Sansa lay in the dark starring at the ceiling. The bed was hard and the Bolton's were hell; she was sure of it.

At least Ramsay was gone, for now. Her breaths came heavy and laboured wondering the contents of the conversation taking place beyond her door. Sansa wasn't stupid, Roose was reprimanding Ramsay but it wouldn't stop him, it would only succeed in making Ramsay angrier. Sansa was cold, broken and battered but she felt nothing; nothing at all.

In Kings Landing she had been beaten, humiliated, passed around and used as nothing more than entertainment but she'd never been scared of Joffrey the way she was of Ramsay Bolton. Jeoffrey could be satiated by compliments and false humility whereas Ramsay Bolton could not. Sana had never been more sure that she was merely a pawn in the game of power being played by men.

All the family she'd known had staked their own claim; waged their own war. Not Sansa, until now she'd been helpless, kinless and alone; that was going to end. Her heart had turned to ash the day she watched her father killed in front of her. Ramsay Bolton could not hurt her, it is impossible to hurt someone who would welcome death like an old friend. Now Sansa had her own agenda, this was her home, her Winterfell and she would not let it slip through her fingers again.

Ramsay's sickening words replayed in her mind from earlier that night. He'd made her bend forward over a plain white sheet whilst he took her with force and grunted "Lie still, your blood on this sheet is the North's signature of loyalty to the Bolton name."

His eyes had been full of glee as he'd watched her bleed before he fell asleep. She shuddered at the memory.

They were fools to underestimate her. In Kings landing she had learnt quickly that observing your opponent was imperative to understanding them. That was your greatest weapon as a woman. The moment she saw Ramsay's reaction to the news of his soon to arrive sibling she had smiled to herself. Oh Ramsay had his weakness and she would ensure she exploited it.

As the darkness melted into a bleak grey dawn Sansa waited, for sleep to come or Ramsay to reappear; whichever occurred first.

Woken to the morning sun from a troubled sleep Sansa heard an agonised wimper. Myranda, the only person he disliked more than Ramsay, was bent over the fire place holding her side with a swollen hand and tending the fire. Sansa smirked to herself, Ramsay hadn't come back here last night...he'd gone somewhere else.

"He did that to you" Sansa's voice broke the silence.

"No" Myranda protested.

The poor girl thought that she was different, Sansa could see it in her eyes, she thought that Ramsay loved her; that she meant something to the monster. It had taken Sansa only a few days to see right through the very core of their relationship. Ramsay had grown alone, lived feared and revelled in pleasures he could not share with anyone. Myranda was all he had but he didn't love her. Had it not been for Myranda's outburst before her wedding; Sansa might have spared her out of wrongly places pity. Luckily the girl had shown her hand and now she would lose her head.

"Are you ok?" Sansa's grey eyes brushed over the shaking Myranda.

"I'm fine" she snapped.

"I know he did that to you" Sansa said, coldly "There's no point lying to me. I can recognise when a woman has been beaten. I've been beaten."

Myranda's expression darkened as she was met with Sansa's words. Her voice barely a whisper above the roaring fire. "He doesn't beat me….unless I ask him to. Last night was the first time.".

"So was I right in what I said yesterday? Are you in Love with my husband?"

Myranda hissed lifting a bucket of water over the fire. "I love Ramsay and I loved him for years before you arrived…"

Sansa cut off the fuming Myranda. "I'm not trying to anger you."

"Then what are you trying to do Wolf?" Myranda asked.

Sansa steadied herself not to bite back; Myranda's time would come. "I don't mind. It's not my first time in this situation you know. My maid was in love with my last husband Lord Tyrion and that worked out rather well for us both. Of course we were good friends Shay and I."

Myranda snorted "You're not in Kings Landing anymore."

Sansa smiled and pushed on "I don't blame you for loving him. Ramsay is handsome enough but he's a Lord in his own right now, that means he will never claim you. There is nothing either of us can do."

Still laid on her back with her eyes closed she heard Myranda moving around.

"He was supposed to marry me"

At this Sansa stiffened, had Ramsay really agreed to marry Myranda? Perhaps she was wrong, was it possible that the monster really did care for the girl? Sansa hoped not, that would be a problem.

"Well he didn't, he married me" she heard the movement stop "I am here to serve a purpose, I didn't choose this anymore than you chose to love him but if you insist on fighting me, you will lose. Ramsay doesn't love me but he needs the Stark name and heirs so I'm not going anywhere. You must have realised that by now."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that" Myranda smirked "people are always meeting with gruesome accidents around here."

Sansa rolled her eyes "If it weren't me it would be some other highborn lady. With far less to offer than me no doubt. The fact of the matter is Myranda, he is the next Lord Bolton, you can kill as many wives as you like but will never hold that title."

Myranda's eyes lifted to stare at her, a slither of fiery understanding. In a different time and a different place, Sansa may have enjoyed Myranda.

"So…what are you proposing?" Myranda's green eyes glimmered with intrigue.

"That we don't fight each other" Sansa said. "You are what he wants and I am what he must have; there is nothing weaker than a house at war with itself. I lived with the Lannisters for years so I know that. We have a vested interest because if Ramsay were to fall then so would we. When we establish his position Myranda, you can be his mistress, an official position within the household. Your own chambers and he will be free to love you whilst I will be left in peace."

Myranda's green eyes glistened, she knew the Lady spoke the truth but she was shocked to hear it, the household had assumed Lady Sansa to be a naïve child of misfortune… it would appear that they had assumed wrongly.

"Very well" Myranda had no option, despite the jealously that still ached in the pit of her stomach. She knew too well how unusual it was to find a highborn wife willing to accept a bed warmer, prior betrothed, servant into her household. Sansa was right, they shared a vested interest.