"Thank you all for riding for Winterfell at such short notice," began Ned. The Great Hall stretching out before them was filled to the brim with representatives from Houses throughout the North. Sansa didn't let herself pick out any faces in the crowd – didn't let herself pick out Ramsay's face, wherever he was lurking.
She was seated at the High Table between Theon and Arya. Lady lay at her feet, Nymeria slumped next to her. The only direwolf not in attendance was Shaggydog; he and Rickon were in the nursery. There was no way either of them would have been able to sit through the entire meeting. The five direwolves, even not fully grown, still had to be quite the sight, laying at the feet of House Stark. That effect was intentional; with the news they were about to impart on the North, they needed to send the strongest message possible.
"We have had word from the Night's Watch," continued Ned. There were whispers through the crowd. "The Wall needs to be reinforced as soon as possible."
A man stood up in the crowd. Sansa had never been formally introduced, but she had danced with his son two nights ago at the feast. Greatjon Umber cleared his throat and said, "Lord Stark is right. The Wildlings have become far bolder over recent years. We need to put an end to this once and for all, before they decide to declare themselves a king and march on the Wall."
Ned held up his hand to head off the conversations before they could begin. "I appreciate your eagerness, Lord Umber, but it is not the Wildlings that threaten us today," said Ned. Across the Great Hall, heads began to turn, looking at their neighbours in confusion. "Lord Commander Mormont?"
Mormont stood. He was seated by his sister and her eldest daughter, Dacey. "I never dreamed I would one day have to stand before the North and tell you all of white shadows accosting our Rangers north of the Wall, or of dead men rising up to attack their former comrades." The Great Hall burst into a cacophony of noise.
Ned slammed his cup against the High Table, but when the noise didn't make any effect, he called, "My lords! My ladies!" Some – mostly those closest to the High Table – quieted, but not enough for Ned or for Mormont to continue. At the other end of the table, Grey Wind got to his feet and howled. The mass below them quietened, turning to stare at the direwolves. "Lord Commander, continue."
"The Others never died out," declared Mormont. "They retreated into the Lands of Always Winter, licking at their wounds, but now they have come again to avenge their last defeat. We, the North and all of Westeros must be ready."
"Lord Stark, surely you cannot expect us to believe this," said a calm voice from across the room. Sansa didn't want to look, but she had to: Roose Bolton had stood, his bastard son beside him. Several other lords yelled out their support. Ramsay didn't seem to have a care in the world, lounging in his chair and watching the High Table with interest. Sansa had to look away.
Arya dug her fingers into the arms of her chair. "This is pointless," she hissed.
"My lords!" appealed Catelyn, rising to her feet. "My ladies. I was not born in the North, nor am I of the First Men. Only weeks ago, I believed that the White Walkers were nothing more than a nursery story to scare children with." She stared around the room, and lords grew quiet as her gaze swept over them. "But I have been forced to see that I was wrong. The Others are marching on the Wall. Lord Commander Mormont and First Ranger Stark can attest to that. House Stark stands with the Night's Watch, as it has done for millenia."
"So does House Umber!" shouted the Greatjon, standing once more and holding his glass up to the High Table.
"The Wildlings will be dealt with," said Ned. "My bastard son, Jon Snow, will ride north with Lord Commander Mormont and Fire Ranger Stark when they return to the Wall. He will be House Stark's representative on the Wall as the Wildling threat is ended. Any Houses who remain unsure of the threat facing all of us can send representatives alongside him."
"Should you not be facing this yourself?" called someone in the crowd – there were so many voices that it was hard to pick who.
Ned bent his head in acknowledgement. "In other circumstances, I would ride for the Wall myself. But the King rides for Winterfell as we speak. I will remain in Winterfell to greet him, and speak to him personally of the threat." Murmurs broke out once more.
"He's an Andal!" cried someone in the back of the room.
Wyman Manderly stood. "I, too, am an Andal, and I have always held to the Seven – but the Manderlys are Stark men, through and through. We will stand against the Others, alongside House Stark."
"His Grace will do the same," assured Ned. Aye, thought Sansa, wryly. A never-ending enemy. What more could Robert want?
"Why now?" asked Roose Bolton. "North of the Wall has been quiet for thousands of years. Why would the White Walkers march south now?"
The Dreadfort has been quiet for thousands of years, but that didn't stop you, did it? Sansa thought. Beside her, Arya hissed under her breath, and Lady nudged Arya's foot with her nose.
Maester Luwin rose to his feet. "I have been in contact with the Citadel," he announced. "We are coming to the end of a long summer, one of the longest in memory. Winter, too, will be long. Like Lady Stark, I believed – as did many others of the Citadel – that the Others did not exist. I see now that I, and the Citadel, was wrong. Winter is coming, and the Others come with it. We may yet be looking at a winter so long that it will be a second Long Night."
The whispering in the room still sounded uncertain and unconvinced. You don't have to believe it, she thought, wanting to shout it to the room. You just have to trust us for long enough to see it.
Sansa leaned across to Arya and whispered, "Tell Mother to tell them that preparations for the war will be preparations for the winter." Arya nodded and turned to whisper the message to Catelyn.
Catelyn stood. "My lords, I know better than anyone that this news is hard to accept. We are faced with a threat that we believed belonged to history tomes at most, or was only a way to scare children at the least. As my lord husband stated, when the Lord Commander and First Ranger return to the Wall, you can send representatives, if you wish." She paused and looked out across the room, moving her eyes from bannerman to bannerman. "Regardless of the Others, this will be a long, difficult winter. Even the Wildling raids are difficulties that the Houses of the North should not need to bear in such a time of hardship. Reinforcing the Wall will make the winter easier for all of us, as will beginning to stockpile food where possible." The whispers now sounded more approving.
"Maester Luwin has begun a correspondence with Maester Aemon at the Wall, collating all information available to us about what a second Long Night may mean for the North, regardless if the Others march on us or not," said Ned. "After so many years, however, our records are limited. Any assistance that the Maesters of your keeps could provide would be invaluable."
Dacey Mormont stood. "I will go to the Wall on behalf of House Mormont. The Maesters of Bear Island will send what information they can to Winterfell. We stand with House Stark and with the Night's Watch, as we have for millenia. If the Lord Commander and Lord Stark say that the White Walkers have returned to menace the North once more, then House Mormont believes them."
"Aye! My son and heir, Smalljon, will accompany your bastard to the Wall, Lord Stark," said the Greatjon, quickly.
"As will my son, Ser Wyllis," agreed Wyman Manderly. "We shall send a force to rout the Wildlings."
Across the room, more and more Houses swore to take part in reinforcing the Wall. Not every family sounded certain of the threat, but as more families swore the support, the more the remainder felt compelled. It reminded her of Jon being sworn as King in the North – it had only taken one girl to shame a hall full of Northmen into declaring a Stark king once more, where she and Jon had failed. One Mormont girl, she thought, half-smiling, though it was difficult to think of Dacey Mormont as anything other than a woman grown.
There was one House that had not been present for declaring Jon king, though. Roose Bolton was watching the room with calculating eyes. A little over half of the hall had declared their support when he stood once more. "House Bolton will send forces to the Wall," he declared. "They will be led by my son, Ramsay, after he has been legitimised as my son and heir."
Sansa's grip on the arms of her chair grew tight. Ramsay had risen to stand beside his father. He smiled and nodded at the crowded room. When he turned to look at the High Table, he bowed slightly – only just enough to look appropriate – and his smile widened when he looked at Sansa, taunting.
One more day, she promised herself. One more day and he's gone for good. As Ramsay sat back down, she turned to look out over the Great Hall. Another House was swearing to send aid to the Wall.
We're going to make it, Sansa thought. We're going to do this.
The next morning, the summer snows had begun again. Standing alone before the Heart Tree, she couldn't help but remember the snowy night that had been her wedding night. It was cool and grey, fog blanketing the Godswood. She longed for Lady, but the direwolves had been publicly taken out into the Wolfswood to hunt by her brothers and Brienne. She was vulnerable to exposure, more than she ever had been since returning to the past.
But that was exactly the point.
"Reliving it, are you?" said a voice behind her.
Sansa turned. Ramsay Bolton stood behind her. "I'm saying my prayers before the Old Gods," she said calmly. "What brings you to the Godswood, Lord Ramsay?" He wasn't technically a lord yet, but she had to play her role.
"I have so looked forward to having you back in my bed," said Ramsay. That taunting smile was back on his face. "I suppose I simply couldn't wait to see my lady wife again."
Sansa stepped back. She pressed her lips together, swallowing hard. "My apologies, Lord Ramsay," she said. She let a hint of nerves enter her voice as she continued. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning. We have never met before, and I am betrothed to Theon Greyjoy."
"Come now, Sansa," said Ramsay, stepping forward. He reached out and grabbed her right wrist before she could stop it. She tensed, trying to jerk her hand free. The sound of her name in his voice was enough to make Sansa's skin crawl, but his hand on her arm, even separated by her dress and his gloves, felt like a brand. "I know that Reek would have told you."
"Reek?" asked Sansa innocently. "I only know Theon, my betrothed and protector." Those last few words were forceful, a challenge. Ramsay's jaw set. He knew as well as she did what she was referencing.
"A few days back in my kennels and he'll remember his place," growled Ramsay, face dark. "And you – for your defiance, perhaps you deserve some time in the kennels, too."
Sansa let herself flinch at the anger in his voice. Her iron control was beginning to slip, but at least she was meant to be playing at fear right now. "To do what?" she asked, her voice only barely trembling.
"Bitches are only the proper mate for a dog," said Ramsay simply, a smirk cutting across his face.
"And you're the only proper meal for them," taunted Sansa, dropping her voice low so only he could hear it. The smirk dropped off his face, reshaping into a snarl. He jerked his arm and Sansa cried out, pain shooting through her wrist. Tears stung at her eyes and she tried to pull her arm free of his grip, but she only succeeded in worsening the agony.
"Unhand my sister, Snow," snarled Robb, emerging from the fog. Ramsay went to drop her wrist, trying to turn to face the new threat, but Sansa grabbed hold of his arm with her uninjured hand and reeled him back in, squashing down her pain to get one last word in.
"A footnote to history," she said mockingly, voice too low for anyone other than Ramsay to hear. "That's all you'll be. The bastard who was almost legitimised before he was caught and faced justice for his crimes. It's a long fall from the Butcher of the Dreadfort, isn't it, Snow?" With that, she let his arm drop. He snatched a knife from his belt and Sansa staggered back, trying to stay out of his reach. Hurry up, hurry up, end this.
Arya was at her side in another moment, slipping out from the fog and trees to Sansa's side. She had a dagger in hand, and Nymeria and Lady at her heels. Ramsay was slammed to the ground by Lady, who stood over him, snarling.
Sansa looked up, cradling her wrist. Robb and Jon were emerging from the trees, swords in hand. Behind them, Brienne, Dacey Mormont, and Smalljon Umber followed. To Sansa's surprise, Lady Dustin was also with them.
Under her breath, Arya explained, "Father said that she agreed to stand aside and not help the Boltons if Ramsay was punished. Brienne and I thought since she's a Bolton ally, it would look good to have her here as a witness, too."
"Good thinking," Sansa breathed back. Her hands were shaking, and Arya wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"It's over, now," Arya said gently.
Jon was binding Ramsay's hands, so Robb left him to it and approached Sansa. "How are you?" he asked.
"Better, now that it's over," said Sansa. It wasn't a lie, but only barely.
"What Ramsay said about the kennels…" Robb trailed off, looking ill. "Did he ever -?"
"Not with me," said Sansa. She made sure her voice was too quiet to be overheard by any of the others. "But with Theon, yes." Robb nodded, face dark, and went to haul Ramsay to his feet, more roughly than was strictly necessary.
"Come on," said Arya, taking Sansa by the arm carefully and leading her out of the Godswood. Lady paced behind them, while Nymeria stayed with Robb and Jon, snarling at Ramsay's feet. "We need to get your wrist looked at. We should have interfered sooner. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," said Sansa. "Roose Bolton can't argue with arresting the bastard who laid hands on the oldest Stark girl, can he?"
"No, he can't," agreed Arya. "But Sansa…"
"I'm fine," said Sansa tightly. "It's over, Arya. That's all there is to it."
Arya pressed her lips together, clearly not convinced, but she didn't press. Sansa followed her into the library tower and up to where Maester Luwin spent his days. Luwin was going through some old manuscripts, as he so often was these days, but he looked up as Sansa and Arya approached. He clucked his tongue as he took in Sansa's wrist, already swelling.
"Whatever have you been up to, Lady Sansa?" he asked, shuffling over to look over her wrist.
"The Bolton bastard attacked her in the Godswood," exclaimed Arya. "I've never seen anything like it, Maester. He said he was going to rape her then he broke her wrist before Robb and Jon and I got to him."
Maester Luwin's eyes widened but he didn't look away from Sansa's injury. After another moment, he said, "I'm afraid Arya's right, my lady. It's broken. You'll have to wear a splint until it's healed."
"Will I be able to write, ride or sew in the meantime?" asked Sansa.
"I'm afraid not," said Maester Luwin. "It'll take well over a month to heal, my lady. I'll have to keep examining it throughout. If you aggravate it by moving it too much, it will take longer to heal."
Sansa shared a look with Arya. That meant she couldn't write any more information out for her mother and brothers before they went south. It meant she couldn't ride south, either – she would have to sit in the wheelhouse every day, hours and hours locked up with Cersei. Sansa dreaded it already. And no sewing…
"Come," said Luwin, beckoning her. "We need to bind your wrist."
"I'll be back in a moment," promised Arya, walking out before Sansa had the chance to protest or question her. Sansa watched after her for a moment before turning back to Luwin. He led her to the corner of the Tower where he kept his supplies. She slid into the seat across from his and held her wrist out to be bandaged. Maester Luwin kept his touch gentle as he arranged a splint against her wrist and began to bind her arm.
"Your lord father won't let this go unpunished," Luwin told her kindly. "You won't have to fear the Bolton boy."
Sansa nodded. "I know." Ramsay was lucky he hadn't had face pummelled into a mush already by Jon or Robb, like he had the last time round. He wouldn't escape punishment, though he would probably face a kinder one than he had before. Luwin carefully set her wrist against a splint and began to wind the bandage around the break. Sansa chewed at her lip to keep herself from otherwise reacting from the pain.
"I'm sorry that this had to happen to you, my lady," said Luwin. "I'm afraid that the world is not always a kind place, and neither are the people in it. I wish you had not had to discover it in such a violent way."
"I knew there are monsters in the world, Maester," Sansa said softly. "That there are rapists and murderers and people who will crush anyone they have to so they can make it to the top."
Luwin looked up, watching her for a moment before he dropped his eyes back down to his work. "Quite right; you've grown up on stories of what happened to your aunt, uncle and grandfather. Still, you should not have had to face it so young."
"I'm afraid the world doesn't care what's right, Maester," she said. "You have studied the histories of Westeros. I'm sure you know better than most."
"Lady Sansa," said Maester Luwin. He hesitated for another moment before saying, "If this is about the Others -"
"No, Maester," said Sansa, shaking her head. "The White Walkers are simple. They want to end us all. It's humans are complicated, and that makes them dangerous, because you can't predict what they'll do next." Chaos is a ladder. She had lured Ramsay into a trap, but could she do just as well with Cersei? With Littlefinger? Ramsay was easy to manipulate, in a lot of ways. He delighted in cruelty, and that meant he often didn't think too far ahead. He was insecure about his low birth, and that made him easy to needle.
But Littlefinger? Cersei? Sansa knew the chinks in their armour, or at least some of them, but they also had lived and thrived in King's Landing for years. They were prepared for manipulation in a way that Ramsay wasn't.
Reliving it, are you?
She couldn't think about what had happened in Winterfell. She couldn't. If she did, she'd crack into a million tiny pieces, and she wasn't sure if Arya and Theon would be able to gather her back together before Robert Baratheon arrived.
Reliving it, are you?
It had been so still that night, except for the firelight flickering on Ramsay's face, so she couldn't quite see his face properly...
Reliving it…
The door opened again. Sansa almost jumped, but stopped herself by digging her nails of her unharmed hand into her thigh. She turned to face who was coming in: Arya came through the door, and then –
Theon.
"You're done," said Maester Luwin, setting her hand back down.
"Thank you, Maester," she said breathlessly.
Theon crossed the room, and she stood to meet him. He carefully took her hand to look at her bandaged wrist. "You should have told me it was happening today."
"Only one of us had to face him, Theon, and it had to be me," said Sansa. "You were safe. That was better."
"Gods, Sansa," said Theon, his voice cracking. "I'm your betrothed. I should be there to protect you from him."
"I did fine by myself," said Sansa, her voice stiff.
"Sansa…" said Theon, taking her free hand and cradling it in his. "You don't have to do it by yourself. Fulfil your oaths, that's what Bran told me. What oaths was he talking about, if not the one to fight for you and Winterfell?"
Sansa felt her lip quivering. "And I made an oath to protect the people of the North. You're one of them, Theon. I had to protect you from him."
Theon swallowed hard. He pulled her into his arms, making sure to gently move her wrist out of harm's way. She burrowed into Theon's arms, sliding her arms around his waist. His arms were warm around her. She took a shuddering breath.
"The worst thing is that I can't even sew," continued Sansa. "Is that stupid? After I went to Jon, the first thing I did was sew myself a new dress with a direwolf across the chest. It was like I was reclaiming myself, and now I can't even do that."
"It isn't stupid," promised Theon. "When I went back to Pyke, and wore a tunic with a kraken on it for the first time since Ramsay…" Theon paused, then repeated, "It isn't stupid."
That was what it took: she cracked, a sob bursting out and wracking her body. Theon pressed a long kiss to her forehead and let her cry.
"Jon Snow," said Ramsay. "Does your father know, I wonder? Does he know about you abandoned your watch? What is it they do to deserters, again?"
Jon ignored him. He and Robb had made an agreement – one of them would stay in the Guards' Tower whenever possible, to keep an eye on Ramsay and make sure he didn't tell any stories to someone who didn't need to hear them. It mainly fell on Jon; Robb was heir to Winterfell and the North, and Winterfell was filled to the brim with the lords of the North. Across the room, Jory Cassel raised his eyebrows. Jon shrugged back at him.
Ramsay, meanwhile, was lying in his cell, far too relaxed. He had hardly shut up since Jon had shoved him in there.
"Aren't you meant to be encased in the Wall, so you can never leave your post?" continued Ramsay. "I'll have to make sure it's done when I control the North."
Jon couldn't help it: he snorted derisively. "You'll be lucky to control an anthill, by the time Lord Stark is done with you."
"Ah, yes, Lord Stark," said Ramsay, sneering the name. "Give him a month or two in the capital, and he'll be dead soon enough. Your brothers aren't exactly capable of holding the North." Ramsay cocked his head and smirked. "Did my lady wife ever tell you what happened to your brother's body?"
Jory's eyes turned to Ramsay, his gaze sharpening. Jon couldn't help but sit a little straighter.
"He didn't even realise," continued Ramsay, his voice gleeful. "Your Lady Stark did. I'm told she screamed when Robb's throat was cut." Nausea swirled in Jon's stomach. He didn't want to listen to this, but he couldn't find his voice to shut Ramsay up. "Our men killed his direwolf, too. Mutt took a while to go down, but we got him. We took the wolf's head and sewed it -"
Realising where the story was going, Jon stood up abruptly and snapped, "Shut your damn mouth, Snow. No one wants to hear it."
"I thought you'd be happy to hear it," said Ramsay, insufferably smug. "It gave you a clear line to Winterfell – well, it would have if you weren't already sworn to the Night's Watch, and House Bolton hadn't claimed it for our own."
"What, like you did to Domeric Bolton?" demanded Jon. Ramsay's mouth snapped shut and he glared up at Jon. "Ah," said Jon. "That's it, isn't it? You're still expecting your father to save you from the sword, but you know that Roose Bolton won't help you if he knows for certain what you did to his trueborn son." Ramsay's jaw tightened as Jon emphasized the word 'trueborn'.
"If Roose Bolton has any honour at all, he won't help the man who threatened the honour and safety of Lady Sansa," rumbled Jory, staring down at Ramsay.
Roose Bolton has no honour, Jon thought but didn't say.
The door opened, and Jon glanced over, half-expecting Robb or Ned to enter. Instead, Theon walked through. He was trembling slightly, but he walked to Ramsay's cell all the same.
Ramsay stood up, delight written across his face. "Reek!" he greeted. Theon's hands clenched at the name.
"Theon," Jon found himself saying. "His name is Theon Greyjoy, and don't you forget it, Snow."
Theon glanced over at Jon, his hands slowly unclenching. He nodded. "That's right," he whispered, before clearing his throat. "My name is Theon Greyjoy."
Ramsay stared at Theon, his nostrils flaring. Although his hands were still bound, and he was separated from Theon by the bars of his cell, Jon placed his hand on the hilt of the knife in his belt, stepping closer to the pair. After a long moment, Ramsay said, "Is that what you were calling yourself when you watched what I did to Sansa? When you stood by as I raped her, and brought my knives to bed -"
"Shut up!" shouted Jon. "If you breathe another word about my sister, I swear to every fucking god -"
"Swear what?" sneered Ramsay. "That you'll kill me? I doubt it. You think I don't know what's happening here? My bitch of wife is trying to get my killed in a way my father won't start a war over. I should have seen it coming from the beginning. You kill me before your father can give me a trial, then you've fucked up your precious sister's plans."
"Lady Sansa is not your wife," said Jory sharply.
"I don't know this one," said Ramsay. He looked back to Theon. "Is he one of the ones you and your men murdered when you took Winterfell?"
"What?" asked Jory.
"No," said Theon, his voice tight and brittle. "I never hurt Jory Cassel."
"But you killed his father, didn't you?" asked Ramsay. "Rickard, Rodney -"
"Rodrik," ground out Theon. "Ser Rodrik Cassel."
Ramsay snapped his fingers. "That's the one. Beheaded him, isn't that right? And you did it right in front of Bran Stark. An impressively cold move for you, Reek."
"Theon!" shouted Theon. "My name is Theon Greyjoy!"
"Your name is Reek," hissed Ramsay. "You will always be Reek, even after I'm dead and gone."
Theon swallowed hard. "You were gone," he managed. "Sansa had you killed, and I went on. I supported my sister in the Kingsmoot. I rescued her from my uncle. I protected Bran Stark at Winterfell. I kept being Theon Greyjoy anyway."
"You protected Bran Stark?" repeated Ramsay. "Oh, gods, don't tell me. That's how you died, isn't it? Protecting poor, little Bran Stark after the one who first put him in danger. How sickeningly sweet."
"Get out of here, Theon," Jon said, his voice tight. "You've said your piece. Don't let him get at you anymore." Theon hesitated for a moment before nodding.
"You're nothing anymore," he told Ramsay. "Nothing. Just a raving madman who thinks he has a claim to the daughter of Winterfell." His voice trembled as he said it. With that, he turned away.
"Well said," whispered Jon as Theon passed.
Ramsay rolled his eyes and settled back down on the floor. "You're all pathetic, you know that? He took your home and killed your men. He stood by while your sister was forced into my bed. And you're forgiving him."
Jon sat back down. "What else would you have me do, Snow? Hurt him? Torture him? I'm not you."
The Great Hall was silent as Ramsay was dragged in between Ser Rodrik and Jory. Ramsay was unceremoniously dropped to the ground before the High Table. Sansa dug her fingers into the arms of the chair, trying not to remember another man on his knees before the High Table in Winterfell.
"Ramsay Snow," began Ned, his voice grave. "You stand accused of conspiring against your liege lord, the abuse of my daughter, Lady Sansa, and threatening to harm both Lady Sansa and Theon Greyjoy, both my ward and heir to the Iron Islands. How do you plead?"
Ramsay jutted his chin up. "Not guilty."
Sansa let her eyes skate across to Roose Bolton. The man's face was blank, his icy eyes fixed on the back of his son's head.
Ned nodded. "Then in the name of our King, Robert Baratheon, I call our first witness to the stand. Lady Sansa?"
Ramsay narrowed his eyes at her, but she did not meet them as she stood and made her way out from behind the High Table to stand before the lords of the North. "My lord," she said, when she had taken her place.
"Can you tell us what happened in the Godswood?" asked Ned. His voice was gentle. He hadn't wanted Sansa to testify; he hadn't wanted her to have to confront Ramsay in front of all the Northern lords, but she had insisted. She had fed him to his own dogs. She could see him brought to justice, too.
"I was praying in the Godswood," explained Sansa. "I have taken to doing it frequently, since we first received reports of the Others from the Night's Watch. While I was there, Ramsay Snow approached me. He called me his wife and my betrothed, Theon, Reek – I don't understand the name, but that's what Ramsay called him." Sansa took a deep breath. "He took me by the arm and said that Theon must have told me something. I don't know what it was he thought Theon would have told me. When I said as much, he said that Theon and I would have to spend time in his kennels for our insolence, and…" Sansa let her voice trail off, swallowing visibly. She swept her hand across her forehead, like she was tucking away some stray piece of hair, even though Catelyn had carefully pinned it all back earlier. "He said that he would give me to the dogs, and -"
Sansa broke off, like she couldn't go on. Arya jumped to her feet and hurried to her side. She rubbed Sansa's arm softly, and Sansa gave her a watery smile in return.
"Lady Arya, I'm afraid you have to return to your seat," said Ned, reluctantly.
"But Father -" protested Arya.
"Go," Sansa urged her. "But thank you, sister." She took a deep breath and turned back to the lords. They had softened at Arya's display. Good, thought Sansa. She wasn't sure if Arya had done it just to comfort her, but it had helped, whatever the case.
"My brother, Robb, half-brother, Jon, and my sister were in the Godswood at the time with Lady Dacey, Lady Brienne, Lord Jon Umber, and Lady Dustin accompanying them, as well as mine and Arya's dire wolves," continued Sansa. "When I reprimanded Ramsay for his language, he broke my arm." She lifted her arm, still bound and in a sling, so that the rest of the Hall could see. Someone gasped, but Sansa didn't see who. "The others overheard my cries and came to confront Ramsay and help me. My dire wolf, Lady, was able to knock Ramsay away from me, and Jon – my brother, Jon – was able to bind him."
"Thank you, Lady Sansa," said Ned. "You may sit down." Sansa nodded, gave the crowd a quick curtsey, and returned to her seat. "Lord Robb?"
Robb stood and made his way to stand before the lords. He glared down at Ramsay with undisguised fury.
"What did you see in the Godswood?" prompted Ned.
"Jon and I were showing the Godswood to Lady Dacey and Lord Jon," began Robb. "We hadn't been there long when we heard Sansa. When we got to the heart tree, Ramsay Snow had already broken my sister's arm, and when I demanded that he unhand my sister, he pulled out his knife. It was only because the dire wolves were there that my sister was able to escape him unharmed."
"This is ridiculous," cut in Ramsay. "The only witnesses have been Starks. Everyone in this castle knows the bad blood between the Starks and Boltons. How can anyone believe this is a fair trial?"
Under the table, Sansa clenched her firsts. As if Ramsay knew anything about 'fair'.
"You aren't a Bolton yet, Snow," growled Robb.
"Very well," said Ned, leaning back in his chair. "If no one has any further questions for Lord Robb -" Ned paused for a moment, but no one spoke – "then I call our third witness to the stand. Lady Dustin?"
Roose finally looked away from Ramsay, turning to stare at Lady Dustin as she passed by him. She didn't look at him as she walked to the front of the Hall.
"Lord Stark," she said evenly. "My lords. Many of you will know that I am close with House Bolton. My sister was Lord Bolton's wife before she passed on, may the gods bless her soul, and I loved her son, the heir to House Bolton. I would not do anything to harm my good-brother's House lightly.
But Lady Sansa is right; I was in the Godswood, and I saw what happened. I saw that bastard break her wrist and I heard him threaten her with his dogs. I will not see my nephew's House defiled by that creature. Domeric would not have stood for it, and neither will I."
Ramsay was glaring at Lady Dustin. Sansa almost expected him to snap at her, probably insult Domeric Bolton somehow, but he kept his mouth shut.
The testimonies continued: Dacey Mormont, Smalljon Umber, Brienne, Jon, Arya until, finally –
"Lord Theon," said Ned. Theon rose to his feet. Sansa took his hand quickly and squeezed it as he passed.
"You can do this," whispered Robb.
"Give him hell," added Arya.
When Theon took his place before the lords, Ned said, "Lord Theon, you were not present in the Godswood, but it is clear from the testimony of others that Ramsay Snow believes himself to have a connection to you. Do you know what he means by this?"
Theon shook his head. "I haven't met Ramsay Snow before he arrived in Winterfell."
Ramsay snorted, shaking his head.
"You will be quiet unless spoken to," Ned said severely, before he turned back to Theon. "Have you had any interactions with Ramsay Snow since he arrived in Winterfell?"
"He approached me by the kennels," said Theon. "He threatened me. The dire wolves got between him and me – they didn't like him much, even before he hurt Sansa. I thought that the wolves scared him enough that I didn't report it. I was wrong, Lord Stark." Theon swallowed and turned to Sansa. "My lady, I'm sorry that you had to go through this. If I had acted sooner…"
"It isn't your fault, Theon," said Sansa, her voice firm. "You have never done me wrong, and I don't believe you will start now."
Ramsay began to laugh, low and deep. "Quiet," ordered Ned, but Ramsay wasn't interested in listening.
"Never did you wrong?" repeated Ramsay. "Never did you wrong as he watched while I made you a woman, never did you wrong as -" Ramsay was cut off as he was shoved to the ground. He gaped up at his assailant – Theon.
"Don't ever speak about her like that," hissed Theon.
"I'll talk about her as I like, Reek," snapped back Ramsay, pushing himself back to his knees.
Sansa rose to her feet. "Theon!" she cried.
"Touch me again and you'll see what happens," threatened Ramsay.
Ned rose to his feet. "I have heard enough!" he exclaimed. "Jory, Ser Rodrik, take him outside." Jory and Rodrik nodded, hauling Ramsay to his feet and dragging him back out of the Great Hall. "My lords, my ladies. You have heard from multiple witnesses, and you have heard for yourselves how Ramsay Snow has threatened my ward. Does anyone object to his guilt?"
There was silence in the Great Hall. Sansa looked to Roose Bolton, but he only stared at Ned, his eyes hard and flinty. He wasn't happy, Sansa knew, but he could hardly argue with the evidence, and he wasn't stupid enough to start a fight he couldn't win.
"Very well," said Ned, standing and unsheathing Ice. He made his way out from behind the High Table. Sansa followed him, rushing to Theon's side and throwing her arms around him.
"Oh, gods, Theon," she said, burying her face in his shoulder. Her eyes stung with tears. "I can't believe you did that."
"I can't believe I did that," whispered Theon.
Sansa pulled back and cradled his face in her hands. "That was the bravest thing I've ever seen."
"Are you two coming?" asked Arya from behind Sansa. Reluctantly, Sansa dropped her hands and took Theon's arm in hers. They clung to each other as they followed Arya out into the courtyard. In front of the Great Hall, Ramsay was on his knees before Ned. As Sansa and Theon exited, his eyes flit up and locked on to them.
"In the name of our King, Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals and First Men, Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of House Stark, do find you guilty," pronounced Ned. "Have you any final words?" Sansa's heart skipped a beat, suddenly knowing that her father had made a misstep.
"Don't forget," said Ramsay, directly to Sansa and Theon. "I'm a part of you, now. I always will be." He smiled, savage and awful. "I will always be the one who took you first, wife, and you will always be my Reek."
Ned brought Ice down. Ramsay's head fell to the ground with a slight thud.
He was dead. He was dead, once and for all. Ramsay Snow would never menace her again.
"Sansa?" whispered Arya, touching Sansa's free arm. Sansa started, jerking her gaze away from Ramsay's head. "You're crying." Sansa wiped at her eyes, surprised to find her face wet.
"He's gone," said Theon, his voice full of dull surprise. "He's…"
"Gone," finished Robb. "We told you both that you would be safe."
Sansa turned back to Theon. His face was crumpling, and Sansa grabbed him into a hug before his knees could crumple as well. Theon rested his head on hers, whispering soundlessly into her hair.
They were safe – from Ramsay, at least. But as Sansa looked over Theon's shoulders, she could see lords whispering to each other and casting glances in their direction. Ramsay was gone, but his influence was going to haunt them for a long time to come.
It took until late that night for Arya to catch Catelyn alone. Catelyn had spent most of the day with Sansa, practically glued to her old daughter's side after everything that had happened. Now, though, Catelyn was back in her and Ned's chambers, while Ned himself was still entertaining lords in his soldiers.
"Arya?" asked Catelyn when she saw Arya standing outside her door. "What's the matter, sweetling?"
"I wanted to talk to you," said Arya. "Privately, so I had to wait until now. I hope that you weren't asleep."
"Even if I was, you can still talk to me if you need to," said Catelyn, ushering Arya into her chambers. "Now, what is it you wanted to talk about?"
"I was talking to Sansa yesterday," said Arya. "I asked her to teach me to sew properly. I want to learn, Mother, but Septa Mordane thinks I'm a lost cause. Sansa agreed to help, though, but then Ramsay Snow broke her arm…" Her words came out all in a nervous rush, to the point Arya half-expected Catelyn to ask her to repeat herself.
"You want to learn?" repeated Catelyn, hope sprouting in her eyes.
Arya bit her lip. "Not really. It's not me, Mother. But I want to be able to help Sansa and Father in King's Landing, and this is the best way to do it."
Catelyn dropped her eyes, but nodded. "What do you want to do now, then?"
"Well, I was wondering if you could help me," said Arya. Catelyn's eyes shot back up to meet Arya's. Arya shrugged. "I mean, Septa Mordane already thinks I'm useless, and Sansa can't, and I don't want to go to Jeyne Poole or Beth Cassel."
"Of course I'll help you," said Catelyn. "We don't have much time, but I can teach you the basics, and perhaps if anyone asks, you can say that you stopped lessons for a time because you were ill."
"I just want to make sure Sansa and Father are safe," said Arya. "I couldn't, last time. I don't want to make any mistakes again."
"Oh, Arya," said Catelyn, pulling her close. "Sometimes you and Sansa seem so grown up, and sometimes…" Catelyn closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "You won't fail your father or me. Trust me."
"But I was there," blurted out Arya. "If I'd gotten there sooner -" A lump blocked up Arya's throat.
"Where?" asked Catelyn.
"At the Twins," whispered Arya. "The Hound was going to ransom me to you and Robb, but we got there and they were killing you all." Tears stung at Arya's eyes and she brushed at them furiously. "I saw what they did to you. They dumped your body in the river, just like that. And Robb -"
"You listen to me, Arya," said Catelyn fiercely. "That wasn't your fault. That was the fault of the Freys, and the Boltons, and the Lannisters. It did not have a single thing to do with you, and I can swear that on the old gods and the new."
"You don't know that," protested Arya. "You don't remember it, so you can't."
"I do know it," said Catelyn. "I know that we haven't always seen eye to eye, but trust me on this, if nothing else – you could never fail me, and it was not your fault, and I would not have wanted to see you in the Twins that night. I'm glad you got away." Catelyn gave her a tremulous smile. "If you hadn't, you would never have grown into the strong woman you are now."
Arya closed her eyes to suppress her tears, snuggling deeper into Catelyn's embrace. She wasn't sure if she believed Catelyn, but the hug was nice, all the same.
AN: Look, some of you guys apparently really, really hate Cat, and I can understand why she's a polarizing character. But I adore her, and I want to do right by her character, as complicated and as sometimes contradictory as she can be.