She was shaking and her eyes were watery but she was holding herself together. He was impressed.

"My Lord…" The Maester had entered the tent.

"Tend to Lady Bolton." His eyes didn't leave Sansa. "I'll wait outside." He placed a kiss to her forehead, she flinched and Roose sighed.

The next few minutes were excruciatingly painful as he waited outside the tent for the Maester. Eventually he joined Roose outside the tent.

"She's fine, My Lord… there's some bruising, some quite extensive but she'll be okay physically. As for mentally… I can't say My Lord."

"Thank you Rhodry." And with that, he returned to the tent and to Sansa.

**End of violent part.**

The next day was a slow ride. Roose had intended it to be a day of hard riding. He had wanted to reach Winterfell in the early afternoon. But after the events of the night before and Sansa's injuries, he had decided on a slower pace. This also meant that she could keep up with him and so would remain by his side all day. She had been quiet most of the day, only speaking when he asked her a question and giving vague answers. Roose didn't want to treat like she was glass, he usually saw such fragility as a weakness but with Sansa it was different. There was an overwhelming need to protect her, to take her pain away but he didn't know how to. Rhodry had assured him that it wouldn't last but he wasn't convinced and he didn't know how to help her. He had made a promise to keep her safe and he'd failed.

As for Sansa, the events of the previous evening or more specifically, Roose's actions in the early hours of the morning had scared her. She knew who her husband was and he had earned his reputation but she'd seen a different side to him the last few days. She hadn't forgotten who he was but the way in which he took delight in slitting the throats of those men, terrified her. It had been a long day and she was glad that they were beginning to lose the light: they'd be setting up camp soon and she could rest. That was when she saw it.

Every fibre of Sansa's being went cold. They had finally made it to Winterfell but it was not her Winterfell. Of course, she knew that Theon and the Ironborn had burnt it to the ground but she hadn't expected it to be so different. She was not returning home. This was not her Winterfell, this was Lord Bolton's Winterfell.