A/N: 2 in one day! This is a bit of a deviation -she's not quite a queen, but a wardeness. Just had to get this idea out as well. Any other recommendations? I have the last two chapters already in mind, but would love to stretch my creative muscle that's been dormant for too long before wrapping this up!
THE WARDENESS OF THE NORTH
Sansa flinched as another scream sliced through the frozen air. Ramsay was at it again-torturing some poor soul under the guise of gathering information. But Sansa knew that the boy was as cruel as they came and that he didn't need a reason to strip the flesh off some helpless prisoner. Normally, she did her best to ignore the screams wafting through her ancestral home, but today, sitting in what used to be her mother's chair, looking over the great hall that used to house so much love, she couldn't stand it.
"Can't you do something? Make him stop?" She whispered to the man beside her, allowing as much irritation as she could seep into her tone without sounding overtly disrespectful. Her husband was many, terrible things, but he always treated her courteously as long as she did the same. Respect was a touching point for Roose and he demanded that all in Winterfell treated him his due as Warden of the North-his Stark bride especially. When she had first arrived to take the flayed man cloak upon her shoulders, the people of Winterfell had looked to her for guidance and Roose had made it very clear that he expected her to show an example of showing him deference. She had considered standing firm on her pride and relying on the people's love of her last name to protect her. She had wanted to refuse to show this murderer even a speck of submission. Wanted to see him cowed and broken for his crimes against her family. But that was not the way of the world, and in the end, her survival instinct had her playing the meek, gentle bride he had expected. And as a reward for her efforts, he had been as kind as she could expect.
Even now, though her words were sharper than he usually tolerated, he did not turn those ice chip eyes to her in anger. He merely patted her hand in what might have seemed like a gesture of an uncharacteristic mix of affection, comfort, and patronization. But Sansa had learned to read him in a way that kept her safe. His silent reminder that her words were inappropriate was as gentle as he could be and she would not give him reason to repeat it. She mentally shook the irritation from her and placed as sweet of a smile as she could muster. This is the Sansa that Roose had bought- a sweet, pliant, girl. A girl with a northern name and a southron temper. It was a mask she was familiar with. And in return for her obedience, he protected her from the monster he had raised.