AN:/ Warning: there are some upsetting scenes in this chapter, feel free to skip to chapter 22 if you don't want to read them. This chapter had a life of its own once I started writing it and although some of this wasn't planned, it did end up where it was meant to.

Chapter 21

Sansa watched in awe at the scene around her. Roose Bolton, traitor, Leech Lord and Kingslayer had united the North. She had never even contemplated it was possible. Never thought that the North would bow to the man who had killed their king.

She was still in awe when she retired to their bedchamber that night. Perhaps awe was the wrong word, she was numb with shock. How had he done it? What had he offered them in return for their acceptance and allegiance? Was this what he had been planning and plotting? The questions were whizzing around in Sansa's mind and she couldn't make sense of any of it. Roose Bolton had killed their king, had killed their kin and they had pledged their allegiance to him as Warden of the North. None of it made sense. Sansa was still lost in thought when Roose entered the room. She didn't hear the closing of the door or her husband dismissing her maid and the door opening and closing a second time as the girl left. She didn't even feel his gaze on her as he studied her beside the door. In fact, Sansa did even register his presence until he placed a hand on her shoulder. At the sudden contact, her eyes shot up to meet his in the mirror above her dressing table. Roose raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"I was beginning to wonder what it would take to get your attention." She stared at him, confusion evident on her features, he ignored it. "My next attempt would have been this." He placed his other hand on her collar bone, softly teasing the skin before moving it lower and taking a breast in his hand. Sansa moaned at the touch.

"So that does get your attention… I'll remember that for next time." He mused and Sansa blushed. "Now, My Lady… if I'm not mistaken, I owe you some attention." Sansa said nothing, instead she kept her gaze on him, she watched him lower his lips to her neck. She watched as he licked and sucked the skin. Her eyes never left the glass as her head leaned back at his touch and a moan escaped her lips. The sight of Roose touching and licking her was causing heat to pool at her centre. Before long she would be dripping wet and demanding he focused his attention elsewhere. But for now, she lost herself in his touch as another moan left her lips. Roose was working his way up Sansa's neck, his hands playing with both nipples when there was a knock at the door.

"My Lord, a rider in the night." It was Elmar Frey.

"Come in." Roose exclaimed in frustration and Sansa scowled at him; the straps of her nightgown had been pulled off her shoulders and the material had been pushed down her body leaving her half naked. As the door opened, a gush of cold air swept in the room and she shivered. Roose frowned at her before realising her state of undress. Sansa moved her hand to the fabric in an attempt to pull it up over her chest.

"Leave it." He growled in her ear and Sansa scowled again at him.

"My Lord… this came from Lord Frey." Sansa narrowed her eyes. Why was Walder Frey writing to Roose? What was so important that it had to be delivered by hand? Annoyed but also intrigued, she watched as Roose was handed the letter, opened it and read the contents.

"Thank you Elmar, that will be all." The man left the room as Roose continued to read the letter. Then, without much care, he tossed the parchment onto Sansa's dressing table and returned his attention to his young wife. His young wife, however, was reading the discarded words with mixed curiosity and horror. Walder Frey was promising Roose his support. Support for what? Why would Lord Frey, the new ruler of the Riverlands be offering support to the Warden of the North?

"Sansa…" He whispered in her ear, the feel of his breath tickling her ear before taking her earlobe in his mouth and sucking.

"What did Lord Frey want?"

"Nothing of any importance." He stopped teasing her ear, enabling Sansa to stand up. She turned to face him, and his lips connected with hers, but Sansa pulled away. Roose narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'm tired." She shrugged, keeping a tone of innocence in her voice. Stunned, Roose watched her as she readjusted her nightgown and got into bed. He followed her intending to resume their activities, but she turned away from him.

The next morning brought even more confusing news for Sansa as two letters arrived from the wall. One was from the Lord Commander and the other was addressed to Sansa. Roose took the letter from the Lord Commander and disappeared into his study, the second, he gave to Sansa who decided to read it in private and so kept it for later. She hadn't been attending to her horse in the stables for long when Roose found her.

"We have a problem My Lady." Sansa froze as her mind whirled through what she had done to annoy him this time.

"Stannis Baratheon has made it to The Wall. He intends to take the Seven Kingdoms and claim the Iron Throne and to do so he'll need to Winterfell." Moments of silence passed between them as Sansa processed what he had told her. Stannis Baratheon, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, the man who could dethrone the Lannisters, who could bring them down was at The Wall. The logical approach for him to retake the Seven Kingdoms was via the Kings Road, through Winterfell. What did that mean? Would he kill Lord Bolton for betraying Robb, for betraying his liege lord? Would he kill Roose for taking Winterfell and making himself Warden of the North? Would he free her from her marriage and leave her the North as the last surviving child of Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully? Did she want to be freed?

"What will happen?" The words left her mouth, quiet and meek, before she could stop them?

"We swore allegiance to King Tommen, My Lady." Sansa's face paled. "There's no need to worry, we will stop Stannis Baratheon." Sansa was more intelligent than he had given her credit for. "There will not be another war for the Iron Throne." His words did little to reassure her, his comfort was futile, she wasn't worried about war. She had survived the War of the Five Kings; she had survived the battle of Blackwater Bay. No, Sansa did not fear war.

"Sansa." Roose called her back to the present, his fingers gently stroking his gloved hand. "I promised to keep you safe, nothing will happen to you." She nodded, only half paying attention to what he was saying.

"Now, I will leave you to enjoy your morning, I must speak with the Lords if I am to face Stannis with a Northern Army." And with that, he placed a kiss to her cheek before leaving her. Sansa remained where she was, paralysed in thought. Could Roose defeat Stannis? What would happen to her if Roose died. Should they fight Stannis? Did she want Stannis to defeat Roose? Months ago, the answer to that was a simple yes but now, she didn't know. He deserved to die for what he had done to her family, but did she want it?

So caught up in her thoughts, Sansa had forgotten about the letter that had arrived, addressed to her. It wasn't until she was changing for dinner that evening that she remembered she had hidden it in her gown. Hesitantly, she opened it. It was from Jon. An overwhelming mixture of happiness, regret and sadness washed over her at the revelation. The last of her family and he had reached out to her despite their history. He was relived she had escaped King's Landing, but her marriage concerned him. Sansa squealed in relief; he didn't hate her. Then came news she dreaded; Stannis was at the wall and had publicly recognised her as their father's heir and Warden of the North. Sansa's heart skipped a beat and the colour drained from her face. How could he recognise her? Yes, she was Ned Stark's only living legitimate heir, but she was married to Lord Bolton now, that would make him Warden of the North. Jon had answered that question too. Stannis would annul the marriage, it was under duress after all, and dispose of the traitor Roose Bolton. Sansa felt sick. To agree to any of this was treason and Roose could kill her if he found out. But did she want to agree to it? Stannis could give her Winterfell and dispose of Roose, but Sansa would have to marry eventually and give the title to her husband. Did she want rid of Roose? Yes, there were some serious issues between them, but they had been married in sight of the old Gods and even though she hated him for what he had done, she also felt something else. She wasn't sure what, but it was enough to make her question Stannis' plans.

"What's this?" His voice made her jump, she hadn't even heard him enter the room.

"Nothing, My Lord." Quickly, she folded the parchment back up but Roose grabbed her wrist.

"Sansa, a wife should not have secrets from her husband." She tightened her grip on the letter. "Interesting sort of nothing if you're determined to keep it from me." Still, she would not relent. She couldn't. "Is it from an admirer?" When she didn't respond, he tightened his hold on her. "Sansa give me it." His voice was ruthless now.

Frightened, she reluctantly held it out to him. He took the letter from her and released her wrist. Preparing for his reaction, Sansa stepped away from him dressed in only her shift, just as her maid returned with the dress Sansa had requested to be washed the day before.

"Leave the dress and go." Roose instructed her, his eyes scanning the document. The maid followed her instructions leaving Sansa alone with an increasingly angry husband. Her heart was thumping in her chest and her mouth was dry, her ears were ringing. Tears were threatening to fall in anticipation of her punishment, but she wouldn't let them.

"So…" He turned to face her. "It seems Stannis Baratheon is confident of victory." Sansa swallowed. "And it seems my little wife wants out of her marriage."

Sansa tried to protest but the words didn't come out. "Let me be clear, My Lady. We were married before the Gods and things will stay that way until one of us dies." His calmness scared her more than his anger and she knew whatever he had planned for her would be worse than she had contemplated.

"I don't want out…" Finally, she found her voice, but it made no difference. She heard his hand meet her cheek and felt the force push her head back before she felt the sting erupt in her cheek. Her skin was still burning when the second slap came, and she stumbled backwards. Her foot caught on the stool and she tripped falling into the corner of the dressing table.

Roose's demeanour changed as he took in the pitiful sight of her on the floor in only her thin shift, the material almost see-through, her cheek bright red from where he slapped her. The shape of her breasts was visible through the shift and desire stirred within him. Gods he wanted her but if he took her now, his anger and her betrayal would control it. He would hurt her, and she would forever fear him. Instead, he stepped over her to the door, opened it, walked out and closed it again, locking her in.

It was then that Sansa allowed herself to cry as she lay in a pool of her own blood.

The maid had returned to her some time later, pulled her up of the floor and put her to bed with milk of the poppy to ease the pain and help her sleep. She had sent for the maester whilst Sansa slept who had confirmed the maid's fears. Her mistress had been pregnant. The maester would no doubt tell Lord Bolton immediately and someone would need to tell Lady Bolton but that could wait. Silently, she slipped from the room leaving Sansa to her slumber.

It did not last long and Sansa was awake when Roose returned to their chamber hours later. He had been informed of his wife's condition and her miscarriage. After her earlier betrayal, he had intended to fuck her into submission. But then the maester had appeared in the great hall with an urgent message. Roose felt sick with guilt. He'd killed his heir. Why hadn't she told him she was carrying his child? He never would've been violent towards her if he'd known, he wouldn't have laid a finger on her if he'd known.

Hearing the door close, Sansa stilled her breathing and kept her eyes shut. Roose watched her for a moment or two, his beautiful, young wife and sighed. Careful not to disturb her, he undressed in the solar and then returned to the bed chamber and got into bed beside her. She felt the mattress dip but didn't move. Roose leaned over her, placed a kiss to her head and then wrapping an arm around her, he settled down to sleep. Sansa slept little after that, trapped beneath the man who had promised to keep her safe and then abused her. It was in the early hours when she finally managed to drift off again but even that was fitful and interrupted.

She was asleep when Roose woke that morning and aware of her restless night, he left the bed without waking her and again changed his clothes in the solar before leaving her to sleep; anger, sadness and guilt flooded through him.

The sun was high in the sky, drifting through a gap in the curtains when Sansa finally woke. She jolted awake, ashamed at the lateness of the hour before the events of the day before came flooding back. She reached a hand to her cheek; it was still tender. Then she felt an agonising pain in her lower abdomen. Had she fallen that hard into the dressing table? Gods, there had been a lot of blood. Frantically, she felt around for any sign of a wound but there wasn't one. Had she imagined the blood? Anxiously, she crawled to the end of the bed and peered out over at the floor. There was no blood. Maybe she had imagined it. But she hadn't, she couldn't have imagined it.

Sansa was still processing everything when the maid entered the room.

"My Lady, how are you feeling?"

"Sore."

"I'll send for something from the maester to ease the pain, but first Lord Bolton wishes to see you." Sansa flinched at the mention of his name. "It will be alright My Lady."

Roose was sat at his desk when Sansa entered the study. The map of Westeros was gone, now a map of the North lay atop a large table situated in the middle of the room. No doubt his mind had moved away from whatever he had been plotting and was now solely focused on the battle against Stannis. He gestured for her to sit in her usual seat but did not look up from the parchment he was reading. Sansa did so but he still didn't look up. She wasn't sure how much time passed between her entering the room and Roose paying her attention, but it seemed like hours. Tension lay between them, suffocating the room. The silence was unbearable, and Sansa was tempted to leave the room, if only to escape the horrible atmosphere. Finally, her husband finished reading. He stood up, then for a split second paused, staring at her as though deciding what to do. Then he walked around the desk and stopped in front of her leaning against the old oak.

"Sansa…" His voice caused her to flinch. "Has anyone spoken to you about last night?" He wasn't sure if anyone had told her about the miscarriage or if he had to do it. She shook her heard. "Did you know you were with child?" Sansa's head shot up to look at him, her eyes wide.

"When you fell into your dressing table last night, it caused… Sansa you lost the baby."

"What?" The word came out as a whisper, barely audible in the silence. Shock gripped her. She had been pregnant, and she hadn't even known. She'd lost it. How? Why had he told her? Why give her hope just to take it away? Did he enjoy hurting her? Shock quickly turned to anger. It was his fault. If he hadn't slap her, she wouldn't have tripped and fallen into the dressing table. He'd killed their child. Tears pricked at her eyes and she rose from the seat. She needed to get away.

"There will be others." Roose didn't know what to say or do. He reached out and grabbed her arm, but she pulled herself out of his grip. He let her go. Sansa had almost reached the door when his voice called her back.

"I trust you haven't replied to your half brother's letter." Slowly she turned back to him. "Sansa, I forbid you to do so." She scowled at him before walking out of the room. Was he serious? He had just killed their child, his heir and he cared about whether she had written to Jon. Perhaps Jon was right to be concerned. Perhaps she should ask Stannis to dispose of Roose. All she knew was the anger she felt at what he'd done. Her child was dead, and her husband had killed him.

The tears were falling uncontrollably now, and she let them. She didn't care who saw. Nor did she care about what Roose had said. She wanted him to pay for what he had done. She wanted him dead. When she returned to her room, she took the first piece of parchment she could find and penned a reply to Jon. She didn't want to be Warden of the North, she didn't want Winterfell, it was not her Winterfell, but she did want Roose to pay and that's what she wrote. The words were carefully selected so that they weren't outright treason if the letter was intercepted before it got to Jon. Doing so took some time and she was just finishing it when the door opened, and her maid entered the room. Sansa frowned, was it time for dinner already? She chose a Tully blue, long sleeved dress that covered everything and left her hair loose, half of it pinned up in the style of her mother. Tonight, as she mourned the loss of her child, she would pay tribute to another of her kin that had been killed by her husband. She knew he would understand the message.

And he did, as soon as she entered the great hall. For a moment, Sansa was surprised at the volume of people in the room; she thought they'd all left and then she remembered Roose needed their support to defeat Stannis. Head high, she walked the length of the hall and took her seat beside Roose, who had stood when she entered. A frown had formed on his features and he scrutinised her face looking for a sign of… well of anything. But gone was the playfulness defiance and teasing that had accompanied her previous messages by clothing. It had been replaced with an impregnable ice.

"My Lady… I had not expected you to join us."

"Why? You didn't lock the door this evening." The coldness in her voice penetrated through him.

"Sansa…" His tone was warning. "Perhaps its better to have this conversation in private."

"Of course, we don't want anyone to hear what you did last night, it might dissolve your alliance." Roose sighed in frustration. This was going to be a long night for both. It was difficult to ignore the tension between them and it was evident that there was more going on then met the eye. The energetic Lady Bolton had gone, instead she was distant, not really present in the room and didn't take part in a single dance. It was as if the life had been drained from her. Perhaps it had.

Roose was frustrated. He didn't know what to do. Yes, losing a child was difficult but she hadn't known about it until after it the miscarriage. Sansa was clearly hurting but he didn't understand why. There was a part of him that wanted to help her, but he didn't know how. Nor did he understand why he wanted to. The sense of betrayal he'd felt when he'd read that letter was like nothing he'd felt before. He'd let her into his life, let himself care about her and she'd betrayed him. He'd killed his child because of her betrayal. The guilt of that was too much for him to bear and so he had to focus on the anger. But doing so meant leaving her to get through this on her own. He was in conflict with himself. She had wormed her way into his life and into his head and now everything he knew was in disarray. How was he supposed to help her? It went against the very fibre of his being and yet he needed to. Perhaps, the place to start was a conversation. She had been cold with him all evening and excused herself relatively early into the night. With one last long at the enjoyment taking place around him, he rose from his seat and followed his wife to their bedchamber.

Sansa was sat up in bed reading when he entered the room; her eyes were red and puffy, she'd been crying. Her eyes never left the text as he walked towards her. Roose sat down on the bed beside her and prised the book out of her hands placing it on the small table. Then he took her hands in his. Sansa didn't resist but flinched slightly at the touch.

"Sansa…" His voice was gentle. "I know you're upset and hurting but there will be other children." Sansa didn't say anything. "Sansa, you are young. It's not uncommon for this to happen at your age." Anger flashed between her eyes, but she didn't speak. How could he think she blamed herself? It was his fault. Roose sensed her anger, saw the look in her eyes. This wasn't helping her.

"Sansa, you are not to blame. And now we know you are fertile, there will be others." She went stiff. Did he honestly think she'd have a child with him? Did he honestly think she would let him near her? Again, his words did not have the intended effect. He knew why. He knew what she needed to say but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Roose Bolton did not apologise. But he had to Sansa. That was different. No, Roose Bolton did not apologise. Instead, he studied her closely. Her puffy eyes and wretched state stirred something in him that he had never felt. Was that pity? Did he feel pity? Oh gods, he did and now he was starting to feel remorse. What had she done to him?

"Sansa… my actions last night… I should not have acted in that way." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. She blinked at him. "The blame for the loss of our child rests with me." He placed a kiss to her head. "Now I think its time you got some sleep." He kissed her forehead one last time before instructing her to lie down. She did so and he tucked her in before extinguishing the candle and leaving the room. Sansa was dumbfounded but was too exhausted to dwell on it. Instead she closed her eyes and sleep took her quickly.

"No."

"Lord Bolton, Winterfell would survive months under siege… much longer than The Pretender would survive laying siege to her." Lord Karstark spoke. Roose had gathered all the lords and Lyanna Mormont into the war room. Stannis Baratheon had left The Wall and they needed a plan.

"No, I do not want Winterfell attacked if it can be avoided. She needs to remain in one piece."

"Lord Bolton's right. Winterfell would survive a siege but why risk damage to her if we can defeat Stannis on the field." Lord Manderley agreed and Roose had to hide his smirk. The idiot had no idea what he was talking about. He was only agreeing because of Roose's threats.

"Very well… what's your plan?" Karstark asked.

"Lady Bolton will prepare Winterfell for a siege and Winterfell will be our retreat if we need one, but Stannis is from the South. He doesn't know the North." Roose walked to the map in the middle of the room as the room erupted into ayes.

"We will use that to our advantage. His horses aren't prepared for the snow, his men will be ill equipped and ill prepared."

"Let's make them more ill equipped… send some men to take out the horse in the night?" Someone suggested above the noise."

"Let's attack them in the night!" Lord Umber suggested and Roose sighed. He was not an honourable man but these suggestions were shameful. Why with a northern army would they stoop to such low tactics?

The next few hours were spent in the same way and by the end Roose was beginning to regret the Red Wedding. Perhaps if he hadn't killed all of King Robb's loyal supporters he would have some men capable of battle strategy. Still, he needed a way of defeating Stannis without involving Winterfell and dwelling on the past would get him nowhere. What he needed was Banefort. The man was standing guard outside of the glass houses when Roose found him.

"I wouldn't have thought this was your idea of fun Banefort."

"It's not My Lord. Lady Bolton's inside."

Roose frowned. "You're on guard duty?"

"Apparently the task required the best."

"Indeed. I have something more pressing for you to do."

"Of course My Lord." Roose led the man back inside to his study. He needed information and he needed it fast.

When Sansa emerged from the glass houses, there was no-one around. Frowning, she look around again. Roose had insisted she had someone with her at all times but here she was completely alone. Taking full advantage of her freedom, Sansa made her way to the Godswood, she had spent most of the day doing an inventory of every single item they had at Winterfell. If Roose intended to fight Stannis, Winterfell had to be ready. The preparation had distracted her mind from how she was feeling and she was happy to say, had stopped her from feeling but it meant that she had not had time to process what had happened. Roose hadn't mentioned to her since the day he had told her and she didn't know why. She didn't know what it meant, was she meant to just ignore that it had happened? Or was she supposed to deal with it on her own? She wasn't sure. Instead, she had distracted herself by keeping herself busy. At least, he couldn't criticise her attentiveness to her role as Lady Bolton.

Very few used the Godswood, Sansa herself didn't know why she used it. She no longer saw the point in prayer, when did it ever work? She no longer found solace amongst the trees but for some unknown reason, it was the place she felt closest to her family. They could not be found in the crypts but here in the Godswood, they were with her. And so, it was the Godswood that she found herself in during her new found and albeit temporary freedom. Roose wouldn't find her there, he had very little use for the Godswood. He had very little use for prayer and it was the one place Sansa felt she could go to mourn. Yes, Roose had potentially lost his heir but she'd lost the life that was growing inside her and she was struggling to come to terms with it. Was she incapable of bearing children? Were they all going to die in her womb? Had Joffrey's continuous beatings rendered her womb inadequate? Of course not, it was Roose's fault for beating her for something she still didn't understand. Just another of her family members that he deemed fit to kill. Well no more. He would not lay another hand on her, would not kill another of her family. She vowed that day in the Godswood that if he lay a hand on anyone she cared for, it would be the last thing he did, for she would kill him herself. How that promise would last, she didn't know, but it was made.

Sansa saw very little of her husband in the days that followed; he was too busy preparing his men for her. Too busy determining battle strategy to even bed her and she was relieved. There were some things that she was not quite ready for after her miscarriage and that was one of them. Instead, Roose spent all hours planning how he was going to defeat Stannis and keep Sansa safe at the same time. He was a skilled commander, he didn't doubt that but he didn't have strong men with him. The majority of the skilled men of the North had died by his hand at the Red Wedding and now he regretted killing them all. But he didn't regret the Red Wedding, how could he? It had given him the North and it had given him Sansa. He'd had time to reflect on his actions that night and perhaps he had been to rash in his anger. Afterall, the letter did not confirm she wanted Stannis to end their marriage. It just suggested it and whilst there were times she hated him, she had never implied that she wanted out. In fact, she had been more than willing when he bedded her even when she was angry at him. He hadn't dared touch her since the miscarriage and he was starting to miss it. In other circumstances, the night before a battle, he would've fucked her until her legs were jelly and she couldn't walk the next day. But not this time, he couldn't. So instead, he had spent the night before facing Stannis in his study with Banefort. Now the time was here.

Sansa had woken early to see him off more out of duty than want. But what did it matter, she was there. She was ignored for the most part as the people around her prepared to leave Winterfell. It was just before he mounted his horse that Roose finally turned his attention to his wife.

"I shall pray for your safe return My Lord."

He pulled her head towards him and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Out of duty or choice?"

The question left Sansa confused for a moment, unsure of how to answer. "Well… emm…" Roose raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps you'll have an answer for me when I return." And with that, he stepped away from her and mounted his horse.