Sansa watched the people dance around as Maragrey and Joeferry sat at the table looking down. Sansa didn't know where to look. The towns people brought to much nostalgia. Maragery brought to much envey. Joffrey to much hatred.
She missed the parties thrown in Winterfell. Her home. It felt so distant to call it home now. Though she would never call the Red Keep her home. It was just a roof over her head. Not a home.
Northerners were a thousand times more interesting than any Kings Landing citizen or lords or ladies. They always had a story. Not a prim proper one that she couldn't even bring herself to pretend to care about that she had been told here. War tales or just drunken stories. Stuff that shouldn't have even been funny but the way it was told was.
She wishes she could go back in time and punch herself in the face for how she spent the whole time get Joffrey's attention and paid more attention to her family around her. Joined Robb, Jon, and Theon listening to one of Uncle Benjen's tales. Rickon refusing to eat anything on his plate no matter how hard mother and father had tried. Though then he'd steal handfulls off his parents plates. Jory introducing Bran to the new knights and old who knew Bran from past meetings. Arya baltering around across the floor bumping into many northern lords and their dancing partners.
Ned laughed. Catelyn couldn't keep the amused smile off her face. The three older boys just laughed and clapped overdramatically cheering at her terrible but funny dancemoves. Arya would becon her family to dance with her. Bran would leave his conversation and they would grab eachothers hands as they moved in cricles pulling eachother with them. Not a fancy kings landing dance. A dance that was really just a game but it was more funny than regular dancing. Sansa would usually walk down then the oldest three boys then little Rickon would woddle down.
The last feast that was held in Winterfell didn't have a dance. Sansa at the time thanked the old gods and the new that she wasn't embarrassed infront of Joferry. Now Sansa finds herself deeply saddened by the fact.
Joffery's death wasn't long enough. Sansa didn't know if any amount of time would ever be long enough. She thought she could likely watch his struggling form for hours of the day. It was pituiful sure. The panicked eyes and his mother's cries.
Sansa thinks back to her father's head that she stared at till she saw read that day. Sansa thinks back to Lady. She thinks back to the butchers boy and Arya's tears.
He deserved worse.
Petyr Baelish was an interesting character. Sure he had taught her many things just as Cersei had. Though just like Cersei, he was untrustworthy. Sansa hadn't heard a lot about Littlefinger before she went to Kings Landing with her father. Sure she heard rumors and she still hears rumors. Though she's heard enough rumors to know most of the are horseshit.
Sansa heard many whispers when the king came to vist and far more when she stayed in Kingslanding. The southerners loved gossip.
("The youngest Stark girl looks a lot like her bastard brother." She heard one of the lesser known Ladies whisper to her lord husband.
"I think she looks just like her father." The lord said though he had a hint of a sneering expression on his face. As if looking like her father was a horrible thing. Sansa didn't know his name and the only reason she would want to know it was if she was going to give it to someone to put the couple in their place.
"Though what other of the kids do?" The woman asked, "Lady Sansa looks exactly like her mother."
The woman said the last line with some sort of relief. As if looking like anyone from the north was a horrible crime.
"And I heard all the boys have their mother's features." The lday contuines, "I guess Eddard Stark is lucky his bastard's took after him and not the whore."
The asshole Lord snorted into his wine agreeing.
"I would suggest you stop gossiping about the hand of the king's family or perhaps I'll tell my father or maybe the king and they can have your head on a spike." Sansa spat lowly at them before walking off.
She didn't know which she was more insulted by the insultation of her Father's honor or the looking down on bastard's or the fact that they thought Northern looks were horrible. She didn't dwell or deside on it because then she was sitting beside her father and sister and discussing the news a Raven had sent from Winterfell.)
Needless to say a whole bunch of the rumors were just people making up stuff about the ones they already disliked. Though Sansa felt the rumors on Littlefinger were all too plossible. Apparently he had demanded to fight Brandon Stark, Sansa's late Uncle, and the only reason he survived was because Catelyn had begged Brandon to show mercy on him. Sansa somtimes wonders if her Mother still would've spared him if she knew the things he did to her daughter and furture husband.
Sansa hurries through Winterfell with her hood on. She knew Ramsey wasn't dead, not with her luck. She had seen the armies. It was outnumbered.
There was something that made Sansa kinda happy that it wasn't Stannis's army that got to kill Ramsey himself or House Bolton as a whole.
If blood was going to be spread on the ground of Winterfell it might as well be for the right reasons as well. Ramsey shouldn't die on the battle feild, he should die slowly and painfully. He should die indignified.
She barley processes that she's heading up the stairs. She knows this place like the back of her hand. Even after all these years maybe because she has been visting in her dreams.
She sees one of the Bolton men walking her way, and doubles back.
Sansa rushes through a door towards the exit. She finds Myranda and Theon waiting for her, with Myranda's bow drawn.
She stops dead in her tracks. She can't help moving her eyes to Theon. Jaw clenched and neverous eyes.
"My lady. I have come to escort you back to your chamber." Myranda says way to kindly to have a bow drawn at her.
"Go with her. Please." Theon begs. The green eyes only hold Sansa's blue ones for a second before flinching away as it was something forbidden. As if someone had struck him with a whip.
In those few seconds though. Sansa didn't see Theon Bolton (as she had come to call him because this Theon was in no way anything like the Theon she grew up with). She saw Theon. Just Theon. Who grew up with her.
It gave her hope and the courage to speak, "I know what Ramsay is. I know what he'll do to me."
She looks at Theon directly, she knows he can feel her eyes on him, "If I'm going to die, let it happen while there's some of me left."
"Die?" Myranda asks as she lowers the bow, "Who said anything about dying? You can't die yet. Your father was Warden of the North, and Ramsay needs you. Though I suppose he doesn't need all of you. Just the parts he'll use to make his heir. Until you've given him a boy or two and he's finished using them."
Sansa can't help but flinch at that. Myranda smirks. Though it seems to awaken the part of Theon Sansa was wanting to see. As his salt green eyes snap to Myranda's smirk a recently drawn bow.
"He's got incredible plans for those parts. So. Shall we wait for him to come back, or shall we begin now?"Myranda asked.
Theon looked between Myranda, who had been more than happy to help Ramsey with his to torture, and Sansa, who was like a sister to him. In the end it wasn't a hard decision.
Sansa says nothing and cowers back slightly.
"You're leaving it to me? Good. Let's begin." Myranda says cheerfully.
Sansa seems to only have her eyes fixed on the bow with a look of fear. Was that how Robb looked when he was slaughtered at the red wedding?
The eyes that all the Stark siblings shared. Theon wondered if Bran and Rickon were still alive out there. Chances weren't very high. Did they have that same look when some Lannister man caught them? Had Arya that same look when one of Cersei's men caught up to her in Kings Landing?
Theon wasn't about to figure out what the Stark's eyes looked like as the life faded out of them. He had already dreamed of it enough.
Just as she goes to release her drawn arrow, Theon tackles her into a wall, causing the arrow to miss Sansa. They struggle for a moment.
"Stop! Stop!" Myranda pleads. Theon feels no sympathy or mercy. He had tried to kill his sister. Sure he had a sister in the Iron Islands as well but he also had two other that were northerns. He wasn't going to let one just get toururted and stand to the side. He had stood to the side too long.
Theon throws her over the edge, killing her on impact. Theon looks at her bleeding form on the ground. Then he turns his green eyes to the presence beside of him.
Sansa's expression isn't very readable but it's not contourted into pain like he had been so used too recently. Her parted lips weren't speaking unaknowledged pleas that haunted Theon's waking moments.
A horn begins to blare which snaps both of them out of their moment.
"Open the gates!"
Bolton men return from the battle and ride through the gates to Winterfell. Theon curses under his breath. Theon had already desided his decision, he just hoped Sansa would follow through with it.
"He's coming back." Theon tells her.
Theon grabs Sansa's hand. It's far more calloused than it should be. He had felt it on his face not even a fortnight ago.
He leads her along the walls. Quickly when Sansa grabs his hand back tightly and follows him hurriedly. Theon is breif brought back to the chases the Stark children would chase eachother around trying to tap eachother and whoever was tapped was dubbed 'it'.
He doesn't know who came up with it. Theon used to make jabs at Robb and the others for wanting to play such a stupid game. At the Iron Islands such silly games weren't played.
He remembers Jon's comment back, "Iron Born's definition of Silly is fun."
Theon came to realize how true that qoute was and the first realization was when he first started playing.
They climb to the top of the wall and look down to see a pile of snow at the bottom. Theon looks next to him to see she's already looking at him.
The eyes of salt and snow meet. There is understanding there. Understanding that Sansa has longed for for all these years alone. A conversation that didn't need to be spoken and maybe never would be spoken but it was there.
Sansa gave him a nod and a small squeeze of the hand and they jumped.