Chapter XXI: The Wolfsguard

Sansa looked up from her needlework, her ears catching the sounds of the knocks. She waved her handmaiden to open the door, to reveal the Queen, her smile sweet and reaching her eyes.

"Princess Sansa," she greeted.

The maid bowed and left. Sansa stood up and keeping her needlework aside, straightened her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Your Grace," she bowed her head gently.

"Will you walk with me, Sansa?" The Queen asked. Her silver dress was darker than her hair, flowing down her feet and sweeping the floor.

"Of course, Daenerys," Sansa replied. They had taken to calling each other by their first names, for which she had received a swift and elaborate eye roll from Arya.

They walked through the corridors and out into Winterfell's yard, but well away from the soldiers who were practicing. The snow fell softly, dancing around them. Sansa felt a snowflake land on her eyelash, and fluttered it away.

She saw Ghost and Nymeria huddled together near the gates, eyes glinting and bright.

"Did you have a wolf as well?" Daenerys asked.

"Yes," Sansa said and sighed. "All of us had one. Mine was called Lady."

She remembered the quiet, tame wolf. Her one true companion.

"What happened?"

"She died," Sansa replied. The wound was still all too fresh. "Because of my own stupidity."

I should have told the truth. Lady died because of me. Even Arya lost Nymeria.

"I know you suffered much, Sansa," Daenerys said softly. "Lord Tyrion told me much of it."

Sansa felt uneasy. She did not want to talk about her past. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about with anyone.

"It is the past. I believe all of us have demons we would rather not face."

Daenerys nodded. Her eyes reached far, and all Sansa could think of was how brave this woman was. She had made her mark and left the ones who put her down behind.

Just like I have.

"We're so much alike, Sansa," she said, and her eyes were now softer, and for a moment they reminded Sansa of Margaery, even though their eyes were so vividly different.

"You would marry him? My cousin?" The word felt alien on her tongue, even though it had not been long since she had started calling Jon brother.

"It is not my dearest wish. But I trust Lord Tyrion." She took a deep breath, and turned to Sansa, taking her hand in hers gently. "To speak the truth, Sansa, I have delayed myself in Winterfell long enough. I must go to King's Landing soon, and before I do, I must have the North's support. I do not think you have the men to fight after the battle with the Boltons. And I do not wish to engage in an unnecessary strife. Let us unite our houses and stop this old rivalry once and for all." Her smile was everything but genuine. "Even if your cousin and I might not be happy, I think we could live knowing we have made peace."

Does Jon even have a say in this, she wanted to ask her.

Because it didn't sound like he did.

"Has he agreed?" Sansa asked. She didn't fail to keep in mind that they had yet to tell their bannermen of this.

Daenerys smiled again.

"Your cousin is a good man," she said simply. "And wise."

Who comes before the Old Gods this night?

Sansa of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. Who comes to claim her?

Ramsay of House Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort and Winterfell.

I take this man.

Take off your clothes.

Sansa woke up with a scream that made her throat go raw. There were tears in her eyes, and she had scratched and tore the bedsheet with her nails.

He is dead. He is dead. He is dead.

Her body was aching, even though he wasn't anywhere near to make it so. Ramsay's face, even in her nightmares, was enough to shake every bone in her body, and make her blood burn.

"I am Sansa Stark," she whispered. "Ramsay is de-"

The door was pushed open and Sansa turned her head around to look at the intruder.

"Little- Princess Sansa," Sandor called, a tinge of worry dancing about his voice. He wasn't supposed to be outside her door, but she didn't say that out loud.

"I am sorry, See Clegane," she said, without taking her eyes off him. Her palms were still sweating. "I had a bad dream."

"Just call for me if you're scared, Princess. I'm just outside," he said, and turned to leave.

"Don't," she called him abruptly. His eyes turned softer when he looked at her. "I want you to stay."

She was ready for his refusal, but none came. He closed the door softly, and walked over to her bed so that he was standing in the middle of the room. He turned away from her, and Sansa realized that he had no idea what he was supposed to do. No more than she had.

"You could sit, you know," she proposed.

He nodded and walked over to sit down on a chair in the farthest corner of the room.

Sansa curled up on her bed again, facing the stony, grey wall. Sandor didn't make a sound. It was as if he wasn't there.

"Would you have done it?" She asked aloud, all of a sudden.

She heard him groan.

"Done what?" His voice was softer than she'd thought it would be.

"Kept me safe?"

Lord Baelish.

Aunt Lysa.

Ramsay.

"Because I think I would have been safe if I'd gone with you," she whispered softly, but she was sure he'd heard. "Ramsay wouldn't have gotten his filthy hands on me then."

"He's dead, Little Bird," Sandor said after a while. "He isn't coming anywhere near you now." There was pause, and Sansa wrapped her blankets more tightly around her body. "Go to sleep."

She didn't say anything after that. Maybe she was annoying him. Still, she was glad he was there. Even though she would never have called him if he hadn't barged in through the door.

He isn't a monster, she thought, looking over her shoulder just for a bit to see what he was doing.

His eyes were closed.

He looks like one and he isn't. And Ramsay looked a thousand times more handsome and turned out to be worse than the devil.

Sansa closed her eyes.

And woke up when her room was filled with light the next morning.

She was alone.