The Eyrie

Sansa Stark

"Land of wolf and land of winter, land that is made from ice and stone..." Sansa sang softly.

Sansa cradled little Ned in her arms, humming the song as she trailed through the yard that was ankle deep in snow and covered in ice. She was thankful for her doeskin boots that reached her knees, the normal slippers of satin she tended to wear would have been pointless and she found herself glad of the winter clothing she had borrowed from her aunt Lysa. Large flakes of snow were falling from the sky, decorating their faces. As she continued to walk through the courtyard, all she could feel was bliss for Sansa was alone at long last.

No, I am not Sansa Stark anymore nor is he Ned, I am Alayne Waters and he is Edmund, my little brother, we are bastards, Sansa recites solemnly to herself before she looks down at the smiling babe that has only witnessed this world for three's moon and she was glad for the fact that he was yet to witness such cruelty. She had arrived in the Eyrie a little over two weeks ago, having made the perilous journey up into the mountains on horseback with Ser Barristan and Tommen and those that were named the Prince's Guard but now she found herself left alone with no one other than her nephew, no one other than the babe that shared the same name as her father.

It left an ache in her throbbing heart when she looked down at him and inspected his eyes, the Maester that resided within the Vale confirmed that Ned was blind in his right eye and his condition would worsen with age but to her, the eyes of little Ned made him more beautiful. With the exception of Boudicca, Sansa has never come across such a beautiful pair of eyes. Although his right eye was fogged over and was more of a misty grey she could still see a green hue seeping through. If Ned were not blind in that eye, he would have a matching pair of emerald eyes that held a hint of blue whenever the light of day caught them. He truly did have Boudicca's eyes but Robb's features dominated his looks. Sansa adored little Ned. She would be a mother to him like she promised the Warrior Queen that was fighting for the name Stark.

Her time in the Eyrie made her recall the time when she once was a stupid little girl. All she could think of was how she had grown since Winterfell. We have changed, Sansa thinks. Herself, Boudicca and Tommen changed but neither she nor her good sister had changed as much as gentle Tommen did. The boy of almost nine name days was still a quiet and well spoken boy, reminding her at times of Bran but his once round cheeks were starting to sharpen and his soft features were growing harder each day that passed, he was a boy lingering on the cusp of boyhood and he was not a man. He was still a child. Sansa could see the resemblance Tommen truly held to Boudicca after he had dyed his hair a dark brown like her own, he looked similar to his older sister then like she did her little sister.

We are the surviving bastard children of Robert, she repeats the words of Ser Barristan. Queen Boudicca of the North sent us to the care of Lady Lysa Arryn of the Eyrie.

Tommen spent most of his time with her sickly cousin, Sweet Robin, who was ages with him. The blue eyed girl preferred it this way, though, she liked being selfish with little Ned and preferred to be alone with nothing but the grey sky above her and the snow covered ground below her, cradling her little nephew in her arms. It was Boudicca who had started calling him Little Wolf from the moment her nephew was placed in his mother's arms but it was Sansa who started to call him Little Ned and the name spread like wildfire. The Northerners called him little Ned rather than just Ned. Ned. That was her nephew's name. It was not Eddard nor Edmund or even Edmure...it was Ned and she would not lose him like she lost her father. No, she would die first before someone dared to try and hurt him. Sansa would be fierce, like her Lady mother and her Queen sister.

Sansa's dark locks covered a part of her face, warming her cold cheeks. She hushed the gurgling little Ned softly and approached one of the many stone seats and with a sweep of her arm, took away all of the snow and sat down on the stone seat that had a thin layer of ice covering it. Her large white cloak that covered her entire body along with Ned's preventing them from feeling any of the cold.

Although she had wrapped Ned in the blanket she had made for him and had made him woollen gloves for his small hands. Sansa looked around as the snow began to fall gently once more, giving her cheeks a tender burn when the flakes of ice landed on her face. The ice turning to water which slides down her face like frozen tears. In a cruel way, the Eyrie reminded her of Winterfell but it could never compare. This was not her home but at times, she was unsure of where her home was anymore...she had lost her home to House Greyjoy and then House Bolton.

"You will rule Winterfell someday," Sansa promised and looked down at little Ned with a soft smile as she stood from the stone seat and knelt in the snow, propping him further up in her left arm and slowly began to build Winterfell from the memories of her home that brought her pain and made her feel more alone than she ever has. "Your mother is a fierce woman and I know that we will see her again soon. If the world was good and if the Gods were just...your mother will be riding for the Vale on horseback and will carry us both far, far away from here but the sad truth is I do not know when we will see her again...do not worry, my little Ned...no matter where in the world she is or where we are, she is our family. Your mother will come to get us soon, I am certain of it."

At first, she had thought the wetness on her cheeks was from the snow melting and sliding down her cheeks but when she came to taste the salt on her lips as she licked them did she come to the realisation that she was crying. After discovering this, she let herself truly weep and she cried for her life. It was not supposed to be this way and she cursed herself for not being born a boy, she would never have had to leave Winterfell and would never have been betrothed to Joffrey. As selfish as it was, she would rather have married Boudicca instead of Robb. Her life would have been simpler.

Yet, she could not change the fact that she was a girl and she thought on what her life could have been. Sansa should have grown old, grey and withered in the walls of her home with a husband who loved her as much as her father loved her mother, sitting by her side and holding her hand. She imagined that their children, grandchildren and even great grandchildren were with them, their laughter echoing in the halls of her warm and welcoming home. A fancy castle and title meant nothing to her now...all she wanted was peace. Through her tears, she began to remake Winterfell before she stopped for a mere moment and looked at Ned, gifting him a small and sad smile.

"And one day, one day you will be King," Sansa told him hoarsely as she built Winterfell, focusing on the towers and the walls. "You will be a just King, a good King. You will not be like Joffrey, who was cruel and vicious. You will not be like Robb, who was too honourable and trusting. You will not be like any Baratheon King. You will be like your Queen, who is fierce and proud and loved. You will be loved so much, Ned Stark, this I know and I will be so proud when I witness a crown of iron being placed on your head. I promise, Ned. Do you promise me? Do you promise to be a good ruler?"

Little Ned's pink lips lifted and he smiled at her, reaching up with small, pudgy hands and grasped the soft and damp curls of her hair that dangled in front of his face. He threaded his tiny fingers through her locks and gave her hair a gentle tug with what little strength he possessed. It was not much for a child of three moon's but it was a promise to her nonetheless. Ned could have tugged at her hair harshly and let out a horrible wail like she had seen other babies and even Sweet Robin do...but Ned was never like that, Ned a solemn and quiet babe. Like her own father was.

Winter is Coming.

Sansa had not uttered those words in what felt like nameday's worth and she knew now that they held a truth to them, they held a horrible truth. She was a Stark of Winterfell, she was a part of the direwolf pack that have held the North for thousands of years and she would not bend over willingly and let the Bolton's take the North. The entirety of Westeros had thought that House Stark was gone. The wolves will come again, Sansa thinks fiercely as she holds Ned tighter and starts on another part of Winterfell, it was coming together and she felt at peace as she stared at the snow Winterfell she had built.

"This is Winterfell," Sansa explains with a gentle smile and holds him closer to the snow and points to various parts of the castle. She lets her grey gloved finger glide across the snow castle until her finger stills at the yard. "That is the yard, this is where my older brothers, Robb and Jon would spar with Theon. And this..." She guides her finger towards one of the walls of the castle. "This is where Septa Mordane would teach Arya and I lessons, not that Arya was keen with that...she would have preferred to train in the yard with our brothers. This part of the castle..." Sansa stills, stopping at a high tower and tilts her head. "Is where Maester Luwin resided. He was a kind and old man. He always said that our fiery hair meant we had luck."

Ned was staring with such an intensity at the small castle that she had created, that it made her almost uncomfortable and she wondered briefly what he was thinking as he busily tried to make sense of the world he was surviving in. Her brows furrowed slightly when he made a grabbing motion and began to pat the Godswood, letting out noises of what seemed to be delight when the coldness of the snow came into contact with his glove covered hands. It was not much of a Godswood though, it was just piles of snow with small broken sticks stuck deep into the snow with red winter flower petals that she had collected earlier, scattered around. For a moment, though, she could imagine herself in the Godswood.

"This is the Godswood, it is beautiful isn't it?" Sansa asks but all Ned does is let out a small hum. "I hope you don't miss your mother too much, your mother is fighting a war for us. If we do not take back Winterfell from the Bolton's...if we do not take back the North...we can never be truly safe, we can never be at peace. No matter where we flee to. Don't worry, Ned. We are safe in the Vale but if a time comes when we aren't...I will simply take you to Castle Black. I would die trying to get you there if it meant you were safe."

"Why the Wall?" A voice asks, causing her to startle.

Sansa stands and spins around sharply, disturbing the snow beneath her feet and it destroyed most of Winterfell causing her heart to ache from the pain when she saw the walls collapse in on themselves. Her blue eyes were wide and her breath had quickened as she tightened her hold onto Ned but let out a relieved sigh when she was met with the green and gentle eyes of Tommen. It was not Petyr Baelish nor Lysa Arryn. It was just Tommen. She tilted her head to the side, inspecting his eyes and noticed while all four green eyed siblings shared the same shade they all held different emotions in their eyes.

Joffrey's eyes always held a malice, a madness that made her shudder but that was hidden as he masked those eyes with a kind smile, that kept his true and darker intentions secret. Tommen's eyes hold a gentleness while Myrcella's eyes always held an innocence which made her smile. Boudicca's eyes hold a strength, a fierceness that made her feel powerful and safe. Although Sansa did not want to admit it, Joffrey had Queen Cersei's eyes while Boudicca had Ser Jaime's eyes.

"Castle Black," Sansa repeats. "To Jon Snow."

"Jon Snow?" Tommen inquires with a small arched eyebrow.

"Yes," She responds and stares ahead, rocking Ned gently. "He will keep us safe, I swear."

The Riverlands

Rolph Spicer

Rolph Spicer watched as she emerged from the thick fog after a long fought battle, riding aback a black stallion. As she charges for him, her horse trampling over the bodies of the slain, she looked like the Warrior himself. Her face was decorated with three red lions, it was as if a lion had clawed at her face. Her squid ink coloured locks slathered in blood and mud were fiercely whipping behind her. He found himself unable to pry his dull eyes away from the Warrior as she nears him with wild and fierce stormy eyes of green along with a snarl on her face, if he looked close enough he could see that her teeth were sharpened.

His eyes take in the hillside and he takes in the piles of bodies around him, he turned quickly on his heel to flee only to be met with a hill of the fallen. Rolph swallows harshly, noticing that his wife and many of his soldiers made up the hill. He slowly turns back to the face the demon that was born from the mist. He watches with widening eyes as the woman let out a ferocious roar, her mouth opening wide to show the sharpened teeth that he had indeed seen and as she came closer, she withdrew her war hammer and started to swing it high in the air. The horse's eyes were black and soulless, causing him to stumble back further.

"Traitor," A voice whispered harshly.

He felt a breath snarl at his ear causing him to let out a shout and he turned on his heel only to be met with the same hill of the dead, preventing him from escaping. Rolph was trapped, the horse lets out a loud inhuman screech as it neared him and he turned back around to face her approaching him, the horse was picking up speed. He fumbled for his sword but to no avail he could not untie the leather straps in time before the Warrior brought down her hammer on his head, whacking it straight off.

"Shit!"

Rolph cursed and opened his bleary eyes, looking frantically around the room that was dimly lit by candlelight and let out a relieved sigh. He was still in his room at the inn, the River Road. Rolph leant back against his pillow with a loud sigh and let his eyes drift close, listening to the delighted moans from the wenches and cheers coming from the drunkards in the tavern. His wife was no doubt amongst them but he found himself caring little for her at that moment. All he cared for was the fact he kept dreaming of that damned woman since the night of the Red Wedding.

Rolph was no fool and he knew that she was hunting down those who partook in the events that led to the death of Princess Myrcella Baratheon, Robb Stark, Catelyn Tully and many others. The barbaric woman was picking them off one by one. First, it was the Frey's, then it was the Whitehill's and he knew fine well who would be next. Him. Rolph knew House Baratheon well and he knew that she is saving the biggest players for last in her sickening game.

The grey towers of the Twins no longer held Frey or Lannister banners, he had seen it for himself. The banners that were flying high above the Twins was a black Baratheon stag on a grey field. Amongst all the other banners, the stag was the fiercest and proudest of them all. The banners of her were not the only thing to fly high above the Twins. The decomposing bodies of the hanging Frey's still managed to hang above the Twins and it was a sickening sight but also a terrifying one. If she could that to them, what would she do to him?

Boudicca Baratheon, the First of Her Name. The Bringer of Storms. The Queen of the North and the Riverlands. The Storm Queen The Avenger. The Burner of Sigils. The Butcher.

He loathed yet admired the woman in a twisted way, she had bigger balls than any of her and his men combined. Rolph ran a hand through his thinning hair when he heard it, the screams which caused his entire being to still and his heart stopped for a moment before it began to race. It was not the drunken hysterical laughter or screams of euphoria and pleasure he had heard moments ago, it was screams of pain. Of agony. Of bloodshed. Of death.

The clash of steel and roars were unmistakable and he knew from the moment he heard those screams what was happening. She found us, he thought. Rolph pulled back the furs and got out of his bed, hurriedly approaching the window, uncaring if Sybil or Lord Gawen were in the tavern where the massacre was taking place. If he was to try and leave any other way, he would be killed and his window was above the stables, which meant he could escape with his life. He pushed open the shutters of the window, allowing a fierce wind and heavy rainfall to enter his room.

Rolph hastily climbed out of the window, before dropping to the entrance of the stables below. He looked around briefly and his eyes widened when he saw the folk in the tavern, mainly his men engaged in battle. His eyes squinted when he caught the sigil on one man's armour. A stag. Rolph took in his surroundings before he quickly entered the stables, slamming the small door shut behind him, hoping that no one saw him. He had thought about picking up a sword and helping to defend the tavern from the attack but he knew who was coming, he knew who brought this storm of men and he wanted to be far away from her as possible when she did arrive at the tavern. Besides, he was certain that his men and his children could protect themselves.

He moved over towards his horse and pulled back the heavy iron bolt, unlocking the door to the horse's stall. Rolph patted the mare's neck and as he went to grab the saddle for his horse, the door slowly creaked open behind him, causing him to stiffen. Rolph had little to no time to react before a large dagger was embedded beside the wooden pillar next to his head. His heart raced, thundering against his chest and sweat beaded his forehead as he watched her out the corner of his eye, prowl closer to him like a wolf about to attack its prey.

"Rolph Spicer," The wicked woman taunts. "The new Lord of Castamere. It is a rather fitting title for you."

Rolph stills when he hears her hum, humming the all too familiar song as she nears him. The horse beside him whines and snorts, shifting uncomfortably beside him. I know, he thinks. I want to flee too. He eyes her towering figure, casting a dangerous shadow over him. The woman continues to hum the dreadful song as she reaches out and rips the dagger from the wooden pillar before placing it under his neck, the tip of the dagger was at the point of his chin.

"You thought I was weak, a pathetic little girl, you said," Boudicca snarls softly, sounding more wolf than a woman as she growls in his ear. "My heart has been broken and my body has bled, yet it somehow still beats for me. For my people. For my son. Tell me, Lord Spicer...I will tell you what your heart beats for, do you know what your heart beats for? Nothing. Will I tell you what your kind is?"

"Please," Lord Spicer hisses and glares at the wall ahead of him. "Enlighten me."

"A disease," She seethes and presses her lips to his right ear. "You lot are a disease…and I have come to find that if you cut out the disease, it can't kill you. The last Lord of Castamere drowned…soon, you will too."

Boudicca runs her dagger down his throat, causing his eyes to widen and he let out a short gasp, suddenly finding himself unable to breathe. She moves away from him and he clutches at his throat, running his fingers down the slit in his throat harshly in a desperate attempt to regain the breath he knows that he will never get back. Rolph stumbles to his knees, letting out short gasps and his downcast eyes flicker up to her impassive and cruel face.

The Warrior Queen looked in utter relief, her eyes were closed in complete bliss and her face was relaxed at the fact she had brought an end to his life, she gripped the bloody dagger tightly in her hands as he collapsed to the ground and into a pile of hay, his vision was beginning to darken and he willingly let his eyes close but he caught her last words, the last words she repeated like a mantra of death though he found himself unable to comprehend who or what they were anymore as his hearing started to fade.

"House Frey...House Whitehill...House Spicer..."

Author's Note: Hey, I hope you like this chapter! I would like to thank all of you for taking the time to read this story, for making it one of your favourites and for following it. I would also like to give massive thanks to everyone who has reviewed, your reviews mean a lot to me. If you have any questions, feel free to ask and the next update should be up soon.

Reviews-

ZabuzasGirl: Thank you! I hope you like this chapter.

RHatch89: Thank you!

WolfWarrior: Thank you, it means a lot to me that you think so! As for what is going on with Jon, I can't say anything at the moment but he will be making his appearance very soon!

xdaniellelsextonx: The only way to keep them safe, in her mind was to send them to the Vale with Sansa's aunt but she was unaware of how much danger she was putting them in. In the true nature of House Baratheon, Boudicca and Stannis will start to clash because of their differences. Stannis, Selyse and Shireen will be making an appearance along with Jon Snow soon.

celticank: Thank you! I loved writing from Cersei's point of view and I hope you like Sansa's point of view in this chapter, there will be a lot more pov's of Sansa to come. As for Boudicca finding out, I can't say much yet but everything will start to come together very soon when the Bolton's get involved once more.

jean d'arc: I'm glad you like Cersei's pov, I loved writing that particular part because it shows there was a time when Joffrey was good and he and Boudicca once had a relationship, because children aren't born evil they are made evil and I wanted to sort of show that bitterness of it through her memory.

JediGemini: I'm glad you liked her revenge and I hope you liked this part with the Spicers! Boudicca will be facing Roose Bolton very soon.