The descent in the dungeons of Winterfell was a very interesting experience for the new Queen in the North. With the torch being the only source of light it was somewhat scary. Even more so when the light showed the drawings on the staircase walls. The drawings mostly showed different means of punishing different crimes and they were probably dating back to the Age of Heroes, because Sansa couldn't believe there were still some punishments quite as gruesome as depicted. One of the drawings depicted a man losing his hand for getting a feel of a woman that wasn't his wife, or at least that's what Sansa believed was written since they moved by too fast to read through the full caption which was also written in strange letters that made it look even older.

She was wondering what the dungeons looked like. Arya and Bran surely knew, she was certain of that. But she was never the kind of girl that would want to see the dungeons. She was a lady. But she had to visit them now. After seeing the drawings, she was afraid that the gaolers might have done bad things to Jeyne. When they arrived at the bottom of the steppes, one of the squires that held the torch lit a few others down the corridor. Sansa could now see what the dungeons actually looked like. Small cells, barely large enough for a hay bed of normal size which took away half the space in it. The air was also very damp and it smelt of decay. She wanted to spend as little time down there as possible.

"Take me to the bride, Ser Tallhart. Be quick about it, please, I can't bear to stay here for a long time."

Jon Tallhart nodded and showed her the way to the third cell from the left where a small girl with dark hair was huddled in the corner of a cell, shaking violently from the cold. When Sansa stopped in front of the cell, the prisoner shyly looked up with her brown eyes. When she realized who was standing in front of her, she started talking and crying at the same time without ever being asked anything.

"The Lannisters made me do it, Sansa, you must believe me. I never wanted to do it, Ramsay scared me. I was afraid they might kill me, like they did to father. Please, you must believe me. Queen Cersei got to me in King's Landing and told me I was to act like Arya and that she would kill my whole remaining family if I didn't. Sansa, please, set me free. I never wanted to do it. I was just afraid. Please."

After the confession she broke down and started crying loudly. Sansa was watching her the whole time. She isn't acting, Sansa thought. She is telling the truth. Or she's a bloody fine mummer. The thought crossed her mind a few times. Will she ever be able to believe Jeyne again? She wasn't sure how to find out if Jeyne's acting or not.

She turned to Jon. "Let her out. I shall give her a chance to prove that she isn't lying." She could only hope she won't regret that decision. But she would think that over later. Now she had more pressing matters that needed attending. A squire opened the door to Jeyne's cell and she jumped out and hugged Sansa under the knees, still sobbing and repeating 'Thank you, thank you, thank you'. Sansa caressed her hair and this made her stand up and kiss Sansa on both cheeks before letting go. "Ser Tallhart, where do you keep Roose Bolton?"

"On the lower floor. We thought that would be for the best, Your Grace."

"Bring him to my solar. Make sure he's in shackles. I don't want any surprises."

"The solar, Your Grace? Are you sure?"

"I am. I also want two guards with him."

"As you command, Your Grace."

Jon picked two squires to go with him. The remainder of the group started ascending back up. Jeyne didn't know what was happening, that much could be seen on her face. "Sansa, why are they calling you 'Your Grace'? What happened?"

"I am the Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell. Before long I'll be Lady of Dreadfort as well."

Jeyne was surprised at the immediate response. "You? But how?"

"I'm the only Stark that is known to be alive, that's why. Thanks to Lord Manderly. But remember, Jeyne: I might believe you that the Lannisters made you pose as Arya, but don't think that means you have freedom of movement. For reasons I'm sure you understand, you are only permitted freedom of the castle. If you ever try to escape, I won't hesitate to imprison you again, but this time for a longer period of time."

"Yes, Sansa, I understand."

"Good. Furthermore, if you visit me, we'll never be alone in the room to make sure you don't harbour any ill intentions."

"Will that last forever?"

"Keep asking questions like that and it will. When you have earned back my trust, I might lift these restrictions off you. But don't expect that to come soon."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Please, make me cherish the decision of your release as a good one, Jeyne, Sansa was thinking to herself. Soon they emerged from the underground and Sansa took a deep breath of fresh winter air. She could barely feel the cold through her dress. Jeyne was less fortunate, though. The poor girl was shaking so hard she could barely walk. Somehow the dungeons weren't as cold as the outside. Sansa switched her step for a quicker one so that Jeyne wouldn't have to suffer more cold than necessary. Once inside the keep, nothing got in the way of Sansa getting to her solar where upon entering she found three lit braziers which helped keep the cold away. She sat herself down on a chair and waited for guards to bring Roose before her.

When they finally did, she did not see the man that hosted a wedding feast the night before. What she saw was a man in a bad shape. His beard was a stubble due to the fact he couldn't shave this morning, his legendary pale eyes were even paler than she expected, with a gash on his forehead. Doubtless he got that from someone who was fighting him.

Sansa greeted him calmly. "Ser Roose Bolton, welcome to my solar. We have met and have no need to introduce ourselves, do we?"

If Roose was scared, he didn't show it. He sat down on his chair as comfortably as he could, but the shackles made it very hard for him. Good, Sansa thought. He has no right to a comfortable seat. Maybe he'll get one in one of the hells, whichever one he manages to find himself in. His answer was short. "My lady."

"That's 'Your Grace', ser. Best remember that."

"Your Grace, then. No big difference, my fate will still be the same."

"Do you think that? Do you have any idea what I plan on doing to you?"

"Nothing pretty, I presume."

"I definitely don't plan on leeching you to better health, ser, if that's what you mean."

His face became less pale. He obviously didn't like japes about his beloved leeching, Sansa thought.

"Queen in the North, then, is it, Your Grace? Calling himself King didn't turn out so well for your brother, as you will sure remember."

"Thanks to you."

"Thanks to me."

The calmness in his voice shocked Sansa greatly. She didn't expect him to say it without persuasion. Roose could easily see that. "What? You didn't think I'd confess? It's over and done, what use would it be for me to deny it? I'll die all the same."

Sansa had to quickly regain her calm. "Do you have no honour? No loyalty? How much did the Lannisters pay you?"

Roose answered without batting an eye. "I have honour and loyalty, but primarily to my family. All the Lannisters paid me was the title of Lord Paramount of the North and High Lord of WInterfell."

"You sold your king so you could take Winterfell? While you knew it was destroyed by the ironborn?"

"I sold my king for my life. Your brother was losing the war. He chose love over duty, over promise, over honour. I didn't want to end on a losing side of the war. When I saw Walder Frey's face after that betrayal, I knew I should get on his good side. In that moment he was so angry with your brother, he accepted my help without ever thinking it might be a scam from my side."

"That's why you killed him and who knows how many Northerners? A few thousand Northerners, slaughtered at a wedding? Betrayed after having Frey bread and salt?"

"Ah, yes, the ancient guest right. Everybody still believes in that. But nobody believes in the first night anymore, and it's just as old a tradition. Isn't that weird?"

Sansa was uneasy at his words, but she couldn't show that to him. "There is no honour in first night. Only a husband should have his bride."

"Then why should one care about guest right? What honour is there? Because you're my guest, I'm not allowed to tell you you're acting like a bloody idiot, is that what you're saying, Your Grace?"

"Killing a man is hardly 'telling him he's acting like a bloody idiot', ser."

"I told him he was acting like a bloody idiot when he decided to wed that Westerling girl. Didn't help much, obviously. That wedding was the beginning of his defeat. What difference would it make if he died storming King's Landing like he wanted to? The only difference is that fewer men died at the Twins that would die at King's Landing."

The manner of his speech was so matter-of-factly that Sansa didn't know what to do anymore.

"What kind of a monster kills a man on a wedding?"

"The kind that wants fewer deaths along the line, Your Grace."

Sansa chuckled. She had him now. "Did it result in that, though? The North remembers, ser. You should know that by now."

Roose was visibly irritated. "I married Arya Stark to my only son…"

Sansa interrupted. "I'm sorry, ser, but you know as well as I do that that girl isn't Arya. You know as well as I do that Arya would spit in your bastard's face rather than marry him. And you know as well as I do that Arya would kill your bastard the moment she would lay her eyes on him. Especially after what happened at the Twins. Do you really think I don't know my sister from an old friend of mine, ser?"

Roose didn't say anything. "Don't tell me your tongue is dry, ser?"

"I am no ser," he said quietly. "I am Lord of the Dreadfort!"

"No, you're not, ser. I am Lady of Dreadfort. I'm doing you a favour, ser. By all rights I should be simply calling you Roose."

Roose was getting angry. "You're not Lady of Dreadfort while I'm alive!"

Sansa continued like she didn't hear him. "Tell me, ser, where did you stab my brother and with which weapon?"

Roose turned pale again. "Does it matter?"

"To me it does."

Roose has seemingly given up. "Fine then. Heart. With a longsword. And I twisted it after."

"I see. Did you say anything to him?" Sansa stretched her hand to one guard who put a longsword in her hand. It was very heavy and she had to hold it with both hands to keep it from falling on the floor. Roose looked at her with a smile on his face.

"Don't tell me you plan on killing me yourself? You can barely hold a sword that knights carry in one hand."

"That's what you said to my brother?"

"No. I said that to you."

"Never mind. I know what you said."

With those words, she mustered all her strength to point the sword directly at Roose's heart. Then, summoning all her hate and anger towards the man, she thrust into his chest. While doing that, she said "When you see your traitorous excuses for soldiers down in whichever hell you manage to find yourself in, ser, tell them that Queen Sansa Stark sends her regards and that she is angry she couldn't kill them all herself." Then she twisted the blade. Roose's blood kept squirting out of the wound for a while. She didn't pull the sword out until the blood stopped flowing. The blood was a very dark shade of red. Sansa felt uneasy at the sight of it. Was he just addicted to leeching so much that not being leeched for one day actually corrupted his blood or did they really help with it?

She couldn't hold the sword anymore and dropped it. Then she ran to the chamber pot and filled it with vomit. When she turned around, she saw the guard cleaning the sword like nothing happened and then he sheathed the sword without a word.

The Boltons are all dead now, she said to herself. Next, the Freys.

Not much to say here. Jeyne will play a role later on.

Thanks for reading.