After the shitty ending that D&D (may they rot in the deepest of the Seven Hells, by the way) gave us in Season 8 of what could have been the greatest TV show in history, I found myself wanting to write my own version of how things should have gone down. Now, I know that making Robb Stark survive (and adding a few other, possibly unbelievable events in this story) might turn some readers off. I mean, it does seem a bit far fetching. But I like Robb and I think he deserved better. If you are fine with me taking some liberties with the story (it's called fanfiction for a reason, after all), then let us jump into this journey together.
PS: Being a fan of the ASOIAF book series and the TV show, I'm going to be combining elements, characters and storylines from both the books and the TV show in this fic.
Alright, now let us go!
Chapter 1: The Lone Wolves
SANSA
When Sansa was a little girl, she used to see the world as a fairytale. She was the oldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Her father was a great lord and a hero of Robert's Rebellion. And he was respected all over the Seven Kingdoms for being a man of honor. And thus, Sansa had been so sure that one day her father would find her a prince to marry. And then she would be a princess. Her prince would love her, and she would worship him. He would bring her beautiful dresses and flowers, hold tourneys in her name, and crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty. The world would shower them with praise, the bards would write songs about their love, and history would remember them like it remembered Florian and Jonquil. Sansa had been so sure that she was meant to be a princess, if not a queen. After all, her mother had always told her how beautiful she was, and how she was meant to be something great.
That girl that Sansa had been was a distant memory now. She was dead now, like most of her family. But she didn't die instantly like her father did when Joffrey -her golden prince who turned out to be nothing but a cruel boy- had ordered Ilyn Payne to bring him Lord Eddard Stark's head. No, that girl that Sansa had been, began dying slowly. With each new tragedy, each new hard lesson that life taught her. But it had begun with the killing of her direwolf Lady. Then the execution of her father, the murders of her little brothers Bran and Rickon, the uncertain fate of her sister Arya, the awful mental torture and physical beatings and public humiliations at the hands of Joffrey, and then the murders of her brother Robb and her mother Catelyn. Sansa had become completely and utterly hopeless when news came of The Red Wedding. The Lannisters had won, her house had been all but destroyed, her family all dead. As far as she knew, Sansa was the only one alive who carried the name Stark. And on top of that, she had to marry Tyrion Lannister, the Imp. He was kind enough, though, as surprising as that was to Sansa. By that point in time, she had this perception that all Lannisters were all monsters. But Tyrion was different. He was kind and gentle and considerate. She didn't mind becoming his wife because it meant that Joffrey wouldn't be able to torture her anymore. How wrong she had been about that.
But then Joffrey was poisoned at his own wedding, and Sansa had felt a sick satisfaction watching his face turn purple, foam and bile spilling out his mouth, as he choked to death, clawing at his throat, wordlessly begging his mother to save him. But Sansa didn't have time to enjoy that, as she was whisked away from the scene by a man…Sansa didn't even remember his name. But the man worked for Lord Petyr Baelish. Lord Petyr Baelish, who rescued Sansa from the Lannisters and took her to the Eyrie, to her aunt Lysa. And finally Sansa thought she could be safe. After all, Lysa was her mother's own sister, and the woman hated the Lannisters just as much, so why would she try to harm her? But Sansa was wrong about that, too. She didn't know just how unhinged her aunt's mind had become.
After Littlefinger had killed aunt Lysa, Sansa had testified in his favor in front of the Lords and Ladies of the Vale. It wasn't for his benefit. She had testified for him in hopes that he would marry her to her cousin, Sweet Robin. He was the heir apparent to the Vale and a marriage to him would have meant that Sansa would have been able to live a life of relative peace as the Lady of the Vale, away from King's Landing and safe from the clutches of the Lannisters. Little did Sansa know that Littlefinger was another monster. And he showed her his true face and intentions about her when he sold her to the Boltons. The Boltons, who had betrayed her brother Robb and taken control of the North. And then had begun the final leg of this journey that finally killed that naive, stupid little girl from within Sansa. Ramsay Bolton had made sure of that.
Sansa shivered at the thought of his name, pulling the hood over her head closer to her ears, shielding them from the white winds of winter.
"Here," Theon muttered, putting two logs of wood into the fire. "This should keep you warm."
"Thank you, Theon." Sansa said. Theon just nodded, his eyes focused on the snow-covered ground.
If Sansa thought she had it worse under Ramsay's evil thumb, it didn't even compare to what Theon had gone through. Sansa still didn't know all the details of what the Bolton's bastard had done to her father's former ward, but she guessed it must have been very, very bad. For when Sansa had met Theon in the kennels of the Dreadfort, she almost didn't recognize him. He wasn't Theon at the time, not really. No, that creature that had stared back at Sansa was called Reek. A creature created by Ramsay Bolton.
But Theon had returned to her, and he had returned just when she had needed him the most. If he hadn't pushed Myranda off the battlements of Winterfell, only gods know what that woman would have done to Sansa. She was aiming an arrow at Sansa when Theon had pushed her to her death, but even as the girl had threatened to hurt her, Sansa knew that whatever Myranda would have done to her would have been nothing compared to what Ramsay would have done to her. And she didn't even want to imagine what Ramsay would've done to Theon after he discovered Myranda's dead body.
So, after killing Myranda, Sansa and Theon had been left with no choice but to run away. They didn't even think twice before jumping from the walls of Winterfell. Because a death by falling was far better a fate than the horrors Ramsay would have subjected them to after he returned from the battle against Stannis Baratheon. If their fall had gone badly, at most they would have broken their necks. It would have been a quick and painless death. But if they had been caught by Ramsay…..Sansa didn't even have enough imagination power to guess what her husband would have done to them.
When Sansa heard that Stannis Baratheon, the king her father had died supporting, was on the march to Winterfell, she had dual thoughts. On one hand, she wanted Stannis to perish, to suffer a painful death. After all, her father had died for him, proclaiming him the true king of Westeros, and Stannis had done nothing to save him from Joffrey. But on the other hand, Sansa wished for Stannis to crush the Bolton army and take Winterfell from them. Especially after she had heard that Ramsay himself would be commanding the Bolton army. When Ramsay had boasted to her about how he would ride out to meet Stannis' army on the battlefield and bring her back his flayed skin as a gift, Sansa had prayed to all the Gods that would listen to her for the defeat of Ramsay's army, or better yet, his death on the battlefield. But, of course, she had known that the Gods won't listen to her. Even as she had stood on the battlements of Winterfell and watched the Bolton army ride out towards the Baratheons, Sansa knew in her heart that she would see Ramsay again. The worst ones always come back. She had told that to Shae before the Battle of the Blackwater Bay, when the handmaiden had said to Sansa that perhaps Joffrey would fall in battle and then she wouldn't have to suffer his torment. But Joffrey had come back. The worst ones always come back. That statement was true back when she was suffering under Joffrey's thumb, and it had been true when she had been Ramsay's wife. What a coincidence it was that in both the cases, each of Sansa's tormentors had been facing Stannis Baratheon. And just as she had predicted, Ramsay had won the battle against Stannis. It was when the first of the Bolton soldiers had begun arriving back in Winterfell that Sansa had finally gathered the courage to escape. But, of course, as fate would have it, Myranda was waiting for her. Ramsay had predicted that his wife might try something like an escape, and had promptly set his mad whore with the task of keeping an eye on Sansa. Thank the Gods that Theon had snapped out of Reek and killed Myranda.
And then they both ran, as fast as they could, headed north. Sansa knew that her brother Jon was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch now. If she could make it up to the Wall, she knew he'd protect her at all costs. When they were children, Sansa hadn't been too kind to Jon Snow, the bastard son of her father Ned Stark. It was the teachings of Septa Mordane and the blunt hatred of Sansa's own mother towards him that had influenced her to behave so awfully towards him. But despite all that, Sansa had still loved him nonetheless. She didn't show it, and there were times when she had even managed to convince herself that she didn't care about Jon. After all, bastards are born of sin. Or so Septa Mordane had repeatedly told her. But even then, Sansa knew that she loved Jon. Deep down in her heart, she knew she cared for him.
During her time in King's Landing as the prisoner of House Lannister, then in the Eyrie as the pawn of Littlefinger, and at Winterfell as the wife of Ramsay Bolton, Sansa had been cursed with a lot of time on her hands to think back on her mistakes. And one of those mistakes, one of the things she often thought about was how awful she had been to Jon. As his sister. As one of his family. She had known, even then, that he had loved her just as he loved their other siblings, for he had been nothing but kind to her. Sansa just wished she had shown some of her hidden love to him when she still had the chance. Now, he was the only one of her family that remained alive. The rest of them were all dead. Father. Mother. Robb. Arya. Bran. And Rickon. All of them were gone. Jon was her only remaining family. And she hoped that when she got to Castle Black, he would forgive her for how she had treated him all their lives. She hoped he would welcome her with open arms, and protect her.
With this hope in her heart, Sansa had begun running the moment she got up on her feet from the huge pile of snow at the foot of the great southern wall of Winterfell in which she and Theon had landed, thankfully unharmed. But Sansa and Theon had been caught by Ramsay's men, of course, just a few hours into their efforts in getting away from him. But thankfully, Brienne of Tarth had arrived in the nick of time to rescue them. That was a week ago now. Sansa and Theon had doubled up on the horses that Brienne and her squire, Podrick, had with them. And then the four of them had begun their long and arduous journey north, to the Wall. To Jon. To safety.
Just as the logs caught fire nicely, Brienne shifted from where she had been asleep for the past hour or so beside Sansa. "Fire is not a good idea, my lady," the lady warrior said, shaking off her slumber, getting up and moving to gather all her bearings. "The Boltons would have sent more search parties after you. And a fire is quite easily spotted, even from a long distance."
"But we're in the woods," Sansa muttered, her teeth clattering from the cold. She was of the North, but still she was shivering. Perhaps because she was so afraid that Ramsay's men would find her and take her back to him. "Surely they can't spot the fire in such a dense forest?"
They were in a small opening in the woods that was situated on an elevated stretch of land. Brienne had chosen this spot for them to rest because it provided a good vantage point, and because it made it difficult for anyone to spot them from the ground level. Their small party had halted in the woods on the western side of the Long Lake, making sure to stay off the kingsroad. According to Theon, it would take them another week to get to Castle Black. In actuality, Long Lake was only about a day and a half away from Winterfell. But that was when one took the kingsroad. Sansa and her group had made a point of staying off the main road that led from Winterfell straight to Castle Black. Wading through the forested region that was covered with feets of snow made it difficult to travel. And on top of that, they also had to stay away from any and all small villages they came across in the woods for fear of being discovered by the Boltons in one of those. If Sansa were Roose Bolton, the villages surrounding Winterfell would be the first places she would have checked for someone who had escaped her clutches. Thus, Brienne had suggested that they stay away from villages, too. And that was why it had taken them a week to get to Long Lake, a distance which could be traveled in just over a day in normal circumstances.
Growing up, Sansa remembered hearing stories from Old Nan of the great battle that had taken place here in these very woods. This was where, many, many years ago, the combined forces of House Stark and House Umber had defeated Raymun Redbeard, a King-Beyond-The-Wall who had managed to get past the Wall somehow. Later, the brothers of the Night's Watch had helped the men of House Stark and House Umber to bury the bodies of those wildlings who had followed Raymun Redbeard this far south.
Brienne smiled, and it irked Sansa. Because that smile said something. 'Oh, you sweet summer child,' it taunted Sansa. "My lady, the fire is very bright. Someone with a good eye can spot it, even through the woods. And if not that," Brienne said, looking up at the dreary skies, "then there's always the smoke. It can catch the eyes of anyone within a range of miles from here. And that would lead the Boltons straight to us."
"I know. But let it be, just a few more minutes." Sansa answered, rubbing her hands before holding them over the flames.
"My lady-" Brienne started but she was cut off by the sound of snow crunching under the weight of someone's feet. The sound was getting louder, and that meant that whoever was rushing towards them, was getting nearer. Brienne moved with the speed of light, drawing her sword and getting ready to face whoever came at them. The lady instinctively moved in front of Sansa, shielding her.
But it turned out to be only Podrick. As the weary and tired Brienne had resorted to taking a quick nap, her young squire had gone to find some game to make dinner for the night, and to keep a lookout for any Bolton search parties. He had brought some food alright, as Sansa saw him holding a few rabbits in his hand. But his other hand was holding a sword. A sword that was stained with blood. Blood that looked fresh. And he was out of breath.
"What is it, Pod?" Brienne asked, motioning to his sword. "And whose is that?"
"The Boltons," Podrick sputtered between sucking lungfuls of air. "They're coming. I was tying up the rabbits when I spotted one of them taking a piss. I snuck up on him and drove my sword in his back. But then I spotted more of them and came running as fast as I could."
"How many did you see?" Brienne asked, her expression turning dark as her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword.
"Aah….12? 15? Maybe more. I don't know, my Lady. I don't know," Podrick answered, panting for breath. "There were a lot of them. Too many to count. Too many for just the two of us to handle."
Hearing that, Sansa went to one of the horses, untying his reins from the tree next to him. "Let us go, then," she said. "If we leave now, we can still make it far enough away so they don't see us."
But just as Sansa said those words, the sound of hounds barking, horses neighing, and men shouting hit their ears. Everyone around her had gone quiet. Too quiet, in fact. On top of that, she suddenly had this eerie feeling as if someone was watching her. And as Sansa turned around, her heart nearly gave out.
"Hello, Sansa."
There was Ramsay Bolton, smiling so pleasantly that it would have fooled anyone to the true evil behind that mask. He was standing a few feet away from Sansa, leaning against a tree, holding a half-eaten apple. "My dearest wife. How I've missed you these past few days."
Sansa instinctively took a step back as he took a step towards her. But as he took another step, the hulking form of Brienne of Tarth blocked his path. By now, his men had caught up to them, and were now standing in a circle around Sansa and her group. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two men holding the leashes to two hounds, both of whom were barking and snapping at Theon, who had fallen to the snowy ground. There were other hounds, their leashes held by a Bolton man each. Sansa hadn't the time to count them all, but she knew what those hounds were trained for. She knew what Ramsay used them for. And so did Theon. He had turned into a ball on the ground, his hands covering his head, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was shivering uncontrollably. Come on, Theon, Sansa thought, now is not the time to turn back into Reek.
But Ramsay didn't pay Theon any mind. Instead, he had a surprised grin on his face as he looked up at Brienne.
"Are you a woman?" He asked Brienne, who had her sword held up, ready to cut him down if he took another step forward. But Sansa knew it was futile. Ramsay was too clever to go anywhere near a fully armored warrior. He was too cowardly to fight real warriors. No, he wouldn't do that. Instead, he would let all of his men put arrows and crossbow bolts into her. And then he would advance on Sansa.
"I am Brienne of Tarth, sworn shield to the Lady Sansa Stark." Brienne said through gritted teeth.
But Ramsay ignored her completely. Instead, he tilted his head to look past Brienne, right at Sansa. "Sansa, my love, is this giant of a lady going to be protecting you from now? Oh, well, we just lost a fair number of men to the Baratheons. This beast would be a fine addition to the ranks of the Bolton army, I suppose. I haven't the faintest idea where you managed to find her, but I quite like this Brienne of...Tarth, was it? Men would tremble at the mere sight of her."
He laughed at his own jest, advancing slightly towards Brienne. But he stopped just inches away from her sword's tip, when Brienne lifted the blade and extended it towards Ramsay.
"Do not take one more step," She said, her voice deathly calm and chilling. "Or I will cut you down like the insect that you are."
Ramsay cackled. "Oh, she is good. She is very good. A lesser man would have wet his breeches just now, hearing her threaten his life like that." He let out another terrible laugh, which his men joined him in. He turned his eyes on Brienne again, before saying, "In fact, if I had been standing here alone, I would be running as fast and as far away from you as I could, my lady. But as it happens," Sansa saw a vicious smirk curve his lips, and she felt chills all over her skin. It was the same smirk he used to give her every time he was about to inflict some new agony, some new pain on her body. "I am standing here, not alone, but with over a dozen of my household guard. Each of them holds either an arrow or a crossbow in their hands, aimed right at you. And, let me warn you. They're very, very good with those."
"I bet I could cut you down before any of their arrows hit me." Brienne said, and Sansa believed the words her sworn shield had just said. She had seen Brienne fight, and for a woman of her size, she was surprisingly very quick and far stronger. And so when she said that she could cut Ramsay down before any of his men put a single arrow in her, Sansa believed that she could do it. And Sansa would have loved to see it, too. But then Ramsay's men would fill Brienne full of arrows, and what would happen to Sansa after that? What would those men do to her after her sworn shield had just killed their lord's son? Worse, what would happen if Brienne failed to kill Ramsay and he somehow survived? Sansa couldn't even imagine what he would do to Brienne, let alone Sansa herself. After all, if he could inflict untold horrors on her even when she wasn't trying to murder him, what would he do after he survived an attempt on his life by a woman that was sworn to protect Sansa?
I wouldn't let it come to that, she thought. I will end it myself before that monster could get his hands on me again. I am a daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, a daughter of Winterfell and the North. I am a wolf. 'A lone wolf, apparently,' a voice said from the back of her head. That voice sounded distinctly like Ramsay's, and it filled Sansa's resolve with a fire that threatened to consume her right where she stood.
But even as she steeled herself to the inevitable situation that might befall her soon, another voice echoed in her head. This belonged to her father. 'When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.' Sansa's pack was dead. They all had been dead for a long time now. And she knew she was alone in this world. The lone wolf. Well, if that's what it's come down to, she thought, then I shall die. But she would not die at the hands of Ramsay or any of his men. If a wolf shall die, she shall die fighting. And she should take as many dogs with her as she can. But Sansa knew she could not fight. She had never learned to use any weapon. In fact, she hadn't even held a dagger in her hand before a few days. But she will not give Ramsay Bolton the satisfaction. She would not let him control her death. She would die, yes, but she would do it on her own terms. I will kill myself before anyone gets a chance to put their hands on me again, she thought, as her hand went to the hilt of the dagger strapped to her waist. The dagger that Brienne had given her a few days ago on Sansa's own wish. She had asked for the small blade just for a situation like they found themselves in right now, in case they were overwhelmed and Brienne couldn't protect her anymore. Sansa had been prepared to end herself. It was better than going back to Ramsay. Shoving that little dagger in her throat was better than having that same dagger used by Ramsay to cut her piece by piece. A quick death was better than a slow, agonizing one.
But even as she prepared herself for what she would have to do next, her hands trembled. Killing one's self was easier said than done, Sansa realized as she saw Ramsay's venomous gaze follow the movement of her hand and his expression hardened, his smirk vanishing. "I wouldn't do that now, dearest wife. I have many uses for you, and none of them involve you being dead."
"I am not going back to Winterfell. I am not going anywhere with you. I would rather kill myself."
Ramsay cackled again, amused beyond words. "I see I have my work cut out for me after we get back to Winterfell. There's still some fire left in you, after all, fire that needs to be put out. You still haven't learnt, have you?" He said, before suddenly raising his voice as his gaze landed on Theon, yelling, "Unlike Reek there!" And the Ironborn let out an inhuman yelp, his entire body wracking in terror. Ramsay enjoyed that, as he laughed. He laughed. Not his usual evil laugh, but a real laugh, as if seeing Theon so terrified and broken at a mere rise in his voice made him happy to his very core. He really was evil redefined, Sansa thought. Turning his malicious eyes on Sansa, Ramsay said, "Let go of that knife now, my love. And come with me. I might lessen the severity of your punishment."
"Never." Sansa growled, feeling a new wave of courage hitting her. In that moment, she sounded exactly like the wolf that she was. "I will never-"
But she couldn't finish her statement. Because just as Ramsay was about to say something, a cry rang out from one of his men to Sansa's right. Sansa's head whipped around to see what had happened, and she saw that the man had an arrow embedded in his left arm. But before Sansa could comprehend anything, another arrow flew in and pierced his throat straight through. As Sansa watched the man fall to his knees, holding his throat with both his hands as blood started spilling out of his mouth and he began choking on it, all around her, the Bolton men started yelling and screaming and crying out in pain. Sansa was confused at first, but then she saw arrows flying all around her. Someone was shooting the shafts from the woods, and they were pretty good. Because many of Ramsay's men were falling to the ground, some injured, some already dead or dying. The attackers were very precise in their ambush, because none of Ramsay's men had heard them come close, and many of the Bolton men who had fallen dead on the ground had arrows stuck in their necks, chests and their arms. Sansa watched it all unfold before her eyes, stuck in her place, her breathing getting faster as her heart began racing. She knew she must get down, lest any of the arrows catch her. But even as she thought of that, she couldn't move at all. Her brain, it seemed, had lost control of her legs. It commanded them to move, but they just wouldn't.
"Get down, my Lady!" Brienne yelled as she dived on the snow-covered ground, taking Sansa with her. Sansa lay there, blood rushing in her ears, her breathing shallow, as she watched chaos descend upon the Bolton search party. The men scrambled to find their horses, dropping their weapons as they ran. The men holding the two hounds near Theon dropped their leashes and the dogs were about to pounce on the former ward of Ned Stark, when a great, hulking form of a gray dog lunged on one of the dogs, pinning it down with its hind legs, while the beast's jaw closed around the neck of the other hound. The dog let out a whine as it tried to struggle in the great beast's clutch, but the gray beast ripped a chunk of flesh out from the dog's neck, leaving it to die. But then, as the great beast turned its attention on the other hound that had been pinned under its legs, Sansa was struck with the true enormity of its size. It was as large as a horse. Not a dog, she thought as she looked at the gray beast rip into the hound, tearing it limb from limb with no effort at all. No, that's a direwolf. Looking at its magnificent grey coat, Sansa had an inkling of who that beast might have belonged to….but no. That was not possible. He was dead. But maybe…maybe his wolf had survived. Somehow, mayhaps Grey Wind had survived the Red Wedding, she thought. But she didn't have much time to dwell on the question of who that direwolf belonged to.
In the chaos, Sansa caught a glimpse of her husband. Ramsay's expression was one of pure fury and confusion. Whoever was ambushing him and his men would pay for this. Because he had been so close to taking his prize back home, so close to getting his wife back in his bed. But now, all he could do was scurry towards his horse, get on it, and gallop away.
And just like that, it was over all too quickly, just as it had begun. Sansa tried to stand up, but her legs were trembling. Her hands were shaking. And her mind was still trying to take in all that had just transpired within the span of almost an hour.
"My lady," Brienne said, prompting Sansa to look at her. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
"I'm…" Sansa tried to form the words, but her breath caught in her throat as the grey direwolf trotted towards her, stopping just a few feet away. Its mouth was coated in blood and gore, and its tongue was now swiping away at the bits. Sansa wanted to avert her gaze, but as the wolf looked on, its bright yellow eyes boring deep into her blues, she felt transfixed. The wolf tilted its head as it scrutinized Sansa, before letting out a low whine, followed by a howl.
Sansa lifted her hand, her fingers stretching out to touch the wolf's head. But Brienne put her hand over Sansa's, shoving it down and crawling up to take her position in front of her. And as the lady picked up her sword, the wolf bared its teeth, its maw curling back into a snarl. "Stay back, my Lady." Brienne said to Sansa, her tone tense.
The wolf took a step towards Brienne, its ears pointing up towards the sky, suspicion and fury in its eyes. But just then, something in the woods behind Sansa caught the wolf's eye, and its face morphed into something akin to obedience as it leapt out of Brienne's reach and trotted away around to the back of Sansa. And it was only then when the wolf had cleared away, that Sansa noticed the men. They were all around them, standing in a circle. As Sansa looked around, she found some other men checking up on the bodies of the Bolton men laying in the snow. There were still some cries coming from some of those men, as these new men drove daggers into them, finishing them off.
"You can put your blade away, Ser. We are not going to harm you."
The man directly in front of Brienne and Sansa spoke. She observed him, and found him to be quite strange in appearance. He had a light beard which was catching snowflakes in it, broad shoulders, and a thatch of greying hair over his head. His height was the obvious thing that was odd about him, for it was short. Shorter than most men she had seen. Not as short as her former husband Tyrion Lannister, though short nonetheless. Then there were his clothes. He had layers of winter clothing on his body, above which he wore a shirt of bronze scales. And then there were the weapons he carried with him. A bow hung on his shoulder, with a quiver filled with arrows strapped to his back. But it was the second weapon that he was holding in his left hand that caught Sansa's attention, for she had never seen a weapon like that ever in her life. It was a staff, long like a spear, but instead of one tip of steel at one end like a traditional spear, it had three of them. Three long tips made not of steel, but bronze. It looked like a giant fork. Apart from that strange weapon which Sansa didn't know the name of, the man also held a leather shield in his other hand.
"So you say." Brienne answered to the man. "But what we just saw happen to these Bolton men contradicts your words. And I am not a knight."
"You are not?" The man asked, and something about his voice gave Sansa the gooseflesh. His tone was quiet and low, but it held a certain quality to it which made Sansa think that the man had seen a lot in his life, and knew far too much than any one man should be allowed to. "Your armor and sword suggest otherwise. Be that as it may, my lady. We attacked these men because we saw them troubling you. We have no quarrel with you though. So you are safe from us."
But Brienne was not one to believe the word of strangers so easily. Perhaps that's why she made for such a better protector for Sansa. "Those men you just slaughtered, they were Bolton men. In fact, you nearly took out the Bolton heir."
"And?"
"Roose Bolton is Warden of the North. He rules these lands now."
"And?" The short man asked, his tone suggesting that the fact that he had just slaughtered men of House Bolton didn't bother him at all. It should, Sansa thought. You have no idea what kind of an enemy you have just made for yourself.
"And," Brienne said, gritting her teeth, getting irritated by the man's uncaring attitude. "Only a fool would kill Bolton men on the lands of the North. Lands that are ruled by House Bolton. A band of fools, rather." She looked around at a few of his companions, before her gaze locked back onto him. "Or a band of bandits. Whichever one you are, you don't seem like friends to me."
"Bolton's bastard," came a voice from behind Sansa before the short man could say anything more to Brienne. And hearing that voice, Sansa felt her heart skip a few beats. She recognized that voice from memories of a distant past. That broguish, northern accent. She hadn't heard it in a long, long time, and it was a wonder she still remembered it. She had thought she would never get to hear that voice again. "Did you see him escape? Was he one of those who managed to get away?"
"Aye. I saw him get on his horse and run away." Brienne said, turning around to look at this new arrival.
"Pity." The man said from behind Sansa. She wanted to turn around and look at him, but something froze her in place. "I would have very much liked to have captured that bastard." The voice had grown closer now, prompting Sansa to turn back and look at its source. She turned her head slowly, the beat of her heart getting faster and faster. And when Sansa finally looked back, she saw that the voice belonged to a hooded figure.
"What possible reason would you have for wanting Ramsay Bolton as your captive?" Brienne asked.
"Nothing." The man answered simply. "Just that his father has taken my home."
"Who are you, Ser?" Sansa asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
The hooded man didn't say a word for the longest time. Then, "The last time I saw you, you were only as tall as my shoulders." The man said, removing his hood. And as he did, Sansa's breath caught in her throat. She thought that her vision might be getting blurry. She thought her senses must be playing some sick trick on her mind. Because what she was seeing, she couldn't quite believe it. She couldn't quite believe her eyes. He was dead. He was dead. They all were dead. But as she looked on, she saw the same handsome face, the same blue eyes, the same curls of deep red. She had thought she would never get to see that face again in her life. And yet….
"And now look at you. You're almost as tall as I am."
"Robb…." Sansa gasped, hearing her voice as if from a distance. Her heart was threatening to leap out of her ribs, and the ringing in her ears was getting louder, as she found her feet moving of their own accord. And they were taking her straight towards him.
She barely heard him say, "Hello, Sansa," before she had launched herself into his arms.
OKAYYY. Well, that went well. Or at least I hope it did *fingers crossed*
So here's the deal. I really like Robb's character. Yes, he made many mistakes along the way that cost him the war and ultimately, his life. And his mother's life. And the lives of his wife and their unborn child. But I really wanted him to survive. And that is what I did here. I made him survive. But the question is how did he survive the unspeakable heartbreaker that was the Red Wedding? Well, we'll find out about that in the next chapter, which is told from Robb's perspective.
Also, I want to let you guys know that I'm not new to the world of GoT fanfiction. I have been reading many fics for the last four years or so. But I am new to writing GoT fanfiction. And this is the first ever fanfiction that I'm writing, so I desperately need a beta reader to help me on this one. So if anyone out there, who has liked this first chapter and wants to help, please PM me.
With that said, see you soon! And I hope you have a good time wherever you are in the world!