A/N: Sansa's perspectives widen and her opinions shift - the musings chapter!

I have to share something with you (and I hope it won't scare you too much :P) - I just started writing chapter 50 of this story! Considering the usual longevity of my stories and how quickly I've always jumped to new ones, I'm pretty proud of it. And it's all in the span of only seven months!

Enjoy, and take care!

"My lady."

The words reached her consciousness but didn't make sense, only awakening her from the dream. Sansa slowly opened her eyes, and instead of the usual flames of the hearth or the view from the window, she faced an unknown wooden wall. Frowning, she tried to recall where she was and what exactly she was doing here.

She turned onto her back and started at the sight of Roose's face above her. It immediately removed any remnant of sleep from her mind, reminding her of the events of the previous day and, even more importantly, night.

"Morning." He peered down at her, taking in her disheveled form. She felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks; they had never seen each other in such a state. It seemed much more vulnerable than anything she was ever willing to show him.

And they had just shared a bed. She wouldn't know about him, but she had slept through the whole night, rather blissfully. Which didn't change the fact she still felt dreadfully tired.

She had thought she wouldn't be able to sleep with him next to her; it scared her how easily that had turned out to be, effortless even.

"Morning," she mumbled back, sitting up. She could feel her hair curled in every possible direction; there was a sting in a small wound on her hand, pleasant soreness between her legs, and hunger spreading throughout her whole being. Her wrists bore the slightest shade of purple. Taking all of that in, she recollected everything from the last night.

Her name on his lips.

But he had greeted her as my lady. Maybe she had only dreamed of it? Quite possibly so - it had had such an impact on her body and soul it seemed impossible to be real. Right…?

She gazed up at him, wondering, silently provoking him to repeat it. He stared right back at her, not taking the bait. Contrary to her, he looked perfectly composed, and she felt a sting of envy at his equanimity in every possible situation.

Roose stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and hauled herself out of the bed, leaning on him for support. Transferring her weight onto his forearm at first, she could stand on her own two feet a moment later. Once she looked up, she discovered his face was so dreadfully close to her own, barely inches apart… Her eyes slid down to his lips on their own accord, her mind racing as her fingers squeezed his arm even tighter.

Say it.

"We need to go, my lady. There's still a day's journey to Ser Osbern, and I believe you promised our host a private audience on his fields."

Her eyes returned to his as she let go of him and collected herself.

"One moment," she murmured, nodding in acquiescence. Her eyes skipped over the room in search of anything resembling a mirror, but of course, there was no such thing. Her vanity and pride might have been long gone now, but the dignity still alive in her demanded to look at least somewhat presentable. Calling for her handmaiden in a current situation would seem like an emphasis of her wealth against the smallfolk's poverty, and it could result in something contrary to the intended effect. And so, she combed her hair with her fingers, trying to bring order to it. The tangled mass wasn't easy to deal with and it took her a lot of time to at least straighten some of it.

Her eyes unwillingly ventured to Roose, asking despite her mind's wishes.

"Presentable," he commented with a slight smirk, and she believed him, blushing. Why she was asking for his opinion about anything was completely beyond her.

They walked into the bigger room, a smell of fresh vegetables reaching Sansa's nostrils. They didn't have such smells in Winterfell, or maybe she had never focused on them before.

The peasant greeted them jovially and served them breakfast. His grandson stared at them with hostility, sitting on the floor at the opposite wall. Sansa wondered in shame how thin the walls of the hut actually were, and if they had been heard. She truly hoped not, but couldn't stop the color from rising to her cheeks. She should have protested further the other night, she shouldn't have let it happen, even though her body had wanted it, needed it, demanded it. Hopefully, they will have separate chambers in Ser Osbern's keep. Or at least a room with a bigger bed and thicker walls.

After a meal, Sansa urged the man to elaborate on the villagers' problems, his fields, crops, and stores. She listened intently as he led them through his premises, showing them everything there was to see. She promised him his and his companions' needs would be satisfied eventually and assured him he could always ask for her help. Roose followed her around the whole time, barely speaking up. She chose to pretend he wasn't even there, only from time to time addressing him for some questions or clarifications of her own.

They set out for the remaining journey when the sun was already high in the sky. Sansa didn't feel as cold as the other day, so she gave Roose his fur back. She was still tired and pretty sensitive while horse riding, but those were minor inconveniences. The snowfall seemed lighter, not bothering them too much, and they reached their destination at dusk.

Sansa greeted the stone of the walls with merriness; it was her material, not wood. It perfectly suited what she wanted to gain - the iron in her veins, the cold in her blood. Ser Osbern and his wife welcomed them at their keep, a sharp contrast between the restrained, polite noblemen's behavior and what Sansa had experienced with the commoner clearly visible now, and starker than ever.

They didn't allow themselves to show any distinction in attitude towards her and Roose, treating them both with humble respect. There weren't many talks involved given the late hour, and after the supper, they were led to their chambers: adjacent, but separate. Upon parting, Sansa gazed at her husband and said firmly, trying to convey a stern message to keep him away at night:

"Have a good night, my lord."

"Likewise, my lady."

She expected to hear her own name or see some kind of a smirk, but received nothing of that sort, as he just walked inside and closed the door behind him, two soldiers left to guard it. She had three, her usual companions since the "incident" with Ramsay. Bidding them farewell as she had used to do for quite some time now, she hid inside her room.

The flames in the hearth were burning brightly, shielding the chamber from the dark and the cold. She sat down before them, staring at the fire. On her wedding day, she had sworn to learn the names of all the treacherous lords, to make them pay. But how would she know who was a traitor and who wasn't? Before, she had thought the fact of being alive was enough to categorize them, but now she was no longer so sure. Except for the obvious cases like Roose or the Karstarks, maybe they all had had to do what it took to survive. Just like her. She wouldn't know the answer until the Boltons were defeated and everyone would be forced to either pledge their loyalties to her or die.

The pleasant warmth spread throughout her body and soon the tiredness she had been experiencing returned, prompting her to move onto the bed and welcome the sweet embraces of sleep.

For the next few days, the young couple introduced them to the mysteries and problems their keep had. At first cold and restrained, especially that Ser Osbern's brother had been murdered at the Red Wedding, thanks to Sansa's open ears and kindness they slowly started warming up to her. Sansa discovered her council was severely lacking at times, but Roose talked more and was truly insightful this time around, lending his own wisdom. More often than not Sansa found herself with Lady Osbern, debating on the matters of running a household, while Roose and Ser Osbern ventured somewhere else to discuss military issues or rebuildings.

Sansa became quickly fond of lady Osbern and her family, even though they were never truly alone. Their young house didn't seem to be the one of true loyalty, just doing whatever they could to make their children come out of it all alive. Gazing at the little ones running around the halls or playing in the snow, Sansa felt a peculiar sting inside her. It might be about revenge for her, but so many people simply couldn't afford any devotion towards higher houses. She had been born into the Great House of the North, one of the most important in the whole Westeros; her perspective had always been clouded by her status. She wanted to avenge her family and demanded other people to follow her lead. But those very same people had their own families to protect, their own priorities that might land very far from avenging some noblemen they had probably never even met. Duty was one thing, and the heart was another, most often contradicting. She had known it well from her own experience.

After sharing pieces of advice and arranging some future cooperation, they left a few men behind to help around the keep and said their goodbyes, moving to another holding a few days' journey away, with hosts who agreed to meet as well. Sansa regretted having to part ways with her new acquaintances but she felt wiser now than she had been a few days ago, so she was in no way disappointed with the visit. The freshly gained insight and perspectives were invaluable for they left her shaken, but made anew.

Back on the road, she caught herself gazing at Roose way too often. During their time at Ser Osbern's, they had seemed like a normal, functional marriage; filled with opposites and contrasts, but a rather healthy one. And, busy with other people's problems but not her own, subconsciously she had let herself feel like it. They had discussed things, all kinds of things - military, winter, stores, buildings - they had acted as equal Lady and Lord of Winterfell, being very believable in it. That had probably been one of the factors which opened House Osbern to them. Roose had also shown her he respected her rights to refuse him - though her "goodnights" could have been ambiguous, they were followed by a complete lack of his nightly visits, and that fact wasn't something she would fail to notice.

All things considered, she started looking at him through a slightly different set of eyes. And she wondered. Nothing could ever change the fact he had betrayed her family and killed Robb, and she continuously hated him for that with a burning passion, but... Maybe he had done it for his house's survival? She had heard about Robb's mistakes, or at least some of them. Something must have changed, something that maybe had meant the Young Wolf had been going to lose the North, and everything slowly accumulated to eventually erupt. The Red Wedding would have happened with or without Roose - even though it was his knife that ended Robb's life, the main forces behind it all had been the Freys and the Lannisters. Roose was a third party, beneficial, but not essential for it all to happen. If he had refused to play the part, he would have been butchered with the rest of them.

But currently, his house had no future either way. He disliked Ramsay quite clearly, so he had had to count on some trueborn heir he would father all the way back. He hadn't cared about the North, obviously, but maybe there was some interest in him about his own people, who had survived thanks to the betrayal. Or maybe he did have some slightest concern for the lands he had theoretically sworn to protect? The Bolton forces had helped some lords get rid of the Ironborn. He had agreed to send people to the Wall. They were doing whatever they were doing right now. Most probably, though, he just wished his name to shine brightly through the ages, even if that line would end with him. Or... maybe it was all about the almost eternal struggle between their two houses, to show the Starks and the history who will ultimately prevail over the North. Maybe those were strictly selfish reasons, desiring all the power for himself, and there was nothing deeper to it. Maybe.

The "maybe's" made her head spin. Why did she even think that way? Why did a part of her want to look at him with a gentler, almost forgiving eye? He was a murderer, and she had sworn to hate him for the whole eternity, to end his life one day. What was she even thinking?

Shame filled her entire being, along with guilt at the sheer fact those thoughts had been created in her mind. She had no idea where they had come from, she didn't want them either way. What he had done was unforgivable, and she could never forget that. She won't. Not ever. Besides, he had done nothing to erase his betrayal, showing no remorse whatsoever, never apologizing for his wrongdoings. How could she ever even begin to forgive someone like that?

Straightening in her saddle, she swallowed hard and looked away from him. No more. He was a monster, and it didn't matter how gentle he was with her, how he had never hurt her physically, how she, unwillingly, had grown to like having him inside her. None of that mattered. He had hurt her mentally, he had killed her family member, he had contributed to making her life a living hell when she had still been confined to King's Landing. Had Robb been alive, he would have surely come to rescue her. Or at least tried to. But Roose had cut his life short, and she had been left in the capital to be tortured, humiliated, forgotten by her country, miserable and alone. No more.

He was a monster, and nothing could ever change that.

She wondered briefly whether she wasn't too comfortable with him in the eyes of other people. What if they thought she was truly content with being his wife? What if they really believed the message she had convinced him they were implementing for his house's sake? What if they would accuse her of betraying her family? Maybe she should have shown some signs of distress?

But, first of all, she wasn't in distress. Second, if her guards noticed anything suspicious she would try to convey to the people, her plan of making Roose trust her would fall to ashes, and nothing she had done as far would have any meaning. Third, she couldn't risk innocent lives for her personal benefit, or be sure they were trustworthy, or that they would choose her alone if, at the moment, their joined houses offered help and peace, quite a big army standing behind them. They would choose their own families and what was best for their survival, according to her newly acquired knowledge. Also, if by any chance the words of her distress would reach some loyalists' ears and they would rally to rescue her... They all would die, in a battle, a siege, or by an assassin's hand. Bad for the North, bad for her.

Besides, the way she had been playing it was beneficial for building this so-called trust between them. And, when the time will come and she would require a rescue or men, the Northerners would understand all of it was only an act. The simplest deduction would tell them that.

Satisfied with the way her thinking had gone, silencing the pestering voice inside her that claimed she was only calming her consciousness with sweet lies she herself didn't believe in, she straightened up even more, taking in their surroundings. It didn't seem like Winter now, Autumn not ready to bid the world farewell yet. The snow was scarce, and the people more scantily clad - which meant having thin cloaks in place of thick furs. The horses didn't have trouble walking anymore, and happily trod forwards, neighing and shaking their heads without any nervousness.

Sansa felt some new life entering her. She had no idea what it was exactly, and found it slightly peculiar how in a fraction of a day she could conjure so many often contradicting emotions and opinions; considering where it eventually led her she didn't complain. Immersed in her thoughts, she didn't even notice when her mare drew level with Roose's horse.

"You seem glad, my lady," he noticed, and she granted him a personalized smile.

"That's because I am," she answered almost truthfully. Apart from the more-or-less calming conclusions created in her head, she also felt much better physically. For the first time in weeks, she didn't have any complaints towards her body - no nausea, no cold, no tiredness, no headache: just her usual self. She had almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Any particular reason?" he inquired, and she could swear she saw a hint of interest in his eyes.

"Not really." She shook her head, unwilling to delve into her personal musings with him. "Ser Osbern and his wife are amiable people," she added, changing the topic.

"Yes. Indeed they are."

She gazed at the sun, dying on the far horizon, and then around them - there had been nothing but woods and fields for a lot of miles.

"Where are we staying tonight?"

"There is an inn nearby, the host was informed of our arrival this morning." This morning - enough time to get rid of current occupants, probably not enough to set up any decent trap. "Unless you wish to make some other… interesting acquaintances," Roose ended, and even though his voice was its usual tone, the meaning gave the mockery away.

"I believe we'll make plenty of interesting acquaintances before we come back home," Sansa retorted, unmoved, specifically saying home instead of Winterfell. The home of Lord and Lady Bolton. "Who knows where they'll lead us."

She gave him a wider smile lined with some mockery of her own, and sped up her horse, enjoying the sensation of the chilly wind playing with her hair. For a moment she managed to forget the world, just taking joy from the nature around her and the fleeting sense of freedom she was experiencing. She rode and rode, hearing her guards following her closely behind, until they reached a clearing, with a path leading to a secluded building, hidden behind the trees. Given the sun had already disappeared, she gathered it had to be their destination. Her mare neighed and stopped as Sansa forced her to wait until the rest of their companions would join them.

The inn was a simple building in the middle of nowhere, and the host everything but kind; still, it guaranteed a warm meal, a hearth, and a place for all of their people. It was Sansa's choice to once again share a chamber with Roose - if they slept in separate rooms, there wouldn't be enough space for their men. She wouldn't want that.

Once again, they had to share a bed as well, though it was thrice as big as the previous one. Sansa's high spirits didn't allow her to mind. Moreover, she found out with a slight fright that some parts of her even wanted it.

And when she stared back at him as he was taking his due as her lord husband, she discovered she was curious what his lips would taste like.