The days leading up to the battle were much the same.
Sansa spent her days conducting herself as the Lady of Winterfell while Sandor spent his time managing his lordly duties. With each passing day, Winterfell became stronger, her men better trained, their weapons better forged. The preparations taking place showed promise but Sansa continued to feel uneasy despite it all.
Bran saw the Mountain and his men nearby, but they stopped approaching. Why?
Sandor had posted several guards to walk the battlements of the castle to look out for the enemies to the north and south. When able, Bran provided additional help in notifying the council where the Others were as well as the Mountain and his men, but Bran had begun to have terrifying fits during his visions. Each time he would warg into his raven, it was harder for him to come back. He last saw the Mountain a half-day's ride from Winterfell, but informed them that they appeared to have stopped.
The Mountain stopped. But not the Others. Bran said they will be here in a week.
Every precaution was put into place to avoid a surprise attack from either side. However, none of it was enough to ease her stress. Extensive plans were put into place for when the Others arrived. The elderly, women, and children would be kept underneath in the crypts at the first sign of the dead on the horizon. The elected leaders of each army consulted with Sandor, Jon, and Daenerys regarding the proper formations that would take place. Her sister and a boy named Gendry, who clearly loved Arya, were in charge of distributing dragonglass over the course of the next week to every able man who could fight. Progress was being made, but Bran's difficulty in warging filled Sansa with a sense of dread. And the Mountain….
I must have faith. I must. Else, I am lost.
Sansa attempted to make the most of every moment she had with Sandor. Whether that be eating in the Great Hall, talking in the godswood, making love wherever they dared to in the castle, she cherished all of it. However, it would only take one mention of the Others or the Mountain to ruin it all.
I must have faith.
Just one week away from battle, Sansa noticed a drastic change in Sandor's demeanor as the time grew closer. He was unexpectedly less grumpy and it seemed that his committed attitude towards preparing for battle earned him much more respect from the Northmen. Sansa loved watching him have civil discussions with others who used to spit at his feet and curse his name. He was becoming a dutiful lord and even if not a traditional one, she could not have been more proud of him.
That day at dusk, Sansa prayed in the godswood beside Bran, but was interrupted by the sound of his breathing growing erratic.
"Sansa," he exhaled. "Sansa, go. Others. Mountain," he whispered. Sansa stood up abruptly from the ground and grabbed his hands.
"Bran, what do you see?" she asked anxiously. "What is it?"
"Here. Now," he whispered as soft as a weirwood leaf blowing in the wind. Bran's head suddenly fell back against the chair, his mouth gaping open.
"Bran!" Sansa screamed. "Help! Someone, please!" she cried. "Bran, wake up. Bran!"
He did not respond but remained still, his limbs appearing lifeless and his breathing becoming shallow.
"In here!" one voice shouted from outside the godswood.
"Lady Sansa?" another shouted.
"My brother, something is wrong!"
Through the trees near the entrance, Arya appeared alongside several northmen.
"What happened?" Arya asked as she ran towards her.
"I don't know, I was praying and he started speaking. He said to go, that the Others are here, the Mountain..." Sansa paused to collect her thoughts. "Is there any word from the men along the walls?" she asked.
"No, my l-" one of the men started to answer before his response cut off by a penetrating sound like the Wall itself was cracking into a million pieces.
All at once, every one's eyes met the darkening sky, and in it, a frozen dragon with eyes blue as sapphires.
"Go!" one of the men roared at the others, grabbing Sansa's arm and taking her through the trees. Sansa felt herself running in slow motion, peering behind her at another man pushing Bran in his chair and Arya running along beside them.
"Sandor," Sansa whispered, frozen in fear.
A line of blue flames swept across the middle of Winterfell, destroying the main tower in one blow. Sansa's brain could not register what happened and the longer she stared the more disoriented she became.
"Bloody hell!" the man holding her shouted, covering her body with his as debris came falling out of the sky.
Winterfell was in disarray. The ice dragon swept towards the northern end wall of Winterfell and Sansa heard another blow of destruction followed by the piercing screaming of men and horses alike.
The Dothraki, she thought. They are burning.
"Sansa!" she heard a voice call out. A familiar voice. His voice.
"Sandor," she muttered to herself. The realization he was near awakened her, pulling away from the guard sheltering her in pursuit of her husband. "Sandor!" she screamed, looking out across the yard, bodies running in every direction, screaming, shouting, crying.
Jumping down from the ramparts, Sandor landed a few paces away from her and ran to take her into his arms. He picked her up over his shoulder and yelled at the surrounding men. "Every man prepare yourselves! Help your women and children down into the crypts, now!"
Sansa looked up into the sky as he carried her off and saw two shadows swim in the darkness, filling the sky with orange flames as they swarmed their frozen sibling. She lost sight of the battle in the sky as Sandor ran towards the crypts. She could only watch the chaos taking place, watch and listen.
"On the horizon!" one man shouted down from the battlements. "The dead are here! Get in formation you bastards!"
Sansa could see Arya making her way outside of the gates, Needle in hand. The man pushing Bran was far behind them and Sansa hoped he would get her brother down to the crypts before it was too late.
A week. Bran said it would be a week. How...
Inside the spiral stone steps leading down into the crypt, Sandor pushed aside all the others to get Sansa down onto the furthest level. Once they entered, he placed her on the ground gently and kissed her deeply on the lips before standing up.
"Sandor, wait!" she pulled his arm. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you. Come back to me," she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes.
"I love you, little bird." He kissed her lips once more and stared into her eyes so deeply she nearly forgot about the havoc occurring above. "I will come back for you, I swear it. Do not leave this crypt," he whispered in her ear before turning back towards the stairs.
As the elderly, women, and children filled the lowest level of the crypt, the sounds of crying, screaming, and wailing echoed above in the vaulted ceilings. Sansa took deep breaths, caressing the swell in her stomach, feeling the faintest of quickenings inside. This moment terrifies you, too, she thought.
Once the doors of the crypt were closed, Sansa looked around at the terrified faces surrounding her and remembered who she was.
I am the Lady of Winterfell. They look to me for comfort. I must be brave. I must have faith. Else, I am lost.
"Our men are well prepared," Sansa began. "They will fight to protect us. Pray and have faith. Comfort one another. Do not give up on them up there. You must have faith," she reminded them as much as she reminded herself.
The crying slowly subsided, replaced by the whispers of synchronized group prayers. Sansa walked around, searching for Bran, but he was nowhere to be seen. Sansa made every effort not to panic as she kept walking and searching. As she approached the door that led to the stairwell, Varys appeared from behind a pillar. By the door, sounds of men dying could be heard coming from above.
"My lady," Varys greeted her, feigning calmness.
"Where is Bran?" she asked in distress.
"I have not seen the boy," he answered sadly.
"How did this happen? Bran...he could see them. He said they were further away, he said..." she whispered. Varys took her hand into his and patted it, his hands as soft and delicate as hers.
"Strange things exist in this world, my lady. With the rebirth of dragons, magic has made its way back into our lives. This," he gestured towards the door, listening for a moment to the sounds of screaming and screeching, "this is the work of magic."
Sansa stared at him in disbelief. "What magic?"
"Only the Others know," he whispered.
Hours had passed sitting beside the door, and Sansa listened to every scream and cry that came through it. She waited for Sandor to return, but the chaos above was constant, endless, infinite. While the others in the crypt prayed, all Sansa could do was watch them, wondering what had gone wrong.
I must have faith, or I am lost.
She bowed her head and prayed to the old gods. Sansa prayed for Arya, Jon, Bran, her northmen, and Sandor.
Please, keep my family safe. Please, keep my husband safe.
After another hour passed, the sound of ice shattering filled the air above the crypts followed by a hushed silence. Sansa held her breath, waiting to hear a sound outside the door but she could hear nothing. Only nothing.
Minutes passed and she looked at Varys who remained beside her. "I am going to check," she whispered. "Something has happened, I need to see."
The eunuch grabbed her hand. "My lady, you must not."
"I am the Lady of Winterfell," she said firmly. "I must." She pulled her hand away and looked amongst the others in the crypt before slowly unlatching the door and pulling it open. "Latch it behind me. That is an order."
I must have faith. I am the Lady of Winterfell.
Sansa placed her feet down silently on the stone steps, each step more careful than the last. As she ascended, she could hear the faintest of sounds but nothing distinct, not dying, not screaming, not crying. She wondered what could have happened so suddenly and feared she would walk out from one crypt into another, a crypt above ground surrounded by her men, her family, Sandor.
I must have faith. I must.
Sansa took a deep breath before exiting out of the ironwood door of the crypt, its hinges producing as piercing of a sound as the ice dragon had in the sky.
Looking out into the yard, Sansa observed the corpses, and they were endless. She tripped over a leg as she entered the new above-ground crypt, and she could hardly muster up the strength to pick herself back up.
Faith. Have faith. I must.
Sansa slowly pushed herself up, shifting her gaze quickly over each lifeless body, every still face and searched for her siblings, for Sandor. However, all she saw was the mass of dead northmen, dead Dothraki, and dead Unsullied. The main gates to the castle were opened wide and Sansa caught a glimpse of movement when someone made their way into the castle walls, the surrounding fire in the yard reflecting off of their armor. He was impossibly large, entirely monstrous, seemingly immortal, and he saw her standing amongst the piles of corpses, standing alone.
The Mountain.