Sansa locked herself away in her room for the entire afternoon. Slipping between the worlds of sanity and insanity, debating which of the two she belonged in. She knew the red woman, she was sure of it. Her dream had been so vivid that it was impossible to ignore but could she really say that she knew a woman before she had any more than met her? All Sansa knew for sure was that when she looked at the Lady Melisandre, all she felt were those same flames fanning up at her again, consuming her.

After much consideration and deliberation, Sansa decided that the only way to settle her concerns were to talk to the Lady. See for herself once and for all if she really was the woman from her dream and if she was even as bad as Sansa thought. The dream was rather vague now Sansa thought about it, perhaps she had subconsciously interpreted it wrong. Perhaps this stranger was not here to kill her or anything prophetic of the sort.

That evening at supper, Sansa left Ser Granten and the rest of her party at their table and made her way over to sit by the Ladies Selyse, Shireen and Melisandre.

"Good evening." Sansa said timidly. "I came to apologise for receiving you so coldly this morning. I'm not quite sure what came over me, I only hope you can forgive me." Sansa continued, the embodiment of politeness.

Lady Selyse and little Shireen looked to Lady Melisandre expectantly. The woman knew this and took the lead.

"There is nothing to forgive my Lady, please, break bread with us." She offered.

Sansa obliged and sat by Melisandre. The four of them were very quiet for a while as they placed food on their plate and began to eat. Sansa had gotten very good at reading the language of the body during her time in King's Landing and she could see the relationships between the three females as she watched them.

Lady Selyse would watch Melisandre constantly, she seemed to admire her in a platonic yet passionate sort of way. She remained quiet always if Melisandre wished to speak and only spoke of things that Melisandre wished to speak about. In a word she was her lap dog.

Poor little Shireen often tried to involve herself in conversation but her Mother quieted her every time. She would look to her Mother with love and longing in her eyes yet her Mother did not appear to reciprocate, even once. The young girl seemed unconcerned by the strange scale on her face and would smile brightly despite it, her mother however made reference to it more than once or twice with disdain. This saddened Sansa greatly. Why would the Gods be so cruel as to take her loving, caring Mother away from her yet leave this wretched woman here to torture this innocent girl? But then the Gods were always cruel, she had learned that the hard way.

Lady Melisandre was the epitome of womanhood. Her figure was mesmerising. Her full breasts rounded beautifully, her waist was slender and her hips admiringly ready for child bearing. Her long legs seemed to go on for miles and her crimson red hair cascaded wonderfully down her back. She had a confidence that Sansa had never seen before. The Knights she had seen in Joust were confident and brave but Melisandre's confidence was something else altogether. It shone from her, encompassing her and while Sansa admired it, it didn't make her feel anymore comfortable around her, in fact quite the opposite. It frightened her. Surely anyone who was so carelessly sure of themselves were not to be trifled with.

"I understand you are sister to Jon Snow Sansa, is that right?" Melisandre enquired.

"We share a Father if that's what you mean, his name is Snow not Stark." Sansa replied, feeling shamed to have to discuss the matter.

"You share the same blood, do you not?" Melisandre quizzed.

"Well yes but..."

"And you grew up together? Saw each other everyday at Winterfell?" She continued.

"Well yes..." Sansa frowned at Melisandre's presumptuous manner.

"Then it seems to me dear girl that you are in fact, brother and sister." Sansa quietly fumed at the red woman's disregard for formality and her personal invasion. She simply stared at her for a few seconds then continued with her meal.

"I am sorry if I offend you My Lady but I am only sharp because I value time in a way others do not. I am blunt as a butter knife only because I understand necessity and duty better than any Maester you may have known." Melisandre apologised.

"I appreciate your apology My Lady, if you will excuse me, I must take my leave." Sansa chimed respectfully as she left the table, explained her evening plans to Ser Granten and wandered out into the night.

Sansa was pacing the yard that the men had been training in just hours previously. Backwards and forwards she dashed, her pace revealing her inner turmoil. She had resolved to believe that the lady Melisandre was indeed the red woman from her dream and that she was right to distrust her. Sansa's footsteps raced along with her thoughts, only slowing when she began to calm herself. Ghost had somehow made his way outside to join her and was by her side as she walked, keeping vigil under the night's sky. Sansa thought it quite beautiful as she looked up. The soft twinkle of the stars on a clean, clear backdrop and the safeness of how they would always be there in their own little spots, shining away. Not like her life for example. Everything was changing, nothing stayed the same. She had no stable backdrop or place to shine. She had fallen from her sky the moment she had left Winterfell.

As she roused from her thoughts, Sansa noticed that Ghost had left her side. He was stood staring out at the large gated tunnel that stood between them and beyond the wall. Sansa bent to stroke him.

"What are you doing Ghost?" She whispered to him.

The Direwolf only stared. Steady and still. Sansa stared with him, what could he see that she could not? Sansa glared into the tunnel. In the darkness she could only see as far as a few feet into the entrance. Nothing.

"You miss him don't you?" Sansa broke the silence and whispered to the Direwolf. "I do too in a strange sort of way" she admitted. "He will be back soon". She said nuzzling into the animal's fur.

"Sooner than you might think." A familiar voice said, inches from her.

"Jon!" Sansa cried. Leaping to her feet, jumping up at at him and throwing her arms around around him so tight, she almost knocked him off his feet.

"So it isn't just Ghost that missed me then?" Jon asked.

Sansa looked up into his eyes. Her's filling with tears. She shook her head and fell into the comfort of his embrace once more.