Author's Notes:

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Chapter 2

Winterfell

Sansa

"It's finally going to happen, Sansa," Arya said in front of the fire, slouching in her chair to press her palms toward the hearth. Her younger sister looked worse for wear. A black and blue welt swelled her left eye closed, and her throat bore the brunt of the scrapes and bruises tearing her skin. A thick, open slash assumed the line of her high cheekbone. "I still can't believe you actually told her our plan."

The Lady of Winterfell's mouth twitched, her compromise for a smirk. The fire snapped at her feet. "Sometimes we don't get a say in the people we need to see the change we want to see in the world."

"I could just cut her throat and add her face to my small collection."

Sansa tensed in the uncomfortable chair, chin touching her shoulder as she inspected the beds behind them. Those in the room were not awake. The healers said they'd be out for an unknown amount of time. All the private rooms were occupied by the higher ranking member of the Dragon Queen's envoy. They'd found a larger guest room to throw the most important people wounded to ease the strain on the healers running around the castle. The bulk of them perished in the crypts, sadly. Sansa took stock of every unconscious body in all the beds rearranged in the room. Brienne, Jaime Lannister, Theon, and Tyrion lay quiet. Jorah had been able to leave his sickbed prior to the small council meeting. He was ever the lovesick dog waiting for scraps at the foreign queen's heels. He was a pathetic example of a Northman.

"You know that's treason, Arya. We have to be careful around whom we speak," she whispered, eyes anchoring on Theon. A smile bloomed on her mouth as her eyes relaxed. Slipping her cool gaze back to her sister, Sansa twitched her brows together. "I could not suffer another loss in our pack."

A soft chuckle stole Sansa's attention. Arya stared only at the fire. "When I infiltrated the Twins to kill Walder Frey and his sons, I pictured all the ways I could do it." A pretty grin stretched her lips as her eyes reflected the color of the flickering fire. "They sewed Robb's body to his direwolf's head and cut mother's throat, letting the river decide where she rests in death. A bloody feast in kind seemed the best choice, but I couldn't stop there. I dismembered his sons and fed them to Old Walder before I cut his throat and held him, so he'd bleed out and have to endure the pain for as long as possible." Arya reached for Sansa before her sister could stand or turn away. Her hesitant eyes softened when she regarded her sister. "I was there that night, Sansa. The Hound got me there to be with mother and Robb, but we were too late." Neither sister cried. Tears would not save their family. "I used to think you were stupid, nothing more than the silly girl who whined to mother about everything and dreamed of handsome princes coming to Winterfell to save you."

"I was that girl, but she's gone now." Sansa sealed her hand over her sister's and offered her a sad smile. "Father wasn't the only Stark Joffrey killed that day."

"Mother wouldn't recognize us now. We've all become something else, just like Bran."

"I believe she'd find a way to understand us. Perhaps she'd still dislike Jon..."

A soft, growing chuckle echoed around the larger guest room until Sansa looked at her sister and joined in for a moment of unbridled fun. She was allowed that, right? Sometimes, it felt wrong to smile and laugh in a world where her family had to die. Especially Rickon. He'd been too young to have a real chance in the game. The lady's laughter died.

"Can you imagine her seeing you name him king in the North?" Arya wiped a stray tear from her cheek and sniffled as she also stopped laughing. "She would be in hysterics!"

"The bastard of Winterfell...a king. I'm not sure what could be more scandalous to her…"

Arya bit her lip, sighing. "I fucked Gendry before the battle last night."

"What?" Sansa laughed, the noise echoing across the room. Shaking her head, the Lady of Winterfell bit the inside of her cheek. "H-How was it?"

"I see why the Imp made a big fuss of it before he sold his love to the Dragon Queen." Arya shared her sister's laughter until they both settled.

"Don't call him that, Arya. Tyrion was always kind to me," Sansa said, tired of repeating the same line. Instead, she wished everyone could just look at him and see the man for who he was. He made mistakes, sure, but people almost held him accountable for all the world's sins. When he was wrong, no amount of grace was spared to him. Tyrion learned from his blunders. Was it because he was a dwarf that people expected him to overcompensate for what a normal man could provide? Perhaps she simply overthought the matter.

She readjusted in her seat. "It felt like nothing I imagined, though. I can't wait to do it again before I leave."

"And it was nothing like the songs I'd heard, either. The girls of King's Landing spoke of magic and moonlight when I was promised to Joffrey...before I knew what he was. When I became Lady Lannister, they said, 'How could the halfman climb so far North?' The bored girls at court said many more things about us," the lady described, hating how she still felt the thin southern fabrics swish against her skin.

Silence settled. Both Stark girls stared at the fire. From somewhere in the same part of the castle, distant footsteps echoed, carrying into the guest room as Sansa's mind travelled to the exact room he'd kept her in. It wasn't far from this suite. All she had to do was round two corners: make one left, follow the hall until she reached the end table and a split in the corridor, where the final turn was. To many who hadn't known her history or her dead husband's cruelty, the fact that she'd prefer taking a long detour when she could simply traverse through that part of the castle to reach others more quickly seemed odd.

If she listened closely enough, Sansa could hear her own screams from that direction. Gasping, Ramsay's face flashed in her mind. Bile rose in her throat when he grinned. A shiver rocked her spine, and to block a scream from bursting from her chest, Sansa reached for a log and tossed it into the blazing fire. Hatred was a concept she could understand when she was young, but it had only been a simple idea, then. Now, it was as real and tangible as her hair or her fingers.

"Ramsay Bolton made Joffrey look like a saint sent by the Old Gods and the New. Add in the fact…" The Lady of Winterfell sighed, slackening in her chair and gripping her black gown.

"Sansa, you can tell me anything."

Biting her lip, Lady Stark nodded, fidgeting with her long copper locks and staring into the fire. "He made Theon watch him take me like a hound takes a bitch. A few times, he had Theon strip me down and cut me. Once, he was instructed to...touch my body; however, he didn't get very far before Ramsay decided that I was his alone...He told me if I was going to hate or love anyone, it should be my husband. He wanted to own every part of me."

Arya readjusted in her seat and reached her hand, resting it on Sansa's knee. Her sister spared a glare to Theon. She knew what her sister saw: a traitor of House Stark. It's what they all saw. However, Theon Greyjoy was her brother, a part of her family and her name. Now and always. Nobody had to like it. They didn't need to accept it. Her throat clogged as she choked on a thick current of emotion lodged in her chest. When was Theon waking up? There was so much she wanted to talk about.

"He wasn't Theon, then, Arya. He was someone else. Ramsay was the type of man who...invented new souls in existing bodies, eradicating you until none of you was left. I will never utter the name Ramsay gave him because he's dead. Theon Greyjoy saved me. We were almost caught, but Lady Brienne and Podrick saved us. Once he knew I was safe, he went back to his sister. I never thought I'd see him again."

"Sansa, you're the smartest, strongest person I've ever met," Arya whispered. Sansa pressed her hand on her sister's and gave her a small smirk. "I told Jon the same thing because he needs to see you as more than a lady. Perhaps doing so helps him cope with the fact that you're as damaged as all of us, if not more. Bran's all but gone, but you don't look the part of a broken, war-hardened warrior. I know he blames himself for what happened to you."

"I thought our differences were more fragile than the bond we forged since Brienne took me to Castle Black, but I suppose a pair of fire-resistant breasts was all that was needed to stomp that to death."

"Jon's confused. You know that. He loves you, but he fears you, too. You spent a great deal of time in the company of bad, cunning people. You were forged from the fires of our enemies. What's worse, you don't look like someone who could be dangerous. That makes you twice as dangerous to men. You know the rules of a game most of them wouldn't get if it were written on their balls."

"I can't help the journey that gave me my life. Nor will I apologize for any of it."

Arya squinted, shoving her pursed lips to one side and reworking her argument. "Jon's about as black and white as a man gets. When he sees me, I have my sword, a physical object he sees when we spar. To evade it, all he has to do is keep an eye out and block it with Longclaw. Your mind? How can he fight something he cannot see? It was a quiet schemer who started this mess in the first place."

Sansa closed her eyes, easily slipping into a memory. Littlefinger stood next to her on the boat right after she'd left the capital. His voice smoothed over her, comforting her in a world without a father and a mother. None of her brothers were coming for her. Rescue and safety sewed through the fabric of Baelish's soul in an instant, and she clutched onto the flimsy string for dear life. This man had done what no one in her family could do.

"Money buys a man's silence for a time. A bolt in the heart buys it forever," she said. The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them.

"Why do you do that? Those are the words of the man who stole our family..."

"This family is the only thing I give a damn about, Arya. The North is ours, yet here we are forced to bend the knee to a foreign queen with dragons. My mind should be the least of our concern..."

"You're right, Sansa," Arya whispered. Swallowing, she parted her lips and searched the floor for her reply. "Sometimes it feels like we're the last of the Stark family."

"You hated me growing, yet you've all but sworn your unyielding loyalty to me."

"Because you're the future of our house, Sansa." Arya chuckled, opting to keep quiet as she readjusted in her seat. "The men of this family haven't put our House first in a long time. You? You married a monster and shut his eyes forever to reclaim Winterfell."

"I had help."

"Jon can win all the battles he wishes, but it was your victory. Don't let anyone take that away from you," her sister mumbled, inspecting her nails for dirt. "You don't let silly things like love stand in the way of your loyalty. Instead, you manufacture your own potent blend of loyalty and duty that somehow translates to love of our name and home. You're able to love without tossing aside your priorities and responsibilities. To you, love, loyalty, and duty are one in the same."

"You speak of love as if it's only for things like family, home, and creed."

Scratching her cheek, Arya nodded. "Love for anything else is for peacetime. And I, at least, wi'll never be at peace."

"So I'm not allowed to fall in love?" Sansa laughed. Not that she seriously considered it possible for her, knowing her sister demanded that it be off the table completely made her eye twitch.

"You're the smartest Stark. You're clever enough to, one day, find someone who won't ask you to set aside your name or duty to Winterfell and family. That someone may be the great love you dreamt of as a girl. You of all people deserve it, Sansa."

"I can scarcely picture a man suited for someone like me."

"He's out there. Somewhere, I'm sure. He'll sweep you away or whatever the stupid songs sing about. He'll show you what it's supposed to be like at a minimum, but he will treat you like the Lady you are."

"I'm not sure I'll ever enjoy the marriage bed. I just don't see myself falling back into it by choice..."

"Don't say that. You let Bolton win if you honestly believe that."

Sansa wasn't particularly comfortable with the subject, but it was nice having someone by her side of her own blood and sex. She didn't have the heart to steer the conversation elsewhere when this one was the most heartfelt one she'd ever shared with her eccentric sister. "Sometimes, I wish Tyrion would have just taken me on our wedding night. I figure I might have found a way to enjoy it, given the rumors of his wealth of experience on the matter. I could have had something to use to forget how it was with him..."

"Rumors?" Arya said, a low giggle rumbling in her chest. "It ought to be fact by now. Even people in Braavos knew of his love for brothels. I heard people mention it in the streets from time to time when I trained with the Faceless Men."

Sansa shook her head, a small grin stretching her mouth as she sighed. "What an adventure we've both had."

Both sisters grew quiet. The distant sound of cheering and laughter wasn't quite so abrasive in this section of the castle, but it warmed Sansa's heart to know others could cheer and carry on.

"What Ramsay did to you, Sansa...I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you."

"You're here now."

"Until sometime before dawn...Sansa, please be careful while I'm gone. Brienne is more than capable of protecting you, but she's going to need time to heal. Hopefully Theon wakes tomorrow or the day after. I feel better leaving knowing his wounds aren't serious enough from watching your back. When I return, you won't lose me again," Arya said, eyes promising more than Sansa dared to believe.

The Lady of Winterfell didn't want to think about being without her sister, so she bit her lip and watched her sister for a moment. "I'm just happy your first time was decent."

"I don't know about decent. There's nothing to compare it to. At first, it was certainly awkward. But the longer we jiggled our ugly bits together, it became one of the most...unique experiences I'll ever encounter."

Warmth spread on Lady Sansa's cheeks. "Jiggled your ugly bits?" Sansa laughed a bit louder than she had since she was a girl. "That sounds so vile, Arya!"

A smile brightened her sister's gaze, and Arya chanced a glance behind her over to Tyrion. "The little man will be here for some time, Sansa," her younger sister muttered. When Sansa regarded her, Arya wiggled her brows and smiled. "When he's all healed up, you could coax him into jiggling his ugly bits around you."

"That's not funny," Sansa warned, though her sister gave little indication of caring about the lady's careful sense of propriety. "As I've already mentioned, I can't imagine doing that again with any man."

"But he's not just any man. He's the halfman!"

The warmth burned all over Sansa's body like a rash she wished she could itch away, though her heartbeat raced. Shaking her head, she flattened her brows, her typical warning to those who knew her best. A signal for people to tread carefully into a land of fear and unknown, two sentiments Sansa would never again traverse.

"Arya..." Sansa hissed, wary of the others in the room. Arya was hardly being discreet.

"You're saying you honestly wouldn't let Tyrion stick you with his pointy end?"

"Enough!"

Tears formed in Sansa's eyes. One day, probably sooner than she'd like, an arrangement would be made to further her family name. Whilst a bit unorthodox, she was amongst the last of the Starks. Concessions to tradition had to be made in desperate times. But the thought of taking another man to bed horrified Lady Stark. Ramsay had left behind more than mere fingerprints. He'd marked her entire body as his territory. Men prefered ladies, whores or highborn girls alike, to be capable of certain marriage bed activities Sansa had never before believed to be real. The girls at court jested and suggested those activities, but Sansa knew performing well for a man would never be something she'd be capable of.

Ever.

A man of Tyrion's established preference, vast knowledge, and practicable experience would never settle for a woman not interested in providing the most awful carnal needs. This was one of the excuses, though a damn good one, on Sansa's list detailing all the reasons why Tyrion wouldn't make for a good match with the woman she was today.

Arya's smirk evaporated. The sisters still pushed and pulled, exploring the other's limits as they came up. It wasn't unlike her younger sister to tease her, but she wished Arya would stop when Sansa asked the first time.

"Don't you think you ought to enjoy the life you have left? Have some fun? If not with Tyrion, then someone else?"

Sansa narrowed her eyes. "Why Tyrion?"

"I don't know. You seem comfortable around him more than any other man around here…"

"I'm the Lady of Winterfell."

Arya sighed. "I'm Arya of House Stark. I'm in the needleworking business of quietly killing people." Shrugging when Sansa narrowed her eyes at her, her sister rolled her eyes. "Who the fuck cares? One day you'll marry a boring sod who probably won't learn as many tricks as any dog could. Try and have something to look back on when you start getting all pruny and gray."

"You shouldn't say that word, Arya."

"Like you never have…" Arya picked dirt from under her fingernail for a bit before her sister's silence said everything on the matter. Bugging her eyes out, she chuckled. "By the Old Gods and the New, Sansa! Your hair is already down...you may as well enjoy the breeze a bit."

The door squealed as it swung open. Gendry's face poked around it, eyes immediately settling on Arya. However, eventually, he bowed to Sansa. "Lady Stark."

"I feel a breeze coming from the general direction of the stables, Sansa." The chair her sister occupied rumbled against the stone floor. Cupping Sansa's shoulder, Arya leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. "I'll be back soon," she grumbled as she left her sister before the fire.

"Not too soon, I hope," Gendry ungentlemanly mumbled.

Sansa saw Arya roll her eyes, though she smiled. When he was around, he made her sister look her age, instead of the quiet assassin she grew up to be. Waving her hand, her sister sighed, "Fine, fine! Just keep up."

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