Hi! Here's the 7th chapter. I hope you like it!

Theme song: "Rival", Ruelle ("King of Anything" by Sarah Bareilles for the discussion with Harry the Heir)

Do not hesitate to take a look and answer !

Who wants lemon cakes, with a little hint of angst? Well, I give it to you now!

Good reading !

…

Sansa II

"Sansa…"

"My queen…"

Whispers in the night kept her awake. Mostly men, but sometimes women. Each of them creeping towards her bed. Some she had known. Some she knew. Some she will know.

Here, the golden lion, slim and beautiful. But without any heart, without any soul. And the spirit of a child, who had never had enough.

"Mine" he said.

Joffrey.

"No, mine" said the men of King's Landing, as they ripped her dress, lust and folly in their eyes.

She wanted to scream, but she could not.

"Your most powerful weapon is between your legs, little dove." She could hear Cersei Lannister say as she looked at her as she struggled against these men. And smiled, always smiled, before taking a sip of wine.

Then, somebody snatched her of them.

"Sing me a song, little bird."

The Hound. Still here, in front of her. Close enough so she could feel his breath on her face. Close enough to kiss her… She almost closed her eyes and leaned in, tempted to let him. But then he disappeared in the night, like dust flying because of the wind.

Then blood covered her hands and she looked at it fearfully, with tears in her eyes and sorrow emptying her from inside. In her dress, hidden in her cleavage, there was the letter she wrote to Robb, and who now was bleeding as well, covering her breasts with their blood. She wanted to wash it out, but she couldn't. The more she wiped, the more it spread.

"The key to the north." Came a strong voice. The voice of a man who looked at her, but without seeing her. She looked ahead, terrified.

Cersei. The Imp. Everyone, looking at her with these eyes, lusting after her, devouring her.

Margaery.

"We'll be like sisters."

Mine, mine, mine.

"Mine." Said an intelligent voice, with a hint sarcasm in its tone.

Littlefinger. Coming towards her, his hand directed at her.

"A picture of me in the Iron Throne… With you by my side."

He smiled.

"My queen."

And all the eyes and voices said "mine, mine, mine…" all the same.

She could not go back.

And then, the words went out of his throat, choking him with blood. He fell back, with a hand on it, as if to prevent them to flow that easily.

Then, all disappeared and she was all alone. She screamed for someone. Anyone.

There was a shadow in a corner calling for her. 'My queen," he said to her. But she did not look at it. If she looked, she would be lost.

And then, she saw him. Jon.

"She is my queen," he said with eyes that screamed of love and sorrow.

Love, love, love.

But not for her, no. Why? Why?

"You'll have to promise not to tell another soul." He said as she saw the dragon coming back at her.

It would burn her, she was sure of it.

No, no, no.

What was love, exactly? Was that lust? Possession?

"Mine", said a voice she did not recognize. "My queen."

"Mine." Said another, stronger, much more vicious.

She turned back, fear gripping her insides painfully.

Ramsay…

"My beloved wife." He called her with a smile, showing her the flayed body of the woman who tried to help her.

"Not so much a wolf, now…." He said, as he took her again and again. Always hurting her, harassing her. Locking her. Making her feel she was nothing but a hole he could fill. "You're mine." He said.

"Do you know what he intend to do to you, once he has a child out of you?" Myranda had said, with a snarky smile.

No, no, no, no…

"You are a bitch all the same" he had said to her

No. The hounds had devoured him. Bite by bite, until the only things that were left were bones and ripped leather.

Then, they had began to kill each others, to eat each others.

There was no loyalty among hounds, she discovered. No loyalty when survival was in order.

And now, she could see his skeleton smiling at her.

"I'm part of you, now."

… part of you, now…

… you, now…"

"My queen…"

"Sansa…"

She screamed. Sweat made her thin shift stick to her skin. She felt sick and cold. But still her head was hot from the pictures of her nightmare that were still rolling in her mind. Her eyes were unfocused as she tried to calm the beatings of her heart.

She breathed slowly. One. Two. Three.

"Is it alright, your Grace?"

She jumped, her insides freezing with dread.

Damn her handmaiden, she thought as she calmed down.

She would not yell at her, no. She was not that kind of queen, shouting at people just because they saw them vulnerable.

But still, it did not mean she hadn't wanted to.

She shook her head. Just a nightmare. These ghosts were gone, now. But still, they haunted her, coming in her dreams when she thought she had forgotten. When she thought she was not afraid anymore, they came crawling in her sleep, these monsters in her head.

"Yes, yes, Alys… I'm alright.

Alys frowned, visibly worried.

"But you screamed in the night, your Grace"

Sansa glared at her.

"It's alright," she said with an icy voice. "I would need a bath."

Coldness was the answer. Coldness could freeze them all over with dread. Coldness would make them go back to their place. Like this, they would not get closer. Like this, they couldn't hurt her.

"Yes, M'am!" the young girl said hurriedly, without even remarking her lack of etiquette.

Once alone, Sansa sighed. It was hard, to keep it going. But it was for the best. Friends got killed so easily. She couldn't bear it, if she lost once again someone.

Arya was gone in her islands. Was she dead? Sansa didn't know. She could only hope for her little sister to be safe, for she knew better. She had survived all of this. She was the killer of the Night King. What could a few savages do to her? And still, annoying as she was, why would anyone ever bother to try to attempt something? That thought, though futile, comforted her somehow. It made her feel like she was really home, with Father and Mother, and with only her stitching lessons to occupy her. Innocence, and dreams. The one things she lacked now.

She shook her head. That girl was dead. People killed her. They took away her innocence, thrown her on and on until she was nearly broken.

Now only stayed the queen. Unattainable, cold. A dream by herself. So why dream? She could live through the eyes of her people. These dreams were enough, she thought as she slipped in the bath the girl had prepared as she thought. She closed her eyes, pleased by the quiet warmth that filled her as she let out another sigh. Here, she could almost forget her scars and all that was lost. No scar on her body, no. These ones only lived in memory. But scars on her heart.

She plunged her head in the water and counted. One. Two. Three.

Enough. Once again, she felt it. The will to live, unbroken still. And that kept her prepared for what would happen for the day.

She got herself dressed up, the handmaiden fussing over her. Her eyes almost rolled irritably at it, but she let it slide.

And, as any other day, she came to the throne room and sat in, inclining her head towards those who bowed to her, to show them she had noticed.

This was a man's world, and she was the one to rule it. And she intended to keep it that way. And men tended to get petty when they weren't noticed.

"How are the preparations of the festivities going, Lord Cerwyn?" She began, her stature regal and her voice

Festivities. In a time where there was still so much to do.

It was necessary, she thought. To keep her people happy. To give them rewards, after all that happened. After all the efforts she asked of them. Burden after burden, they were beginning to be fidgety. And fidgety people was no good for the realm.

They all had accepted the invitation. Good. It was important that they saw that their queen thought of them, cared to entertain them.

But still, it was really expansive.

Silly little Sansa would have loved every minute of it. The choice of the dresses, of the activities… All of it. Now, she couldn't find joy in it.

"Good your Grace," he said with a smile. "Everything will be ready for next month."

She nodded thoughtfully. "You'll thank your wife for the making of the banners. They are really fitting."

His smile widened and he bowed.

"Thank you, your Grace. She will be honoured."

Of course. But it wasn't enough.

She raised.

"Next month will be a great time for celebrations. Winter had been hard for all of us. We lost people, we thought we lost our home. But we have survived. And look" She opened her arms, as if to embrace them all. "Here we are. Our home is even grander!"

They all nodded, some more fervently than others.

"We have proved to those who underestimated us our value, that we still rise, again and again!"

"Aye" they cried for her, with joy in their eyes.

"Now is our time. And I'll drink with every one of you, my lords, for my heart is with you, now and always."

They raised their glasses at her and cheered.

The Queen in the North, the Queen in the North.

What a pretty song.

Yes. She had conquered them for the weeks to come. And it wasn't even noon. With a smile, she turned toward one of them.

"Lord Manderly," She called. "I heard you went to my brother the King's feast recently. I hope the delicacies of the South would not prevent you to enjoy what we'll have."

He bowed.

"Nothing can compare to home, your Grace."

She smiled. "You're right."

But then, he was fidgeting, she felt uneasy. Was something wrong?

Easy how just one thing could make her worry and forget what she just did.

"But then… My queen… There are sayings…"

"What sayings, my lord?" She asked.

Please don't be dead, she thought.

"That the King in the South is ill, your Grace… That he is not himself these days."

She raised one eyebrow. Her brother had not been himself since he returned. So these last words meant nothing to her.

"The King in the South is a Stark, my lord, a man from the North. He's made of a sterner material than that." She said, sitting back on her throne. And then, more softly. "You will talk to me about it this later."

"Yes, your Grace."

He bowed and joined the other. Then, another one came, holding a letter.

An ambassador, as he had presented himself. She did not know him.

"Come," She said, extending her hand in his direction.

He bowed and smiled proudly. Young boy. Maybe his first mission.

"What is it?" She said.

"An offer of marriage, your Grace"

She raised an eyebrow. But took the letter anyway.

She read it. But she feared her eyes were deceiving her.

How could it be? The name mentioned was one from a very distant past. The name of a dead one or maybe…

Her heart skipped a beat a little.

No, it couldn't be from him… She thought. Why would he…? Did he…? Why now, all the sudden?

Why that name, that cursed name?

She shook her head. That couldn't be. Then turned towards one of the representatives of the Night's Watch.

"Still no news from Jon Snow?" She asked with a strangled voice.

"No, your Grace." The man said "The crow did not come back."

It's been months, now.

Last time she had news from him, he had been at Hardhome. She did not know the place exactly, but she heard it was dangerous and hard. Few people survived out there.

She was worried, always. Just by the thought of it, and the content of the letter, she could feel her heart beating and her knees weakening.

Oh no. She was back at it.

When would men stop to make her weak like this?

The mood was gone, now.

"Right," she said with a calmer voice. "So I believe it is time now to settle on our daily routine. Any other thing?"

They looked at each others, questions in their eyes.

Nothing. Good.

"I'm going to take a walk." She said, raising. "I wish you a good day, my lords."

They let her and bowed, respect in their eyes.

Good.

As she left the place and went outside, her sight was greeted by something she hadn't seen in a long time. Lemon cakes.

On a silver plate. With Harrold Hardyng holding it with a smug face.

She raised her eyes towards the man.

"Lemon cakes. How sweet."

"Your favorite, I know." He said. "A sweet treat for a sweet lady."

How in the seven hells did he know that?

"Ladies might like it," she said non-committedly as she walked past him. "But I'm a queen. Don't forget it."

He followed her.

"I wouldn't dare", he said, bowing lightly. But that bow felt like a joke, with that smile on his face. "But queens can also like sweet things, your Highness."

She was almost tempted to smile. Flirting and joking with Harrold Hardyng were easy things to do. The man seemed to try to win her over at any cost. But it was dangerous all the same, and she wasn't for the moment convinced to let it go farther.

People saw him courting her. She was a woman about to be taken. She had hoped that letting him would led the other pretenders away. She could handle one at home. But not so many that came crawling at her door since they put a crown on her.

It did not seem to be the case, with the letter she received this morning, and which didn't make sense for her (at least, that's what you want people to think, a snarky voice said in her head.)

But still, it was quite enjoyable.

"Beware, my lord. Lemons can be bitter."

"Oh, I believe I can add some sugar to make it good."

She stopped, then looked at him, unimpressed.

"Can you?"

He nodded, took her hand and kissed it.

"Oh, I believe that when we'll wed, it will be as sweet as these treats."

Her eyebrows rose, and she was almost tempted to laugh at him. Or to hit him.

The audacity of that man!

"What makes you think my hand will be yours?"

At this, a spark lighted up in his eyes.

A spark that meant conquest.

"Who else would it be?" He stepped closer to her, so much that she could smell his breath, fresh with a hint of mint leaves. "You need a man by your side, queen or not."

She put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"You are quite presumptuous, my lord." She said as she took a cake from the plate and began to eat it.

It was as savory as she remembered. She felt giddy just by one bite of it.

There was a smirk on his face now. He was not one used to be refused, she realized.

"Am I?" He replied with a voice that screamed self-confidence.

"Beware, my lord. I am no merchant's daughter for you to take," she warned him. "I'll be the one taking, no one else."

His laugh was loud and masculine in her ears.

"Then take all you want," He said. "But with me, there'll be so much to take."

And so much more for you, she was tempted to say. If Robert were to die, he would be the heir of the Vale. And with her by his side, he could join the two kingdoms. If he didn't decide he would be enough with her gone, actually.

"It's been weeks, now," he said. "Weeks of me courting you. Trying to please you, love you. Yet, you do not seem to incline yourself more to me."

Love was such a easy word for him to throw, she saw. He could say it to any woman. Love for him was fickle and flitting.

"I'm no base lady swooning at your sight, my lord," she said with as cold a voice she could.

She couldn't displease him too much. Displeased men were hard to handle, and could be quite unpredictable.

Would her bannermen let him overthrow her? Would they kneel for him? How long after she was put down? She wondered. Men didn't like women in power. Just the idea was a threat to them, and it had taken a lot for them to accept. It had taken their disappointment over Jon's bending of the knee. "Perhaps we should have chosen you", they said at the new.

Perhaps, perhaps. They always played with "perhaps". But the reality of it was harder to swallow. Even after she proved on and on her abilities. Some could see a mother in her. A mother that would tend their bruises, that would comfort them in the darkest of nights. But a mother without a father… Could they even have this thought? This world was for men to take, they had been told, and they continue to tell. A woman among them, doing things that a man should do, was a terrifying thing for them. For it made them reconsider their place. Their place in a world that was already too complex for them to comprehend.

A world she knew, actually. Better than the likes of them. She had been placed under any man's boots. An object, a prize to be gained. The key to the North.

A key can open doors. But who would turn it?

"Tell me," Harrold Hardyng said with a charming smile. "Tell me how I could please you, my queen. Tell me and I'll do it."

She stared at that beautiful man's face. Saw the dimples on his cheeks as he smiled. Charming, as so many were when they asked for her hand.

I can take you, she wanted to say. I can take you and every of these men combined. And still, it wouldn't be enough to ease the pain in my heart. Throw me any courtesies my way, I would respond you in kind. Try to take me down, and I will rip you apart.

She had seen the way he treated his squires. The way he almost harassed Malwyn Snow.

She remembered green eyes looking at her defiantly.

Here, there were blue eyes, devouring her with that look.

Two persons.

One wanted her, body and power, and so much more. The other loathed her without daring to say the words.

Why? She wondered. She did not know him. She had done all she could for the North, and him… He dared to look at her like that?

"… promise not to tell another soul."

She shook her head. No, that wasn't it.

Both were here to serve nonetheless.

Then came the idea.

"Malwyn Snow still hasn't returned from his quest. It's been three weeks now, and without any news. Bring him back to me. He will answer to his queen."

"I will do it, your Grace," He said, looking very much the valiant knight she had in her dreams as a girl. "I will do it for you."

She nodded, he smiled.

Her heart pounded in her chest. It felt like a dream, like a song come true.

Beware, she said to herself. You're not a little bird.

Here, she would have time to figure it out. To make her decision, without her heart misleading her, as it has always been when she listened to it.

"Mine," still whispered the voices in her head.

No, she wasn't anyone's. And the one who would dare to say that, she would tear their heart out with her fangs.

She was the she-wolf of Winterfell. She was no longer tame and polite, as they had wanted her to be. She was no little bird to be locked down in a golden cage. She would run her territory, protect her pack, however divided it was. No matter the cost.