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Chapter Text

Chapter 1-The Shadow Of Fangs 

Sansa Stark sat stiff and demure as she listened to the cunning man finish his scheme. 

“You want me to marry Roose Bolton’s Bastard?” She asked softly, innocently, naively. Always softly, innocently, naively and never forcefully or angrily. 

“Ramsay Bolton has been legitimized by King Tommen; he is now heir to Winterfell. If you marry him, you can go home. You can have safety at Winterfell, safety in the North. Do you not want that?”

What a silly question , Sansa thought. Of course she wanted to be home again in Winterfell, to be safe in the arms of the cold winds and find comfort in the pure white snow. But that was not the Winterfell that she would be going to. She would be going to place where the snow was pink with frozen blood and the whistles of the winds were drowned out by guttural screams. It was the Winterfell of the Boltons , not the Starks, and it could never be her home while they occupied their traitor’s prize. 

But she knows that this man does not truly care about her opinion or her wants, that the game of her new marriage is already in play and he is plotting all her moves. 

So instead of arguing, she bows her head politely and agrees. She knows in heart that no where will ever be safe for her again, no matter what people promise her. She has experienced too much to believe in happy endings and grand heroic rescues.  

“That’s my good girl”, the man she calls father says with a sly grin. He is not her father, this scheming, dangerous man. Could never be the kind-hearted, honorable man from her memories. The memories turn to her father’s execution, the jeering of the crowd who were lied to about his crimes, her own screams ripping from her throat, the swinging of the blade, the violent urge to push His Grace and herself from the platform onto the street far below- but those thoughts do not belong in the mind of a Lady . 

She quickly escapes from her own thoughts to focus again on Lord Baelish’s voice. “We have little more than a moon before we start our journey North. It gives me time to finish up some urgent matters here in the Vale and make arrangements for whom will run the home in my absence.  It also gives you time to prepare yourself to meet your betrothed.” He grabs her face gently between his ringed hands and softly breathes, “You are the Key to the North. Once you are there, no one will hurt you again”, and lightly kissed her lips. 

Sansa has to hold back both bile and tears as he let go of her. Her skin always felt like insects were crawling across her body whenever Littlefinger touched her. How can he say that she would be safe with the men whom betrayed their King and murder her family? 

Joffrey, Littlefinger, and now Roose and Ramsay Bolton. How is that she always in the possession of her family’s enemies?  Littlefinger may be calling himself her father to keep appearances, but she remembers how he manipulated her to turn against her real father and brother by writing that damned letter. Not for the first time, she wonders what could have been, had she never ran to tattle on her father’s plans. Would that have saved the Starks the heartache and pain that followed, or were they all just pawns in a game more dangerous people were playing?  

Lord Baelish walked towards her door. She thought he was finally going to leave her to her silent grief, but instead he opened the door to allow a new presence in the room.  The woman who entered was young, no more than 7 years older than Sansa’s own age of ten and eight. She had auburn hair and emerald green eyes. She wore the heavy clothes that protected her pale skin against the harsh winds, but something inside Sansa told her that this woman was not used to wearing such heavy clothes-or many clothes at all. Most importantly, though, was that the woman was familiar; it took Sansa a moment to place her but finally the memory came of seeing her speaking to Shae on the docks of King’s Landing. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa,” the woman said in a surprisingly strong Northern accent. 

“Lady Sansa, this is Ros. She was the finest employee of mine at my establishment in King’s Landing before becoming my trusted protégé.  She will be coming with you as your handmaiden in Winterfell...and she will teach you the art of pleasuring you new husband. I’ll let you two get acquainted,” Lord Baelish bowed to Sansa and-finally-left the room. 

Sansa was barely able to control the shiver that wanted to be released down her spine at the mention of her having to lose her maidenhood to the Traitor’s Bastard. Instead, she focused her attention back on Ros. She was not naive; she knew what it meant to be an employee of Littlefinger’s. She knew that this woman worked in a pleasure house. That thought led to her mind trying to bring something to the forefront...she knew the name Ros…

It was with a pang in her heart that she remembered the name spilling from the mouths of three boys of Winterfell. She could not control herself from falling into the memories of overhearing them whispering (for if Lady Catelyn ever heard them speak of such things in front of her darling daughter, she would have their heads) about the scandalous things the women of the pleasure house in Winter Town perform for them. Her heart clenched at the images of the sullen face of Jon Snow, the broad and warm smile of Robb, the smirk of Theon Greyjoy…

No . She slammed the door on her memories of Theon Greyjoy. No matter how much the betrayals of Joffrey and the Boltons hurt, it was nothing compared to knowing that Winterfell’s Ward took over the place of his childhood with the help of the Iron Islanders.  That he carelessly beheaded the old Master of Arms Lord Rodrik. That he had murdered and charred the bodies of her younger brothers for the crime of being in his way. 

While she was never close to her father’s ward, she could never quite believe that he was capable of doing such heinous crimes. She could never reconcile the image of his eyes, sea green and laughing, with harsh eyes of vengeance and violence towards her family.  That the boy who would secretly help Arya learn archery with his bow would use that same bow to kill the guards at Winterfell. But that was just another harsh lesson Sansa had thrust upon her; the worst villains were always hidden among the best of friends. 

She wondered, briefly, what the Boltons has done with him when they took Winterfell for themselves. Try as she might, she cannot recall ever hearing the fate of the proclaimed Prince of Winterfell. But it was no matter to her; one way or another, Theon Greyjoy was gone to the world. 

“Lady Sansa, are you quite alright?  You were lost to yourself for some moments now,” Sansa looked back up to the face of Ros, now pinched with a concern so real it made her heart ache. 

A pang went through to Sansa’s gut as she stared into the eyes of her new handmaiden, although she was not quite sure what it meant. As if sensing Sansa’s emotions, something is Ros shifted, as if letting some wall down. 

“I know what you have been through, My Lady”, she starts softly. 

“How? How can you possibly know?”, Sansa’s cheeks burn hot as she realized how rude she had been with her sudden outburst. 

Ros, though, did not mind the interruption; in fact, she seemed pleasantly surprised to find the Lady in front of her did have passion behind her politeness. “Before I became a...woman of pleasure”, she grinned as Sansa blushed again at the turn of phrase, “I was a farmer’s daughter. It was just my mother, my father, and me, but the love we had was more than enough. We had a small yet successful farm. We were happy. One day, I was out in the town running errands; it took far longer than I had expected it to take. I was quite popular, you see, and stopped to talk to just about everyone I walked past. 

“By the time I came back to the farm, their bodies were cold. Colder than the snow on the ground. They say that some drunkard tried to steal eggs from the chicken house. When my father tried to stop him, he took a dagger from his belt and stabbed him in the stomach, where he bled to death slowly. My mother found the two of them outside; she had no time to scream before her throat was slit. My world was turned on it’s head all for some eggs” 

Sansa watched as tears fell from the woman’s shining eyes, a mirror of her own face. 

“I tried. I tried to stay there and run the farm. But it hurt too much, seeing their ghosts around every corner. I had to get out, had to start a new life for myself.  The only thing I could think to do was to run to the Pleasure House of Winter’s Town. So I did; and I was good at what I did; I made so many coins, met so many important people,” at this, she gives Sansa a pointed look. “I knew your brother, you know”, she grins at Sansa’s embarrassed look, but quickly softened her smile as she said “They were good. Kind. A rare breed of clients for a pleasure woman to encounter.”  

Ros’ smile falls from her lips as they curl up in anger in disgust, “More often than not, the men I entertain have grabby hands.  Say cruel words. Have bruising fingers. Everyday I had to put up with these men, hoping against hope that something better will come to me.” 

“Nothing ever did, until I decided to take charge of my own life. To write my own song. I left the Winter’s Town brothel and went to King’s Landing. Funnily enough, I was only about a week behind you as you rode down the King’s Road. And I worked my way up the ladder of success within Lord Baelish’s brothel.  And her I am now, no longer a pleasure woman but the handmaiden of Lady Sansa Stark” 

“That will soon be Lady Sansa Bolton”, Sansa replied quietly. 

Ros raised her eyebrows and gave her a pointed look. “Did you learn nothing of what I just said. My dear, you have survived some of the most cruel and cunning people in Westeros. You are more powerful than you can imagine. Write your own song.”

“But life is not a song”, Sansa said, but it was with less confidence than she intended. 

Ros gently touched her hands and looked at her. After a moment, Sansa realized that she was asking permission to hold her hands; Sansa grabbed her hands. “My lady, your life is not song because it has yet to be written. Take control of your fate, play the game you learned how to play and the bards will be singing the songs of the Queen in the North for centuries” 

“The...the Queen in the North?” Sansa could not comprehend the words that were spoken. 

“The North Remembers, My Lady. King Robb was the King the North chose, and he was brutally betrayed. Those who betrayed him must be given justice, and who better to give it to them than the Key to the North herself?”

Sansa was feeling like she was standing on top of a hill in the middle of a lightening storm. “Is this Baelish’s plan?  He wants to get credit for freeing the North from the Boltons’ sadism?”

“I cannot begin to guess why he has set up this betrothal, My Lady. To be frank, I see no purposes being served for him with you in the hands of the Boltons. It feels like he’s lost his touch. The only parts of his plan I was privy to was to be your handmaiden, your...teacher in the arts of womanhood.  And his spy.”

“Why are you telling me all this, then.  Why do you want to help me?”

“Because I am tired of girls like you and myself being taken advantage of. Of being the playthings of more powerful men. You and I both know that the Boltons will not be kind to your gentle heart. I will not stand aside as they abuse you,” Ros said it so fiercely Sansa had no choice but to believe her. 

“What would have me do?”

“It is not what I would have you do. It is what you need to do for yourself to be free.” Sly eyes appraised Sansa as Ros told her, “You have loyalty in the North. The name Stark still holds value for many houses.”

“How do you know that?”

A flinch and then, “I have my ways of gaining information”

“You are not Cersei or Littlefinger.  You do not have their dark hearts and scheming ways.  But you have spent time with them; enough time to learn their tricks. Use them to your advantage”. 

Sansa could finally identify that feeling in her gut from her first moments with Ros. Sansa had felt it before, but always pushed it down in favor of listening to what other people told her. 

Sansa would listen to her it this time; for wolves survived in the wild by listening to their sharp instincts. 

This time, it was telling her that Ros, with her clever yet kind eyes, and her lilting voice telling her her truth, was someone who could be trusted. 

“The Boltons are a clever, distrustful family. They are protective of the position they have achieved through blood and will do everything to keep it safe.  They can never be taken down from outside forces. They need to be destroyed from inside Winterfell. At an event that they will never expect. By a combined force of those from the Vale and the North led by someone they least expect; someone who is soft, innocent, naive.”

Ros smiles and Sansa smiled back. For just a moment, the shadows in the room cast upon her mouth in such a way as to mimic the fangs of a wolf. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 2-The Master and the Ghost

It was the familiar scuffle of heavy boots of the guards that woke him from his blissfully dreamless sleep. His heart went pounding in his chest as he got up as quickly as his broken body could handle; his master would be furious if he wasn’t there to serve him food to break his fast. He brushed the straw from the kennel floor off his body-the closest thing he got to cleaning himself he was able to achieve- and shakily got to his feet.

 He rushed to the kitchens as fast his body could manage with his hobbled gait and set about preparing his lord’s meal. The kitchen staff did not pause in the duties at his arrival but did glance up to either stare at him in pity and fear or glare at him in seething anger. He had grown used to the stares by now, as he had to the way people move out of his way to avoid his stench; he ignored them all, for he couldn’t waste what little energy he had on feeling shame and embarrassment in front of them. No, he had to save his energy on pleasing his lord and avoiding damning himself to another beating. He quickly finishes gathering the meats and breads that make up his master’s meal and starts his shuffle to Rob- Ramsay’s room. 

The scent of the food wafted into his swollen nose and made his chapped mouth water. He remembered when he got to gorge himself on meals like this every day. He would sit in the dining hall joking with Lord Stark’s heir (he could not allow himself to think the name for fear his heart would give out with grief) and laugh at the Stark bastard’s brooding over some distasteful comment that had fallen out of his spoiled mouth. 

He thought about the young underfooted daughter that would sneak away into the training yard and steal his bow and arrows to surreptitiously practice. He used to take pity on her poor form and loudly brag at dinner how his form was the best in all of the North and the reasons no one else could beat him  in hopes that she would hear him and realize that his bragging was in fact his way of giving her corrections. He did not dare reminisce of the two young sons whose castle he took over as the Prince of Winterfell. 

He thought instead about her . The eldest daughter with her shiny blood-red hair and eyes like the seas of the Iron Islands. Her melodic singing voice and bright smile. He remembered being ten and three and her ten and wishing for the day that Lord Eddard would betroth them. How she would glow in her white fur dress and how her hair would be styled in a crown of Northern braids. How he would wrap her in his cloak and have sea water bless their skin- but these were the memories of a dead man. 

Reek was no man. He was a limping creature of the shadows, not a lord’s son destined to be married to a beautiful lady. 

(He was no longer a man, his master told him as he woke up on the cross one day, because he no longer had his balls and prick.)

He passed by a window and other way, for he couldn’t stomach taking in his appearance; he saw enough glimpses in the last to know what he looked like. He knew his dirty rags were fraying from wearing them months on end. His once bronze hair was lanky with grease and sweat and shot through with gray from fear of abuse and mistreatment. His skin was sallow and saggy and dark circles were embedded under his eyes. He was missing fingers, toes, strips of skin. He looked like the monster he knew he had become. 

He reached his master’s chambers and knocked gently on the door. Always gently, shaking, prepared for the worst.  He heard the lilting voice of the man inside calling for him to come. With a tight knot in his stomach, Reek pushed open the door. 

Head down in a sign of submission, he quickly sets the meal down on the table and walked over to open up the window, just as his master liked it; he could feel the presence of eyes following him the whole time. 

He quickly turned to leave the room, but his master called for him.  With a shuttering breath, he turned to look at the face of Ramsay Bolton. His face, while alight with its usual sadistic glee, held a note of annoyance in it this morning. 

“My father is coming in here to meet with me any minute now. And you did not think to bring him up a plate to break his fast with me, as well?” his master asks in his reedy voice.  

Reek starts to prepare himself for the inevitable beating he will receive while at the same time explaining, “I-I am sorry, my lord. I was not aware that your father-“

He heard the reverberations of the slap more than he felt the slap itself. He starts to shake all over as Ramsay grabs his face between two meaty palms. 

“Did I say you could talk back to me?”  Reek shakes his head as best as he can while it’s trapped between his lord’s hands. 

Ramsay opens his mouth to berate him some more but stops as the chamber door opens again. Lord Bolton stepped into the room and glared at the sight in front of him. 

“We do not have time for your little games with your creature this morning. Let him go”, The Warden of the North said in his commanding voice. 

Ramsay huffed out a breath and let go of Reek’s face in favor of sitting down with his meal. Reek did not try to leave for the door again, not until he was formally dismissed by his master. 

“I am sorry, Father. I was simply reprimanding Reek for being so thoughtless as to forget to bring a meal for you.”

“There’s no need for that. I will eat with Lady Walda after this discussion.”

Ramsay looked put off, whether at the mention of his father’s wife or being denied a chance to share a meal with him, Reek could not guess. 

“And why exactly are we having this early morning discussion?”, Ramsay asked around a mouth full of sausage. Roose looked disgusted at his bastard’s lack of manners but did not say anything. 

“A raven came in this morning from the Eyrie. Apparently, the new Lord of the Vale Petyr Baelish has been harboring a very precious criminal within its impregnatable walls,” he explained. 

Ramsay was quickly turning bored at this discussion, shoveling bacon into his mouth. “Who is this criminal?” he asked with the raising of his eyebrow. 

Roose shot a look towards Reek before answering, “The former Warden of the North’s daughter. The Lady Sansa Lannister”.  

Reek felt a shiver go straight down his spine and nausea churned in his empty stomach. 

Ramsay’s expression turned from one of apathy to one of intrigue as Roose continued, “He snuck her away the night of King Joffrey’s poisoning and has been keeping her hidden under the alias of Alayne Stone at the Eyrie. He wrote to me with the proposal of wedding her to you, my son. She gets to be home and we, in turn, strengthen our claim.”

Ramsay now looked positively gleeful at the prospect of the beautiful Lady Sansa being his to play with. “With her married into the Bolton family, no one can any longer dispute our claim to the North. She will gain us the respect of those still loyal to House Stark.

“The only problem is she is married to the Imp. How are we to get around an annulment?”

“Littlefinger explained that it was not a true marriage between the two of them.”

Ramsay chuckled as he realized what his father meant, “You mean to tell me the Imp never got it up inside her?”  Roose nodded his confirmation “At least, that’s what Lord Baelish has reported. The Imp did not want to consummate the marriage to his child bride.”

The part of Reek that remembered the young girl with dreams of knights and princesses breathed a sigh of relief to hear that she was not raped on her wedding night to Lord Lannister. There was someone there who showed her some common decency, at least. It was more than he could have hoped for for her. That same part was immediately scared and saddened for what she was going to experience as his Master’s wife. 

Ramsay must have sensed the direction of his thoughts, as he glanced his way and gave him a bloody smile. “It makes no matter what the Imp did or did not do to her; she will be my wife to do with as I please.”   

At this, Roose looked at his son and said very forcefully, “You will put a Bolton heir in her whether she likes it or not, but you will not harm her. You will not make her into the same creature you made Balon Greyjoy’s son. Do you understand me?”

Ramsay gave his father a yes, but it did not sound sincere. 

“Very well. I will go write to Lord Baelish and tell him we accept the betrothal.”  With that, Roose Bolton got up abruptly and left the room without another word. Ramsay glared at the door for a second before turning back to Reek with a sardonic grin. 

“Well what a twist of fate this is!  Winterfell’s Daughter is finally coming home! Tell me, is she as beautiful as they say she is?  Or is she repulsive that even the Imp didn’t want to get his cock wet in her cunt?” 

Reek felt the shaking of his limbs and the sickness in his stomach increase as he listened to his lord talk about Sansa Stark in such a repulsive manner. 

“Don’t look so down, Reek!  Aren’t you excited to be reunited with you captor’s daughter?” Ramsay asked with mock confusion in his colorless eyes. 

Ramsay licked his thin, cracked lips and continued, “Or are you nervous to see her because you killed her brothers?  Oh, well, at least she thinks you killed them. I wouldn’t want to be you, either, now that I think about it. She did kill the king at his own wedding with protections all around him. Imagine what she will do to someone who killed her innocent young brothers?”

Reek was barely holding back his tears at this point, but still he continued to Ramsay’s cruel words. 

“Oh, do not cry. She will never hurt you. You’re my Reek and no one gets to play with you unless I allow it. Unless of course you want me to allow her to play with you?  On the wedding night perhaps? Tell me, did you ever once dream about marrying her? About spreading her legs and fucking her until your iron seed was inside her cunt?  You did, didn’t you?” 

 Ramsay gave him a sorrowful look. “I am sorry that your dreams will never be fulfilled because of...Well your lack of…” he glanced down at Reek’s non existent cock. He seemed to be in deep thought for a moment before gasping like he had a breakthrough. 

“I know!  You may not be able to properly bed her, but you can still live your dream through watching me bed her!  I believe it would be such a great honor to see her Lord Eddard’s daughter lose her maidenhead! Perhaps you could even give her tips on how best to please me”. He grinned like a manic one last time and started to walk away from Reek. 

“I must go talk to Myranda and let her in on the good news. I’m sure she will not take it very well, I’m afraid, but she deserves to know. Do not look so frightened, Reek. I will not let her hurt our precious little Lady Stark too much. 

“Now, you go clean this mess up. Because of the good news today, I am letting you have the rest of the morning off; it’s a beautiful cold day.  Go enjoy it! Just be back with my lunch.” With that, he left. 

Reek picked up the dirty plate and desperately licked at the remaining grease, hoping for anything to fill his belly. He left the room and brought the tray back down to the kitchens, where he quickly left it in a pile of others dishes and cutlery. He hobbled back to his cage in the kennels, all the while thinking about the red-headed girl and what would happen to her when she arrived. She would become a broodmare to his master, another plaything for him to hurt when he was bored.

 He thought about how she would react when she saw him; would she recognize him as her brothers’ killer, or was he so far gone that she would think nothing of the creature with gray hair and missing limbs? 

He arrived back in his sleeping quarters and finally broke. He sobbed until his eyes were swollen and throat raw. 

He did not cry for himself, for he was a monster who deserved no one’s grief. Instead, the Ghost of Winterfell thought of Lady Sansa Stark, and wept. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3: The Silence of Birdsong

The knock at Sansa’s chamberdoor echoed loudly throughout the room. She called for her guest to enter the room and was greeted by the the sight of dull brown hair and a coy smile. Ros curtsied and they exchanged good mornings before she made her way over to where Sansa sat at her vanity. Behind her, a second person, this time a maiden named Maia from the kitchen, came in to set down a tray of lemon cakes and a pitcher of ale on the table in the main chamber.   

Every morning since they met, Ros has come to her chambers to help her get ready in preparation of acting as her handmaiden in Winterfell. She had even worked on turning the slinky, seductive manner of walking she had adopted in the pleasure houses into the hurried, silent way of all household employees. It also gave them a convenient way to plot Sansa’s retaking of Winterfell without Littlefinger breathing too heavily down her neck. 

As it so happened, with Littlefinger in an early morning meeting with the other lords of the Vale, this morning gave Sansa the perfect opportunity to set the first piece of her plan into motion. She thought about what she would say when her guest arrived to break fast with her; she had learned long ago how to manipulate with her words, but she didn’t feel that this skill would be needed to win him over to her side. 

Ros grabbed the delicate golden brush Baelish had given her as a present ( “Here is a small gift for you. Your mother had one just like it when we were children. I hope it can mend at least a small hole in your heart that must yearn for your mother” he said with a chaste kiss to her reluctant lips) (of course, it never would) and started to detangle Sansa’s curls. Ros must have sensed Sansa’s need for momentary peace and quiet before the events of the day started, for she did not utter a word. Instead, she silently brushes through her mane of fire while absentmindedly humming under her breath. Sansa immediately recognized it as “Jenny of Oldstones”, one of her childhood favorites. She looked at Ros in the mirror; with her dyed brunette hair, warm brown eyes, and drab gray clothes, she looked every bit the Northern woman Sansa had grown up around. 

Suddenly overwhelmed with emotions, Sansa started to choke on air as she tried to contain the sobs that threaten to crush her chest. Ros immediately put down the brush and bent down beside her to look in her face. 

“My Lady?  What is the matter?” she asked with concern raw in her voice and a gentle hand rubbing her back. 

Sansa shook her head as a dam broke within her and sobs racked her body. She cried for her honorable father, for her headstrong mother, for her noble older brother. She cried for Bran and Rickon, whom she never got the chance to truly know. She cried for Arya and even for Jon, for she would never know of their fates in this cruel world. She cried for the young girl she used to be and would never be again. Sansa wept for all that had lost and all she would continue to lose. For she knew she would never make out of this plot of hers without losing a piece of herself. 

Her friend, whom Sansa was vaguely aware was no longer rubbing her back, reappeared with a wet rag to wipe her tears away; Ros gave her the rag before taking her into her arms and softly murmuring comforting words into her ear. She settled down after shedding a few more tears and took deep breaths to reclaim her control. Throughout it all, Ros soothed her.

 In that moment, she reminded Sansa of Shae. Her handmaiden was the first person in King's Landing to actually care about Sansa for who she was, and not out of guilt of the pain their family had caused or out of a desire to manipulate her. Her heart ached once again at the thought of another person she cared about being lost in the world. 

Sansa turned around to look at Ros. “Shae...do you know what ever happened to her?”  

Ros looked surprised at the urgency in her voice and replied softly. “She is safe, my lady.  The Imp had given her a sack full of jewels and a room on a boat heading to Pentos. She and another young girl left before the Purple Wedding.”  

Her heart squeezed once in her chest at the knowledge that she was safe. “Tyrion helped her escape King’s Landing?” She couldn’t imagine him being that selfless. A small part of her was bitter at the thought that he had helped Shae escape but never helped her escape her life as his own child bride. 

“Yes. She wasn’t just your handmaiden.” she said with a smirk.

Sansa was old enough now to understand what she implying. But she didn’t want to think about Shae doing that act with her husband. “No, Shae wasn’t. She was also the closest friend I had in the city”. 

“She would kill for you, you know. She told Varys herself, who later told me”.  Sansa was momentarily surprised to know that Shae and the Spider spoke, but then dropped the thought; nothing about King’s Landing should surprise her anymore. 

Sansa felt more tears pooling in her eyes as she remembered the morning of her first moon’s blood. How she had panicked to see the bright red stain of womanhood pooled across her pure white sheets. How Shae has rushed in to help her hide the evidence and how she chased after the handmaiden who walked in after them, presumably to convince her to keep quiet about what she had seen. She thought about the night of the battle of Blackwater, and how she told her to stay in her rooms. She was the only one to care about her safety. 

“I would do anything to see her again. I’ve lost so much, but knowing she is safe gives me such hope in the world,” Sansa said quietly. 

“When you take back Winterfell, I will send a message to her. She will want to see you again, too.  She will be proud to see you as Queen.” Sansa gasped as the words sunk into her mind. 

“You write to her?  You know where in Pentos she is?”

“I have only received one letter from her, just to let me know that she had arrived safely. It would not be safe to send more than that right now. But when it is safe again, I will find the fastest raven in Westeros to send her a message.” 

Sansa felt a swell of emotion at the thought of having Shae back in her life. She missed her sardonic humor and caring embrace. 

“Ros, I cannot even begin to thank you for everything you have done for me in these past few days,” she held up a hand before Ros could interrupt. “I don’t deserve your kindness. I was an entitled little stupid girl who ruined her family and got her father killed. I was cruel to everyone around me, especially Arya. Oh, gods, the things I said to her! King’s Landing was my punishment from the gods for the way I behaved.”  She knew in her heart that what she said was true; she wanted to be free from her family and have a life in the South. The gods, in the cruel way, gave her everything she wanted as a child. 

Ros gripped her shoulders gently and looked her straight in the eye, “Sansa, no one on deserves to be put through what you went through. You believe you deserve it because of how you acted when you were a child?  If everyone was punished for their childhood behavior, the gods would have wiped everyone out by now! There is evil and cruelty in the world, true, but you are not part of it. So get it out of your head that you do not deserve kindness,”

She continued, “Your family would be so proud of all that you have survived and all that you will continue to survive. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Sansa nodded her head at her new friend, trusting the faith in her words. Ros wiped at her eyes again with the cloth and gave her a kiss on the cheek. (Sansa felt her face flush at the tender gesture, even if it was just meant as a comforting touch). 

She put the cloth down on the vanity and picked the brush back up to finish doing Sansa’s hair. She smirked at her in the mirror and said in a teasing voice, “And if you really want to repay me for my help, you can always make me your Hand Of The Queen!”  

Sansa smiled back at her and said, “I think you’d make a better Master of Whisperers”. It was true, though; Ros has been sending out ravens in the night to the brothels in the North hoping to glean some secrets the men and women of pleasure are privy to hearing in the dead of night . Drunk and happy men have loose tongues that spill all kinds of secrets into the flesh of those warming their beds. So far, all the letters have been saying the same thing; the people of the North are scared of the Boltons’ sadism and are angry at their betrayal. With every letter, Sansa got more and more confident in her future actions she will have to perform in Winterfell. She has to help set them free. 

“If that is what my queen wants…,” Ros said with a wink, making Sansa giggle. They were finished with her hair and moved on to get her dressed in her dark blue dress. 

“It’s so nice to have a true friend again. Besides Shae and…” 

She was going to say Margaery Tyrell but cut off abruptly. But was Margaery a true friend?  Sansa knew the Tyrell matriarch used her in the plot to assassinate Joffrey, But was Margaery in on it?  Her heart was torn trying to determine the truth, if Margaery’s kindness and insistence on sisterhood was another ploy to use Sansa’s position as the Key to the North to the Tyrell advantage.  

“...the last true friend I had was Lady Jeyne Poole. And I have no clue whatever happened to her after the chaos of my father being arrested and executed,” she finished sadly. She hoped she had managed to escape, but knew it was unlikely; Sansa had admitted to herself long ago that girls like her and Jeyne weren’t meant to survive on their own in the wild. As horrible as Kong’s Landing treated her, she knew she had a better chance of surviving it than if she escaped and tried to travel the King’s Road. 

Ros looked up, startled. “Did you say Jeyne Poole?” 

“Yes,” she sniffled before continuing, “she vanished after my father’s trial. The Lannisters didn’t seem her worthy enough to send out a search party to look for her, so I have no idea what’s become of her.”

Ros opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment an impatient knock sounded throughout the room. Her guest has arrived to break fast. 

Sansa sighed and steeled herself. This was the most important part of her plot; if she did not handle this correctly, the rest of her plan would slip through her fingers before she even had a chance to properly hold it. 

Ros gave her hand a squeeze and told her that she could do this. Sansa nodded at her and told her to let her guest in. It was time for her to take back control over her life.

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Her guest strode into the room and over to the dining table with pride and arrogance in every step. But even that was not enough to cover the grief lurking on his face. When she first arrived at the Vale, she found Lord Robin Arryn to be obnoxious and, to be rather honest, a brat. Now she looked at the little Lord in front of her and felt nothing but empathy and guilt for him. It was not his fault that his mother was overbearing and coddled him for so long. 

She curtsied at her cousin and out on her most disarming smile, “Good morning, my lord. Thank you for accepting my invitation to join me this morning.” 

Robin looked around, bored already. “Yes, well, make this quick. I have to go to the training yard in an hour’s time.” 

The comment would have set a younger Sansa off, chiding him for his rudeness. This Sansa knew that there were more important things to think about and let his words roll of her like drops of armor while giving him another smile. 

“Of course, dear cousin. I will not keep you long; I just thought since I will be leaving with Lord Baelish in a few weeks’ time, we should spend some time together. I think we both need the comfort of being around family right now,” she grabbed his hand to give it a squeeze and led him to the table. 

His bored expression changed to one of happiness as he saw what laid before him. “Are those lemon cakes for breaking our fast?  But mother and Lord Baelish never let me have the sweets until after supper!” Sansa could practically see his mouth salivating at the meal before him. 

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said with a mischievous smile towards him ( Margaery would be so proud, she thought). 

They sat down and dove right into the sweet meal; they were quiet for as they savored every bite of the delectable treat. But as much as she was enjoying this-surprisingly, she enjoyed seeing the pure happiness on her cousin’s face after seeing his face twisted in sorrow for the last few weeks- she knew she had to break the silence. 

She put her fork down and started speaking, “Dear Robin, I wanted to say again how truly sorry about your mother,” she swallowed and felt her eyes fill with tears once again that morning, “I know the pain of losing your parents.” She thought again of Ned and Cat Stark, of their love and devotion to one another. She was doing this for them, to make them and her lost siblings proud. 

Robin’s happiness dimmed at the subject matter; Sansa had seen his face alight with manic glee at trials when he watched convicts pushed out the moondoor. She has seen it contorted and twisted as he had his temper tantrums. And this morning she has seen the innocent happiness that could make his features look like the boy of 12 he truly was. But she would never forget the sunken look of bereavement that shuttered across his face. 

Sansa had learned how to twist people to her will through being around Cersei and Littlefinger. They would be using this moment of weakness on a young boy’s part to manipulate him to their will; seven hells, Littlefinger was doing that. Just because she had learned their lessons, does not mean she had to always use them; she couldn’t bend this broken boy to her whims.  Instead of cleverness disguised as kindness, She opted for complete comfort and honesty. 

Sansa got up from the table and, just like Ros did for her, went to wet a cloth to dry the boy’s burgeoning tears. She held him as he sobbed for his deceased mother; she had hated her Aunt and would never forget the feeling of Lysa’s hands buried in her hair, the crazed way she accused Sansa of stealing away Littlefinger after witnessing his kiss, threatening to let her go falling to her death. 

But her heart still ached for the pain her cousin felt.  He did nothing wrong but be born to the wrong mother. To be made into Littlefinger’s pawn, just like her. 

With that thought in mind, she kneeled before him and gently took hold of his hands. Looking him straight in the eyes, she began her confession. 

“Robin, what was said at the trial, about your mother taking her own life, that was not the truth”

He looked up with red eyes and a confused expression. “What do you mean it’s not the truth?  That’s what Lord Baelish said occurred!”

“Lord Baelish is a liar.  He pushed her out of the moondoor because he wanted her out of the way”

Robin was angry now, upset that Sansa would make these accusations against his new father. “ You’re the liar!  You’re the reason my mother fell from the moondoor!  She told me it’s because you are the whore who wanted to steal Lord Baelish away from her!” 

Sansa flinched internally at the accusations but didn’t let her face slip. She knew he would likely have this reaction; she didn’t blame him for it, either.  He had lost so much, and now he is finding out that someone he thought he could trust is not the person he thought they were. She knows the feeling. 

“Robin, listen to me, please. He has been using all of us this whole time. He did not care about Lysa and he doesn’t care about you. And he only cares about me because I remind him of my mother and how he lusted after her. I never once wanted him the way he wants me, the way your mother thought I was seducing him. The truth is that your mother tried to kill me, but Lord Baelish stopped her. She let me go with his convincing. I thought it was over, but then I saw him push her.”

She took a shaky breath, “I’m so sorry I kept this secret close to me heart this whole time. But I was scared. Littlefinger tried to make it so that he was the only person I could trust. But I cannot trust him; all he desires is power. You and I, we are just pawns in his game.”

“Lord Baelish is using me?” Robin asked in a quiet voice. At least he seems to believe me now, Sansa thought to herself. 

“Yes, my dear cousin, he is. He just wants to control the Vale.”

“But...the Vale is mine to control. He can’t have it!” Her cousin’s previous confusion cleared up and was now replaced with a rage so strong she was almost frightened by it. 

“But he will try. He will do everything in his power to gain control.”  

“I will not let him!”, he cried. 

“Cousin, I was wrong to lie to protect him. Let me make it up to you now. You must gather the lords and form a trial for him. I will tell my story to them and they will have to believe me. I wish to be free of his lustful gaze, his twisted mind games he has been playing with me for years,” she spoke sincerely. 

Robin nodded but asked, “What happens to you after he is dead?”

Sansa was prepared for this question to arise. “I still plan to go back to Winterfell to marry the Bolton Bastard.”

“Why would you do that? You can stay here! You can become my Lady of the Vale!”, he looked at her with childish expectation. She felt nausea rising in her throat at the thought of being her cousin’s wife.  “I cannot do that, cousin.”

“Why not?” She could tell he was on the verge of a temper tantrum now. Gods, was Sansa this bad as a child? She understood now why Arya was constantly annoyed with her if she did behave like this.  

“Winterfell is my home. Mine . I have to take it back in my family’s name. Do you understand?” 

He did not say anything; she could not tell if that was a good sign or not. 

“I will need your help, if you will give it. I need the Knights of the Vale to back the Northern Army and fight against the Boltons.” 

He looked at her with a gleam of arrogance in is eyes as he replied, “We have avoided fighting since this war began. Why should we help you now?”

Because your mother never once honored her Tully words of family, duty, honor and left Robb high and dry when he needed the Knights of the Vale. He was clearly only doing this as payback for her rejecting him. Sansa told herself to keep the steady rise of annoyance that threatened to overtake her at bay, to keep her calm and composure at the question. 

So instead of giving into her desire to scream at him, she gave him a soft smile and praised him just enough to win him back over to her side. 

“Oh, cousin, I am proud of you for asking that question. It shows you are doing your duty as a Lord and figuring out the pros and cons of making an alliance. If it is worth it to risk the lives of those loyal to you.”

He preened at the praise, she could tell. Robin wanted to be treated as the adult lords were, and so she would treat him as such. Anything to get him to side with her. 

“But think about it; the Boltons are already power hungry. How long will it be until they grow tired of just ruling the North and need to fulfill their craving for more power?  Until they set their sights on you? It is better for you to help cut the head of the snake off now before it gets the chance to bite,” Sansa explained to her cousin in a calm voice. 

He seemed to consider this, contemplating the risks and perks in helping her. “If we helped you, what would it entail?” 

Her lips quirked into a smirk at his question. She had planned many painful endings for those traitorous bastards but decided the quicker they died, the better. She just wanted them out of the way. As for Littlefinger…

“I will need people in Winterfell with me. To protect me from the Bolton’s violence. But I will be the one to take justice against them.”

Robin nodded as though that seemed like a good enough plan for him.  

“You have our aide then, cousin.”

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. But this was the easy part, and the worst was yet to come. Still, it was nice knowing she had allies in her side. 

“And Littlefinger?  What will become of him?” She couldn’t help but let the slight coldness show through in her voice. No matter what, his demise would be too good for all the sorrow Baelish had sowed throughout the kingdoms. 

It was his turn to smirk. “I think, my lady, you already know the answer to that.” 

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Lord Baelish had the gall to look surprised at his trial.  Robin had called his bannermen to his side immediately after he had left Sansa’s room. Ros had helped her dress for the occasion in Stark gray and white, helping her embrace her true identity. She was finally shedding her mask of Alayne and was about to be Sansa again. 

Petyr locked eyes with her as he saw her sitting alongside Robin, conveying the confusion and betrayal he felt in that moment. It would never compare to her fear and confusion in the wake of her father’s death and realizing that the man in front of her wanted her as a replacement to her own mother. 

“My lords,” he said in his conniving way, “I was unaware that we had a meeting scheduled for this time.”

The room was silent. Everyone there knew this would be no regular meeting.

“Lord Baelish, you are her today to answer for the crimes you have committed: the murder of Lady Lysa Arryn,” Lord Yohn Royce stated, in a voice harsher than she had ever heard him speak. 

Baelish stilled. Sansa could see him gathering his lies to try and manipulate his way out of this. She knew he would not be able to. “You are mistaken, my lords-“. 

“You killed my mother,” Robin spoke up, anger and tears choking his voice. 

“My dear boy-“ Littlefinger starts, sweat starting to slowly drip down his face as he realizes the severity of his situation. 

“SHUT UP!” Lord Robin demand. No other lord dared to get in the way of the little lord of the Bale’s wrath. “I know what you did. Sansa told me everything. Tell him, Sansa!  Tell him!” The crowd gasped at Robin’s accidental revelation. 

All eyes on her, Sansa gathered her grace and stood up to dress the confused crowd. “Yes, My lords, it is true. For the past few months, you have known me as Alayne Stone, the bastard daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish. But that was all a lie to protect my true identity of Sansa Stark, supposed Kingslayer.”

Looking each of the lords in the eye, she continued to tell her truth. “Lord Baelish conspired to kill the King and used me as a scapegoat!  He plotted the whole thing to get me away from King’s Landing and get me all to himself. He is obsessed with me, just as he was obsessed with my mother!” Sansa felt tears shining in her eyes and could see the sympathy the lords held in theirs. Littlefinger, though, just looked murderous at her confessions. Sansa wished Ros was in the room as she spoke the next part. 

“He made me pretend to be his own daughter while he snuck kisses in the dark. He made me dependent on him and only him. He kissed me the day that Lysa Arryn was murdered. He was the one that pushed her out of the moondoor; she was just another step in his plans to one day take the Iron Throne. The first chance he saw, he disposed of her so she would no longer be a hindrance to his own desires.”

“The girl is confused!” Littlefinger spoke up for the first time, trying desperately to control the situation. “She does not have the wherewithal that she used to and is easily swayed by her imagination.  Who would you believe: a sick teenage girl claiming to be the Stark heir or your own lord?” 

Lord Royce turned to her, “Is what you say true? You did in fact witness Lord Baelish kill Lady Lysa?”

She nodded and said, “Yes, my lord. My aunt Lysa was angry at me for the kiss-which I wanted no part of-and was threatening to push me out the moondoor when Lord Baelish saw us. He convinced her to let me go and thought that would be the end of it. He was calming her down and assuring her of his love for her when suddenly,” Sansa swallowed at the memories and forced herself to confess, “he pushed her. And I am sorry I lied to you all, but I was so scared of the consequences if I told the truth. But I know now that I was wrong and should have told you what truly happened from the start. I hope you all can believe me.”

“Of course, my dear,” Lord Royce reassured her. She felt herself smile a genuine smile, for Lord Royce was a genuine man with true intentions; she trusted him as she never trusted Littlefinger. 

“You believe the self confessed liar?” Baelish screeched. 

“She is my cousin and I trust her. And I know you mean to use her again when you give her to the Boltons,” Robin spoke up again. 

“It’s true. He will use anyone and everyone in order to gain power. I did not realize it before but,” Sansa had thought about this Bolton plan for a fortnight. What did Baelish gain from selling her to those traitors?  Until it hit her, “He wants me to gain back control of the North. Then he will kill the Boltons and marry me himself so he can control the North. ” It was the only explanation that made a lick of sense. “All he wants is power, and he does not care who he destroys to get it.” Sansa felt like sobbing as she thought of her father, brother, and mother who had died in this weasely looking man’s thirst for power. 

She turned to Robin and begged,“Please do not let him hurt anyone else. Please let this man receive the justice he deserves.”

He nodded and turned to his surrogate father, “Lord Baelish, you have been found guilty of murder, and have hereby been sentenced to death. Any last words?”

Littlefinger surged forward towards Sansa.  She looked at him with disgust as he spoke “Sansa, I did it all for you. For us. You would have been my queen!  We would have ruled it all and had everyone bow down to us!” He sobbed at her desperately. 

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t want power or to sit on the Iron Throne. I just want my family”

Robin nodded at two guards, who promptly dragged Lord Baelish towards the moondoor. Without a second thought, they shoved him out the opening to his death. 

Petyr’s screams echoed throughout the room long after he was gone. 

Sansa felt lighter already, knowing he would not be able to sing his song in her ear any longer.