Jon leaned forward on his elbows. Tormund sat on one side of him and The Hound on the other. Arya sat across from him with Osmund and Loras on either side of her. He had long ago given up on shooing his sister away from the drinking men. Brarton and Shale had found places in the surrounding areas. Petyr was seated with some of his men and Jon was sure Melisandre was hiding out in the office. Brienne was standing guard over Ygritte and Taryne. He sighed. He was prepared to go off to battle again… as prepared as could be expected anyway. He wasn't a particular fan of taking lives, but he did what needed to be done to protect the people that he loved. He had done a horrible job in the past, but he was making up for it.

He had let being called a bastard push him towards the wall, far more than his need to do something just and honorable. He'd gone off and Sansa had been subjected to horrible things, things that were bad enough for The Hound of all people to feel bad for her. She'd been thrown from man to man; promised to Joffrey, married to Tyrion, promised to Robin and then wed to Ramsay. She had changed dramatically through the events and although Ramsay wasn't the husband he would have chosen for Sansa, he protected her more than he hurt her. He had been at the wall when his two sisters had watched their father be beheaded. Arya had been forced to dress like a boy and dragged across the sea where she was beaten mercilessly, blinded and forced to be a beggar on the street. He was at the wall when Rickon and Bran were forced out of their home and Robb had been murdered, his head sewed on to that of his wolf. He spent a lot of time thinking about what would have happened had he been at Winterfell. He and Robb had been close, not as close as he and Arya, but close enough for Robb to bring him along to war. He wondered if he would have made a difference. Catelyn didn't care for him, rest her soul, but he was sure Robb would have sent him to Winterfell instead of Roose Bolton or if he hadn't been taken to war at all, he would have been at Winterfell when Theon returned. There may have been something that he could have done. Both of those things ended with Sansa and Ramsay never meeting, but none of them particularly kept Robb alive. He realized Sansa blamed herself for the death of their father and Robb. Eddard's death was one brought on by his honor. He would have most likely taken off to help his friend whether Sansa wanted to marry Joffrey or not.

Jon shook his head clear of his thoughts. He could feel Arya's gaze on him. He took a drink from his mug and slid a little closer to Tormund as a woman refilled it. He was sure she was purposely continuously brushing against him and it was making him irritated. She filled up every mug at the table and Brarton scoffed soon after.

"She obviously wants your cock, Jon Snow," Brarton chuckled.

The Hound smirked behind his mug.

"Not interested," Jon shrugged and picked his mug back up, "and can you not talk about it in front of Arya?"

"I know what a cock is," Arya rolled her eyes.

Loras, Osmund, Shale, Brarton and The Hound laughed collectively and Jon shot his youngest sister a look.

"Jesus, Jon you aren't a man of the Night's Watch anymore. It's fine to bed a woman," Loras smirked.

"How do you know anything about bedding women?" Shale retorted.

Brarton, Tormund and The Hound chuckled. Osmund shook his head.

"Jon wasn't a virgin during his watch anyhow," Tormund said picking his mug back up.

"So what's your type?" Osmund asked, "because even I think she's pretty."

"His type is wildling," Tormund muttered.

"Seriously?" Brarton raised his eyebrow.

Jon let his gaze stay down on the table and his mug. He knew Arya and the men around her eye's were on him. He could feel it. He didn't want to meet their prying eyes however.

"Seriously," he said stiffly and picked his mug up.

"So what happened to her?" Loras questioned.

"Did she break your heart?" Brarton scoffed.

"Were you horrible in the sack?" Shale added.

The men shared a collective laugh with the exceptions of Tormund, Arya and The Hound.

Jon tilted his head back and drowned his mug back before standing up abruptly and walking swiftly away and towards his room for the night. Arya and Tormund knew the story. He wasn't up to talk about it- another life on his hands of a person he loved. He probably could have saved her, but he hadn't. She'd been killed by the same people that had killed him. Brothers. What a joke. His only brothers were Rickon and Bran just as Sansa and Arya were his only sisters. He'd lost enough people. The Gods had taken all of his siblings away and then somehow given most of them back. He wasn't going to give anyone the chance to do so again. He needed rest for the impending battle. He wasn't fighting for land. He was fighting for the people that meant the most to him.

X

Arya let out a sigh and Tormund and The Hound collectively looked at her.

"You pissed him off," Loras accused Brarton and Shale.

Brarton shrugged with a smirk. Shale took a drink from his mug.

"I thought it was harmless fun," Shale admitted.

"It wasn't harmless or fun! She died," Arya snapped, "She was his first love and she died in front of him so keep your stupid questions and comments to yourself!" she stood up abruptly and was aware that half the dining hall was looking at her, "Brarton, do you ever think before you open your mouth and let shit come out of it? Are you a sword swallower?" Loras visibly covered a laugh, "because you've worried about Jon's cock enough! Worry about your own! If you can find it, that is," she reached over the table and flicked his mug over before turning away and hurrying after her brother.

Tormund swiftly got out of his seat and followed after the youngest Stark at The Twins. They were in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. Jon would want his head if he knew Arya was roaming around alone.

"Now you've gone and pissed off three of them," Loras shook his head, "Your head will be on a spike before we march back north."

Brarton scoffed and Osmund and The Hound both gave him a look.

"Is that funny?" Osmund asked.

Loras rested a hand on his larger counterpart's thigh and gave it a squeeze. He knew Osmund was protective of Sansa, more so than Ramsay actually.

"I doubt Ramsay will want my head on a spike because I offended Jon."

"Sansa might."

"I don't answer to the Stark girl."

"Ramsay Bolton does," he said dryly.

Osmund waited for Brarton to say something that would warden a sword in to his throat. When none came he stood up.

"I'm sick of you lots company," Osmund decided aloud.

He drowned his mug back and slammed it on the table and Loras hopped up. They exited together.

Brarton sighed and raised his hand for a new mug and Shale leaned forward on the table as Bronn collapsed beside him.

"Where is everyone?" he question.

"Brarton pissed everyone off," The Hound stood up, "I'll probably have to kill him tomorrow if Osmund doesn't get to him first."

He left the three men alone and Bronn laughed.

"My advice to you is to not talk when you aren't being talked to and never under any circumstances whatsoever upset Sansa Stark," Bronn offered, "That's like asking Ramsay Bolton to flay you on display."

"I didn't speak out against Sansa. I upset Jon."

"She'd probably be more lenient if you pissed her off," Bronn laughed, "but tonight we drink and prepare for tomorrow. You may still have a head by then if you stick around me."

X

When Sansa awoke the sun had still not risen. She felt around the bed for a body her hand never came in to contact with and when she sat up she caught sight of him- Ramsay, seated at a small table, a candle and map before him. He was still shirtless, the fire place roaring behind him. She sat up and yawned and Ramsay looked up at his wife.

"Your hair," he said simply before looking back down.

Sansa reached up and felt her hair still pulled back in to a braid. She freed it easily and crossed her legs, drawing their covers around her.

"You normally pull it free," she said quietly.

"I guess I was distracted," he smirked and leaned closer to the paper before him.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course," Ramsay ran a hand through his hair.

He wasn't. He very much wasn't. He was used to being rash. He rushed in to things first and dealt with the consequences later. He had been the one to tell Roose to storm the wall and murder northerners without batting an eyelash. He couldn't do that anymore. His decisions would fall on Sansa and their children. It was too much pressure; to protect them and their home. His life had been much easier when his life was the only one that held value. That wasn't the case anymore and it was making him crack. He was sure he was becoming unhinged.

"Come back to bed," Ramsay looked up at his wife, her hair pushed behind both of her shoulders, one of her hands gripped in to the bedding, the other subconsciously resting on their second child. He sighed and stood up. He blew out the candle on the table and crossed the room.

"Move over," he said dryly and Sansa clambered to accommodate him.

He laid on his back, one of his arms beneath his wife's pillow and she wrapped herself around him, one of her arms beneath her pillow holding on to his arm, the other across his chest and one of her legs holding one of his between them. She leaned her head back and he planted a quick kiss to her lips. He could look over maps every moment until his horse's feet hit a battlefield. Knowledge of where they were wouldn't save his life. If he was going to die, the least he could do was cuddle up to Sansa before then.

X

The next morning when Ramsay woke up Sansa was already awake, trailing her hand up and down his chest. He closed her hand in his and she stilled instantly.

"Are you ready for more travels?" he peaked one of his eyes open.

"I suppose so."

"Good," he freed himself from her and hopped to his feet, dressing himself quickly as Sansa watched.

He dressed and pulled on his shoes before returning to the bedside. He opened his arms and Sansa crawled over and knelt at the end of the bed wrapping her arms around his neck. She was worried about him, but she knew expressing that would make him feel weak. She collapsed back on her knees and Ramsay helped her to her feet. He was faring well with her pregnancy considering. He helped his wife take care of her morning rituals and braided her hair back down her back before releasing a pair of shirts and matching trousers from her chest. He eyed them carefully. They were an extremely dark blue with light brown on the top.

"These aren't mine," he crossed the room and Sansa raised her arms as he lifted her gown off of her.

"The shirt belonged to my father and the pants belonged to Robb. I've grown out of your shirts."

"Robb," Ramsay repeated as he helped Sansa in to her father's shirt, "He was a great warrior when my house followed him even if I didn't personally answer his call."

Sansa took a deep breath. They didn't talk about Robb when they could help it. Ramsay knelt before his wife and she braced her hands on his shoulders as he helped her legs in to Robb's old trousers. When he was done Sansa sat back on the bed and Ramsay collected her shoes and began to help her in to them.

"I'm sorry about your brother, Sansa," he said quietly and she nodded.

Ramsay had never apologized about Robb. He hadn't been the one to kill him, but it still made her chest tighten. He pushed her other foot in to her other shoe and began to quickly lace them. He stood up straight and gave Sansa's forehead a peck.

"Make sure your things are in your chest and I'll have Osmund come collect it. Attempt to put something in your stomach, Sansa. We'll be leaving soon."

She nodded and Ramsay headed out in search of his daughter. He could very well take inventory while holding her. He'd be out of her presence long enough in what could easily be two weeks or less. He planned to enjoy her when he could.