The North Remembers || Sansa Stark & Artorias

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Sansa Stark, Oct 6, 2015.

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    Lord Commander Jon Snow is faced with a choice.

    All his life, he knew that the Starks of Winterfell were above him. He'd
    dreamt of taking their place, once, as the head of the family, to be
    shouldered with the same responsibilities and honor as the noble
    Lord Eddard Stark, the man who raised him as his own son.


    And Stannis Baratheon was offering it to him.

    Jon would be a fool to say no. After hearing of the Bolton's cruel conquest
    of his father's lands, he knew he had to act. Mustering the Wildlings and
    Stannis's men to his cause, the brave Jon Stark marched upon Winterfell
    in hopes of reclaiming it in his father's and brother's names.


    Little did he know, the last of the Stark line was already being tortured
    within. Sansa is as strong as her brother and withstanding as her
    lady mother, but her breaking point is near. When Stannis's troops
    march on Winterfell's horizon, she sees her last chance for escape.


    The North Remembers, and the North will fight for justice.

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    Let the battle begin.
     
  2. Jon Snow; Winterfell's Bastard"The Wildlings better be ready when I give the order. I gave them a chance, like you wanted, and now they fight for me. I am their King."

    Stannis didn't seem to fully understand that the Wildlings will never kneel to a Southern Lord. They promised Jon that they would be there when he needed them, and he promised them land and safety in return, but this War was not theirs to fight. Tormund and the Elders agreed to only aid in the taking of Winterfell, and Jon accepted. Once Jon becomes Warden of the North, he promised the Wildlings a share of the land.

    "They will be ready, but I promised them that they only need to aid in the retaking of Winterfell." Jon and Ser Davos were following behind Stannis. The small party was walking around the encampment, snow crunching underneath leather boots. Stannis, wearing his battle armor. Lightbringer sheathed by his side. The chilling cold didn't seem to bother the 'King' as he walked without a fur cloak to keep warm, almost like the God of Light's fire existed within Stannis Baratheon. "They will be in every battle I command them to be in." Stannis stopped mid-stride to turn and look at the Bastard who seemed to think he would be giving out the orders. "I am their King, they swore fealty to me and if they refuse to help me reclaim the Iron Throne. Then they will be butchered like the rest that stand in my way." Stannis was a soldier first and a politician of never. Stannis didn't see the Wildlings side, and why the Wildlings would never help a Southern Lord in a war they are not a part of. Stannis only saw his side and way of things.

    "This is not their war to fight. They wanted to come south of the Wall because of the White Walkers. They don't wish to die in a war that isn't theirs." Jon Snow was a wise-ish man. Though he was young, he showed the mind of a Soldier and a Leader. A truly rare man in the world that could understand politics, loyalty, and just how to wield a sword. He was still wearing his Nights Watch attire, the entire black outfit stuck out in the blistering white snow. "Once we reclaim Winterfell, and you name me Stark. My Father's old bannermen will rally to me. We won't need the Wildlings." Jon gave them a promise. A promise that they would be safe and free south of the Wall, and if he tried to talk Tormund and the rest into helping with the war. Then he would be breaking his promise to them, and he wasn't going to do that. The Wildlings were needed. Winter is coming and Westeros needs every single man, woman and child banded together under one banner that they could fight for.

    "Do you dare defy your King?" Stannis was a Commander, a Soldier. He was also a man that was straight to the point. Stannis was about to speak, the cold hearted man's lips curled, teeth baring before Ser Davos interrupted. Ser Davos stepped between the two, clearing his voice and raising his one good hand. The hand that still had his fingers. "My King. I do not believe Lord Snow means to seem defiant. The Wildlings would be a rather powerful ally to have, but they aren't from here. If we tried to make them fight for more than Winterfell and whatever land they are granted, then we may have another problem on our hand." Davos was Stannis's advisor for a reason. Davos was probably the only man in Westeros that could change Stannis's mind. Stannis would never admit to anything that may have been wrong, and Stannis would never change immediately after counsel from Davos.

    The cold eyes of Stannis landed on Jon once more, his voice staying in its neutral and bland tone. "Just remind them who their King is." That was it, a reminder and a threat. Now his attention was directed at Ser Davos. "Get the men ready, get the equipment ready. We start the siege within an hour. I still have to speak to Lady Melisandre." Stannis left the two, heading towards the main camp where his Tent would be. With all the maps, plans, and whatever else was dear to the king.

    "Thank you for that, Ser Davos." Jon appreciated the help that Ser Davos gave, and he wouldn't forget it. "He is nothing like Renly or Robert." The only Baratheon that had a mind for politics was Renly, and he was killed by a shadow with the face of Stannis. "Yes, well, don't try to get on his nerves too much in one day. You end up without your fingers." Davos was trying to lighten the mood, as the old smuggler lost his fingers because he was a smuggler. and the punishment that Stannis gave him was not a hanging, but the loss of one hand's fingers. "I just hope he doesn't push the Wildlings. They aren't the type to be pushed around without pushing back." Jon was still on a serious note. Davos knew the risks of the Wildlings, and would have to keep an eye on Stannis, and keep good counsel with the cold King.

    "I better go tell Tormund and the Elders to get ready. Leave you to your own preparations." Jon's voice, while serious, softened. The Ex-Night's Watch Commander left Ser Davos standing the snow. Davos wanted to counsel the boy as well, to help him learn how to deal with stubborn and difficult people, while still being assertive.

    The siege machines weren't meant to really damage Winterfell. It was all a part of Jon's and Stannis's plan to draw the Boltons out of hiding, and fight them on the open field. The snow was thick and heavy, hard to move around in, and Jon's forces had the advantage of the Wildlings and their bows. Hopefully the Boltons will see reason, and just retreat from Winterfell, leaving it empty for Jon to take.

    -*-*-*-
    Jon finished gathering the Wildlings, standing ready now with Tormund and a select group of Wildlings. "Alright Tormund, do you remember the plan?" Jon had run his own plan with Stannis and Tormund, making sure everyone was on the right track and no friendly fire would happen during battle. "Yes, yes. I remember the damned plan." Tormund's gruff voice broke through the silence. "Good, but I'm going to run through it one more time." The small group needed to work as a unit.

    "We will be leaving early. The siege will begin soon, and our mission is to start moving towards Winterfell. The scouts and watchers will be pre-occupied by the army emerging from the woods. With that, we will move and sneak into Winterfell. There is a network of old passages inside the wall of Winterfell. It was built for the Lord to escape incase of a siege. We enter the old passage and we find Roose Bolton or his son, Ramsay Bolton. Whichever one we find, or both, we want them as hostages. Only kill them if you have no other choice." Jon needed to have a few words with Roose, but that isn't why he wanted Roose alive. Stannis wanted them alive.

    Once the wildlings muttered between themselves and talked it over, they agreed. "Lets get moving. The siege starts soon." Jon's voice was grave for a moment. He was finally going to meet his Brother's killer. A man his Brother once trusted, and was betrayed by. They began to move, heading straight for Winterfell.

    They emerged from the forest, skirting around the area that Stannis and his army would arrive from. Now they lie in the snow, waiting for the horn to sound and the battle to begin...
     
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  3. Sansa Stark; Winterfell's Daughter
    The silver Tully pendant around her neck could not bring her comfort now. A gift from her lady mother, Sansa had kept and cherished the necklace over the years she was apart from home, praying every night that she would one day return to the walls of Winterfell. Sansa fiddled with Catelyn's pendant as she watched the wintery horizon grow dark with the stain of a brewing war, another that she must face from inside castle walls. I wish the Hound were here, she thought, to offer me a way out again. I wouldn't be so foolish as to refuse him a second time.

    "My dear," came a voice preceding an open door. That voice. Sansa dared not turn. She kept her eyes fixed on the single window of her room, transporting her spirit to a distant place so Ramsay could not touch it. Hands slipped around her waist and pulled her back against him. Lips met the side of her neck. She did not cringe, did not protest, did not move. She would not grant him the satisfaction of any reaction at all. "You look lovely. My beautiful wife."

    Sansa said nothing. She continued to toy with the pendant between her fingers, watching the distant soldiers form lines and prepare their weapons for siege. Ramsay kissed her ear. "Do you want those men to win?"

    That's a trick question. Despite the hatred, she new her husband well. Sansa took in a deep breath and sighed. "I'm not sure," she said honestly. "I can't trust Stannis. But I can trust him more than you and the Lannisters, which is a start." Slowly, she removed herself from his grasp and turned to face him, meeting his dark eyes with challenge. "Stannis understands birthright more than your father, though. He knows who Winterfell truly belongs to."

    Ramsay was not oblivious to her meaning. His nostrils flared with anger, a look Sansa knew all too well. "Ever-fiery, my bride. You need to learn how to keep your mouth shut." He raised a fist to strike her. Sansa did not flinch. She took the blow with grace, her back colliding with the wall as she stumbled backwards and her lip split open. She had learned that her bruises were scars of survival more than inconveniences and pain. Every strike against her would be repaid to Ramsay tenfold. She had to believe that. The Seven may have left, but Father's gods won't abandon me here.

    Sansa refused to look away from his eyes when Ramsay lunged forward, wrapping his hand around her throat and squeezing. "Tonight, you'll wish you hadn't said that. When I'm done flaying Stannis and all his little men, who do you think I'll come for next?"

    She knew. Oh, she knew. And while her exterior was hard as stone and silent, the pits of her heart begged the gods for mercy.

    "I'll see you tonight, darling." Ramsay finished his threat with a kiss to the cheek, light as a feather, a gesture that was meant for romance. Sansa would not see it as such for a long time. Ramsay took his leave, a stunned Reek trailing after him to the best of his limping ability, and the door was locked behind them.

    Only when they were gone did Sansa allow herself to cry. Sobs burst from her lips and she covered them with her hand, trying to stay quiet, not wanting anyone to hear. She curled up on the floor against the wall and cried until she was able to pull herself together, cried for mercy, cried in agony and all she'd been meant to suffer. And when she was done, she stood from the stone floor of her prison with determination.

    "I hope you die out there," she spat. Sansa picked up the weapon she'd stolen mere days before and waited until Bolton banners littered the horizon and the fighting began. She unlocked her door, snatched her candle, and escaped with a hood draped over her auburn hair.

    If I'm going to die, let it happen while there's still some of me left.
     
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  4. Jon Snow; Winterfell's BastardJon watched as the gates to Winterfell opened, horns sounding as the Bolton's army marched out. They had a large amount stashed away inside of Winterfell, that it was a surprise just how many Bolton's there were. The Bolton's planned on charging Stannis and his men before the Siege Weapons were prepared, which worked out in the Baratheon's favor as the whole plan of the Siege Weapons was to lure them out into the field of combat. Only Stannis's army was on the field, the Wildling still hiding in the Forest, waiting for the order. The Elders would be leading them in the battle, while Tormund was with Jon. With the Wildlings aiding the Baratheon's, the Boltons were outnumbered 1 to 3.

    While the Boltons marched out of the gates, Jon and his group moved to the walls of Winterfell. They went undetected, thanks to Stannis providing the distraction Jon needed. "It should be here...somewhere..." Jon mumbled under his breath, not wanting Tormund or the others to think Jon didn't know where it was and the plan was hopeless. "Here!" Jon placed his hand on what seemed like a regular brick wall, but at closer inspection it was wood and in fact, a door. It had been painted over several times to give the illusion that it was just the wall, and with quick glance, no one would notice the difference.

    He could hear war cries, the faint clash of steel. The battle has already begun, and Stannis would use the Wildlings when the Boltons think they have the upper hand. The battle wasn't his concern at the moment. Finding Roose Bolton was. "We have to move quickly! Roose will think he has won, but once he sees the reinforcements, he will most likely leave Winterfell." They would have to move quick. It was standard for a coward like Roose to run once the battle was losing favor. Holing himself up in Winterfell would never work, not with the siege weapons ready to be used.

    "Lets get moving then." Tormund said impatiently, pushing past a majority of the group and getting beside Jon.

    Jon brought a group of twenty, including him and Tormund. Four were archers, and the rest combatants. They had weapons at the ready, eyes forward to make sure nothing was coming down the tunnel. "Do they also know about the tunnels?" Tormund didn't need to be ambushed in a castle he knew nothing about. The Southern people lived quite nicely with these stone walls, already better than anything a Wildling could make from the limited supplies they had up North. "No. He shouldn't know anything about the tunnels...unless someone had told him." He didn't know who was left alive when Winterfell was taken by the Boltons. The men who were once loyal to his Father, could now be working for the Boltons.

    "Good. Lets just find this bastard, knock his teeth in and leave with 'em." Tormund's voice was gruff, echoing down the hall as they moved. As they made it to the exit of the tunnels, they put out the torches that led them through the tunnels, and Jon raised his hand to stop them from rushing out. "Wait!" Jon hissed, peeking his head out from around the corner to make sure no patrol was nearby. Once he gave a thorough look, he waved for them to move. "My best bet is that he is up on the wall, watching the fighting." Jon was starting to breathe a bit heavier, adrenaline slowly rushing through his body as the thought of getting close to Roose was pushing him over the edge.

    "Kill any man that tries to attack you. If they lay down their weapon, tie them up and leave 'em alive. Any women and children that may be here, let them go. The women and children down here. They were never trained to fight, they are defenseless, harmless, let them be." A Wildling woman was very dangerous, but almost the entirety of Westeros women were soft, weak, and scared of a fight. The Wildling women and Woman down South were raised in different areas, different customs, and different people almost.
     
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  5. Sansa Stark; Winterfell's Daughter
    The beauty of winter was far less sweet when surrounded by enemy forces. Sansa clutched her cloak tight about her person and trudged through the slush and dirt, dodging anyone who would recognize her as Ramsay's escaped bride. She could not afford to be caught this time. If her husband found out of her attempted escape on the same night his blood was high from battle, it would not bode well for Sansa. She'd suffered enough abuse. If she couldn't take control of her destiny here, there was little left to live for. She'd do anything to prolong her survival.

    Cautiously, Sansa maneuvered her way across the courtyard until she came to the Broken Tower. Bran fell from here, she thought in somber remembrance. I hope I don't suffer the same. She ascended the stairs and fumbled with her candle, horrified she would be caught, or worse, that her signal wouldn't work. She placed it by the window and struck the flame to life, lighting the wick and praying.

    Please. Please, let this work.

    The window brought in a rush of icy winter air, blowing forth from the battle in her sights. She watched Bolton banners rise up against the invading force, a heart on fire, just as it had been the night the Blackwater burned. From what she could tell, her enemies were winning and losing simultaneously. She didn't know who she could trust. All she saw was another war, another threat to her home.

    I have to get out of here. Snapping back to her senses, Sansa pushed away from the window and darted down the spiral stairs. She broke into a fast walk across the snow-smothered courtyard and up into the walkways, around the walls in attempt for a short-cut. The sooner she was back in her locked room, the safer she would feel. A thousand eyes watched her move, or so she was beginning to believe, and not the eyes of the Old Gods she wished for. Bolton eyes, enemy eyes. The paranoia grew substantially high and Sansa began to hyperventilate, looking behind her ever few seconds to ensure Ramsay hadn't come back early from the hunt, or Myranda wasn't stalking her to some fatal end. She felt the fear creep up her spine and strangle her with cold hands. Sansa walked faster, desperate.

    Without looking, she ran headfirst into Bolton guards.

    "Let go of me!" she shouted above the noise of battle. Soldiers pulled her hands behind her back and shoved her forward, before the man's presence she feared most of all. Sansa looked up into the cold eyes of Roose Bolton and wondered if they were the last things Robb ever saw. To all the gods, she hoped not.

    "Lady Sansa," said Roose coldly, as if he'd known her intent from the start. "Care to watch the battle with me?"
     
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  6. Jon Snow; Winterfell's BastardNow that they were inside of Winterfell, they only needed to find Roose and capture the bastard. Jon wanted to impale Roose with Longclaw and end the wretched man's life, but knew better than to act on impulse. Jon figured they had five to ten minutes at most before the Wildlings were called in to ambush the Boltons. That assumption was shot down as he could hear the war horns sounding, echoing all the way to Winterfell. "Stannis already called them in!" Jon slammed his fist against the stone wall.

    They would have to move as fast as possible and find Roose. "You said he was up on wall? That is where we go then!" Tormund yelled before pushing past Jon and up the nearest wooden stairs that seemed to lead up to the top of the wall. By now, because of Tormund's rash decision, the few Bolton soldiers left inside of Winterfell noticed Jon's raiding party.

    One of the Bolton soldiers grabbed the small horn, bound to his by a strap, lifted up and placed his lips on the horn. As he began to blow into the horn, an arrow was embedded in his throat and coming out the other side half-way. "Kill them!" A Bolton soldier yelled before they drew their weapons and engaged with Jon's party.

    Two Bolton soldiers charged at Jon, but he didn't freeze up. His experience and adrenaline kicking in. His body moved away from the wall he was crouched by and straight to the two attackers. As he neared them, he brought Longclaw up and parried one of the strikes before he ducked underneath the second. As he ducked, he began to twist and turn his body, which brought Longclaw down in a sweeping motion and cutting the heel of one of the attackers. The soldier yelled in agony as his foot was severed from his body by the Valyrian steel sword, his body falling to the ground as blood began to rush out from the wound.

    While one of the soldiers fell, Jon continued to use the momentum from his spin to go a full 360-Degrees and plunge Longclaw through the back of the second soldier. The blade dug and tore through the man's leather armor and out the other side of his chest cavity. It was almost like it never happened as the man sputtered blood out, trying to form some sort of sound besides groans of pain, but life was cut short as Jon pulled Longclaw out of the man's back.

    Tormund and the Wildlings were engaged with their own enemies. Tormund was fine, going around like a bear and smashing heads in and swinging wildly with his sword. He would hold his own, but some of the Wildlings were struggling, and some were doing fine. Jon couldn't worry about them, or about Tormund. "Tormund!" Jon yelled as he watched the Wildling plunge the crude sword through a Bolton soldier neck before turning the blade and ripping it out. "What!?" He yelled before turning to a soldier and slamming the pommel of the sword into the mans nose. "We need to find Roose! Go up!" Jon began to fight his way towards the stairs that would lead up to the top.

    Surely by now, Roose would be hearing the cries of agony. The cries were too close to be in the battle taking place outside, but that someone was inside of Winterfell killing his soldiers.
     
  7. Sansa Stark; Winterfell's Daughter
    Sansa heard the piercing shrieks of slaughter rise up from the lower walls. The noise turned Roose's head and he peered over the stone rail, shooting daggers with his eyes to whomever dared intrude the fortress of Winterfell.

    Sansa silently thanked whatever god had heard her plea. They've come for me, she thought, just like I was promised.

    "Archers!" Roose called, drawing his sword with dramatic flair. "Wildlings. Kill them! Don't let them get to the upper level!" He kicked the nearest ascending foreigner in the chest, sending him reeling and falling back to the lower floor with a crunching thud. Sansa was shoved aside as the guards who restrained her abandoned the cause in favor of protecting their liege lord. She backed into a corner and clutched herself tightly in hopes of protection. She hated being helpless, but what was there to do? Her strengths were in negotiation and politics, in survival, not warfare. She hadn't the slightest clue how to handle a blade and parry like all the other men that surrounded her.

    But I know how to hit someone, she thought on a whim. Sansa glanced to a nearby rock pitted up against the wall. She eyed the stone and the back of Roose Bolton's head, and knew there was no choice but to act.

    Sansa lunged herself through the fighting and slammed the rock against the back of the lord's head. Her physical strength was far underestimated, however, as she'd been locked in a room with little exercise or means of nutrition, and Roose stumbled but he did not fall. Sansa stood paralyzed as he turned to glare at her, his men falling around him to the arrows and blades of what she assumed to be a Wildling force, led by a huge red-haired man. Sansa slowly stepped backwards, trying to find some method of escape but none seemed to arise. Her back hit the stone wall and Roose Bolton grabbed her harshly by the hair, yanking her towards him so her back pressed against his chest. Lord Bolton pressed a dagger to her porcelain throat and shouted his attention to the assailants.

    "Enough!" Roose bellowed. "Put down your weapons or I slaughter the last living Stark, the way I did her brother."

    Sansa fought against his strength, to no avail.
     
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  8. Jon Snow; Winterfell's BastardTormund and Jon made way up to the Wall, Roose in sights but Jon was not as he fell behind Tormund to finish off a few Soldiers. Tormund and few Wildlings barreled through the soldiers, fighting like wild beasts with the taste of blood fresh on their lips, and they wanted more. While the Soldiers were properly trained, the savagery and brute strength of the Wildlings overpowered the Soldiers and they were killed. "Fuck all of you!" Tormund yelled before jabbing his bloodied blade into a soldier, who was already dead by arrow into the eye.

    The fighting slowly subsided as Roose yelled, holding Sansa against him with dagger against throat. Roose's men lay dead at the feet of the Wildlings, archers aiming arrows at Sansa and Roose. Tormund had listened to Jon, and Stannis over the time he was captured and traveled with Jon. They knew who the Starks were, that Jon was one of them. "You must be this fuckin' Roose Bolton I keep hearing about." Tormund spoke, blood staining the white fur he wore.

    "You will do no such thing! Roose Bolton!" Jon yelled, ascending the last of the stairs and into view. A streak of blood ran over his face, and matted his hair and the little bit of beard he had. He was out of breath, taking a kick to the stomach from a previous Soldier, Longclaw in his sword hand smeared in blood. While on the outside he seemed like a brave and daring warrior, his mind raced as Sansa stood there, held by Roose. He had no knowledge of her being here, and now her being captured by Roose put him at an odd position. So Jon could only do what he has always done in situations like these. Talk.

    "You have lost Roose. Look at your army!" Jon pointed out and over the wall, towards the crumbling Bolton forces as the Wildlings and Baratheons began to overrun them thanks to the flank and aid of the Wildlings. "Your army is crushed, and the Lannisters are too far away to help you." The ironborn were no threat, and surely they would never come to aid someone like Roose. The Frey's were all stationed at the Tower, like always. The late Walder Frey would always be late. "Let Sansa go, and your life will be spared. You will be judged by the King, Stannis Baratheon." Jon could only try to reason with Roose, to get him to let go, or maybe drop his guard so Sansa can struggle free.

    "If he kills the girl, I say we gouge his fuckin' eyes out. You said that his people enjoy flaying others right?" Jon had been trying to teach the Elders and Tormund about the laws, houses, and other things South of the wall so they could be more accustomed when they settle down. "Aye..." Jon knew Roose was a coward. Roose never does the dirty work, never does the fighting, always has Ramsay do it or someone else. He only killed Robb because Robb was defenseless and couldn't fight back. If Jon's reasoning wasn't good enough for Roose, maybe he would think about the possibility of not being maimed after killing Sansa. "You can't escape, just let her go Roose." Jon was almost pleading now, but he kept his voice firm and strong, even though Jon on the inside was worried and scared.
     
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  9. Sansa Stark; Winterfell's Daughter
    Sansa squirmed in the arms of the monstrous Roose Bolton, feeling the pressure of his blade against her throat. In a single stroke, her life could end. Everything she'd suffered, every goal she'd ever had, every ambition, meaningless. She clenched her eyes shut and knew better than to fight. She would preserve her existence and survive as best she could, as she had been trained to do over the years since her family's fall.

    A voice snatched her from that fear. Tully blue eyes shot open at the sound of a familiar tone, one that made her feel elated and horrified all at the same time. Her eyes scanned the Wildlings, the strange foreigners come into her home with malintent, but they were not her primary concern. She noticed a man all in black, standing before her in the gabr of the Night's Watch with her father's look and a hard northern resolve.

    "Jon," she muttered in disbelief. Only after a few seconds did she register what was happening. Jon was here, rescuing her. It wasn't an illusion. "Jon!"

    "Quiet," ordered Lord Bolton. He held her in place against her will, but he had yet to make a decision concerning her fate. Killing her wouldn't advance his cause. Letting her go could spare his life for a moment, until Stannis Baratheon rained judgment down upon him and House Bolton. Sansa met Jon's eyes and prayed that they wouldn't be the last thing she saw; or worse, that he would suffer the fate of the King in the North.

    After a moment of pause, Roose Bolton finally spoke, having come to some final conclusion. "It appears that I am outnumbered here," he said with a sigh. "I never expected a man of the Night's Watch, much less Ned Stark's noble bastard to take initiative where he doesn't belong. But I suppose I'll have to reevaluate." Another pause. "Take care, Lord Snow."

    Before she could react, Sansa felt the blade rip at the side of her porcelain throat. Blood spurted from the wound and Sansa was pushed forward into her cousin's arms, gasping for breath. Roose Bolton turned and leapt over the walls of Winterfell, out into the powdery snow that would surely save him from a suicidal fall, while Sansa was left bleeding and trembling. She clutched at Jon's black clothing as her legs gave out and her body succumbed to shock.

    Where she had been so determined not to die here, Sansa feared that she had failed.
     
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  10. Jon Snow; Winterfell's BastardJon stood there nervously, his hands wanting to shake but his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as his knuckles turned white underneath the black gloves he wore. Roose had killed his Brother, and now Sansa was in his hands. Did Roose value his own life now, or would he want all the Starks dead. "Roose." Jon said, but it seemed as if Roose had made a decision. Roose spoke to Jon before dragging the dagger against Sansa's delicate skin and pushing her towards him. Eyes widened as Jon's hands let go of Longclaw. The Valyrian steel sword clanging against the cold stone ground as Jon caught Sansa in his arms. He dropped slowly, with her weight to the ground as his one hand moved up and over the wound on her neck as his black gloves were slick with crimson blood as he tried to stop the bleeding. "Sansa!" Jon yelled, not looking to see what had happened to Roose.

    While Jon dropped with Sansa, Tormund gave off his growl that resembled a bears and ran to the ledge that Roose jumped from. Archers had shot at Roose as soon as he let go of Sansa, but no one was sure if they hit Roose. Maybe Roose jumped on his own, or fell because of being hit by an arrow. They didn't know. "Someone!" Jon yelled, grabbing the attention of the others as he covered Sansa's wound, needing someone to help him with the wound and bandage it. Tormund moved from the wall, his feet carried him to Jon's side as he ripped and cut at his fur jacket before placing the thick, warm fur, clad with leather on the inside, against Sansa's wound. It wasn't a proper bandage, and it was fur. At least the leather would cover the wound and give the pressure they needed to keep on it. "Where is the Maester?!" Jon turned his head, yelling at the Wildlings. They didn't know who or what a Maester was, so they looked between one another, unsure what to say or do.

    Jon picked Sansa up into his arms, a wilding woman coming to Jon's side as she kept her hand on the temporary bandage. Tormund picked up Longclaw and followed Jon, who was starting to carry Sansa down the stairs and into Winterfell's Keep. He wanted to keep her warm, find the Maester, or at least the Maester's supplies.

    Jon carried her to the first room he could find that had a bed, where he laid her down. The wildlings had followed him, protecting him and Sansa in case anymore Bolton soldiers were around. "Tormund, watch her while I go find the Maester or his supplies." Jon didn't wait for an answer before leaving the room quickly, without Longclaw, but he should be fine.

    ----

    While the events in Winterfell transpired. The combined forces of the Baratheons and Wildlings started to push back to the Bolton soldiers, destroying what army Bolton had to fight with. Stannis sends a small part of soldiers heading to Winterfell to check on Jon and made sure he succeeded. Stannis, Davos and Lady Mellisandre were with the Soldiers.
     
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  11. Sansa Stark; Winterfell's Daughter
    All she remembered was the pain. She dreamed of it when the darkness of unconsciousness came to swallow her, dreamt of the searing agony in her neck that she couldn't help or restrain. She dreamed of Ramsay digging his teeth into her flesh just below her jaw, and she wanted to thrash and push him away, to tell him that he would never harm her again. Yet she was helpless, sedated and groggy. Eventually she was too tired to dream. Her mind was foggy and faded to nothing, like a deep sleep she may not wake from.

    But wake she did. After an unknown amount of time, Sansa opened her eyes. The glow of a winter morning bled through the window of wherever she'd ended up. Winterfell, she thought. I'm still here. She blinked and tried to move her muscles, failing miserably and eventually falling back into the deep sleep that called to her. By the time she woke again, her senses took a while to full come to life and she lay there weakly in a featherbed, wondering what had happened and who had won the battle she so dreaded.

    When she was able, Sansa pushed herself up into a sitting position. She lifted a gentle hand to press lightly on the gauze wrapped around her neck, wincing when a mild shock of pain flooded through her. Sansa looked down to her attire; nothing but an underdress that left Ramsay's bruises all over her arms and legs exposed. She bit her lip and pulled the blankets over her body, but her arms she would leave open. She didn't care who saw, but what they saw would remain at a minimum, under her control.

    Sansa's eyes darted to the door as it rattled open. The massive figure of the same redheaded Wildling she remembered came trudging into the room, but he stopped when he saw her staring at him, half-horrified, half-confused. "Look at that," he said with a grin. "The princess awakens."

    "I want Jon." Sansa's voice was broken, but no less authoritative. "I know he was with you. I want to see him."

    The man scoffed. "Aye, I'll get 'im in a bit."

    "Get him now." Sansa's voice cracked. She hadn't intended to be so emotional, but tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. She gripped the blankets in her fists to control her desperation. "Get him. Please."

    There must have been something in her, be it the look in her eye or the tone of her voice, but the typically uncontrollable Wildling nodded as if he understood the torrential emotions ravaging her heart. He left the room without another word, and Sansa waited so very impatiently, teetering on the edge of sanity with her fists and teeth clenched.
     
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  12. Jon Snow; Winterfell's Bastard"Your Grace. Here is the casualty report."

    Ser Davos handed Stannis Baratheon a rolled parchment of paper, stained with black ink as the reports were coming in for the Commander to look at. The walls of Winterfell weren't comforting. They were cold, uninviting to outsiders liker Stannis and the Baratheon forces. The parchment unfolded as Stannis held it in one hand, the candles lit in in the windowsills and on the desk itself illuminating the small office room that was taken up. "No matter. The Boltons are defeated, their army crumbles as ours begin to rebuild. The Stark forces will easily replace what we lost, and more." Stannis dropped the parchment onto the desk before standing from his chair. On the desk were letters that were addressed to Roose, and what the current state of Kings Landing was in. "The Vale is neutral, Ironborn scampering back under their mothers skirts. The Freys will not leave the Twins and Riverlands. This....'Brotherhood' is a thorn in the Lannisters and Frey's side." Stannis walked around the desk, his fingers running along the worn wood. His boots clunked against the hard wooden floor towards a large table in the center of the room, where two more bodies stood. Jon Snow and Lady Mellisandre. "Once the Bannermen of the Starks join underneath Jon. We will march south, finishing whatever is left of the Boltons and burning the Dreadfort. Then the Freys...with no Lannister support." Stannis had read the letters of Tywins death. The strife that is going on in Kings Landing. The Tyrells wouldn't be able to aid, Highgarden was too far away, and last but not least Dorne. They despised the Lannisters, almost everyone to be exact, so no aid would ever come from them.

    "Roose Bolton's body still hasn't been found.." Meaning the man survived the fall. "No matter. We still have a valuable piece to Roose. His bastard son, Ramsay." Stannis picked up the Bolton sigil that lay on the map, cradling it in his fingers before letting it drop to the floor. "It may be unwise to keep him alive Your Grace...I have heard troubling news of this child. And the relationship between the two." Davos spoke up, gesturing his fingerless hand towards Stannis as an act of speech. "Roose wouldn't care for Ramsay. He sees his own son as merely a pawn. We also have a victim. One who endured Ramsay's cruel and unusual ways..." Davos knew people, and the whispers from the servants that were left at Winterfell when Stannis took it as his own. "Keep him alive? I keep no traitor alive." Stannis has shown time and time again that he leaves none alive that defy him, and Ramsay would be no different. "He will be executed, along with the other traitors. No Bolton shall live. I'm sure Jon would agree that the Boltons, along with Freys, should be wiped from the face of Westeros." Stannis didn't need to know anything about Ramsay. Only the fact he was a Bolton. A traitor.

    "Yes-" Jon wanted the Bolton's dead, all of them, but he couldn't fall down the Path of Vengeance. He knew the difficulties and dangers of doing so, and he would not start now. Interrupted, he was, as Tormund entered the room without permission. "She has awoken."

    It was all he needed to say before Jon gripped the hilt of Longclaw. "I must take my leave for now. Your Grace." He ducked out of the room, Tormund following his tail towards the room Sansa yet waited in. He moved in a hurried fashion, wanting to get there to see just how hurt she was.

    He entered the room and straight to Sansa's side. He knelt down beside the bed and grabbed Sansa's delicate and slender fingers. "Sansa. Are you feeling better?" Asking if sh was alright would be stupid, as she was clearly not alright.
     
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  13. Sansa Stark; Winterfell's Daughter
    The instant Jon entered her chambers, Sansa felt as though her heart had met a brick wall with the greatest force. Somehow, it was the sweetest feeling. Jon had matured drastically since she last saw him; it was clear that he was a man now, not the teenager she remembered picking on in her childhood. He had scruff on his chin that reminded her of Father. His black hair and dark eyes felt like coming home, even though she'd been in Winterfell for months. He had the look of a true warrior.

    Seeing him alive, breathing and speaking and moving, was proof that she wasn't alone anymore.

    "Jon," she whispered. Sansa reached out for his cheek and placed her cold hand gently upon it. He was warm, she noticed, wearing a smile that showed his utmost care and concern for her. His eyes were of the North. Ned Stark was in those dark orbs, and for a moment she couldn't breathe, held captive by the thought of home. True home, not a Winterfell sieged and savaged, where she had been abused daily. The Winterfell of the past was in her heart when she looked at Jon Snow; a place of light and love and laughter, of summer snows and monsters-and-maidens, of dinners with the family and reading with Robb by the fire.

    She felt the tears in her eyes before they fell. This time, she did not stop them.

    Sansa, so bereft to touch any other human being, moved carefully from her bed and wrapped Jon in her loving embrace. She was careful not to touch her wound, but her arms were tight and her heart was full to be so close to family again. The last Stark she'd seen was beheaded before her eyes, and Jon was so much like him. She would die before such a fate befell her dear brother.

    "You're alive," she said in a tone of weak happiness. Sansa pulled away from Jon, only enough to look at his face and admire how much the both of them had changed.

    "You're really alive."
     
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  14. Jon Snow; Winterfell's BastardJon's arms wrapped around Sansa as she buried herself into his chest. "I'm back Sansa." He spoke quietly to her as she wept into his chest. He couldn't imagine what she had to go through, what it must of been like living with the enemy the entire time. Being a captive, alive on the whims of the enemy because they wanted her to live. To see the last Stark live in agony, without power, and without her family. That was all going to change now. Jon wasn't going to allow her to live that awful life anymore.

    He felt her pull back enough to look up into his face, their eyes meeting and locking. "Yes Sansa, I am alive. I won't leave you this time." Jon's voice meant to reassure her as an ungloved hand, his hand, reached up to rub his thumb over her porcelain cheek. Wiping away one of the tears.

    "What have they done to you?" Jon's voice was stern now, wanting answers from Sansa. He could see the small bruises, the color fading away back to porcelain, but still there. He wanted to know who had left these marks. Joffrey was dead, awhile ago, so these marks couldn't have come from him. "You are safe now Sansa..." As safe as she could be with Stannis in charge. In truth, Sansa might be safer with the Wildlings than with Stannis. Ramsay Snow couldn't hurt her anymore, not with Stannis holding the key to the mans cell.

    Before Sansa could answer Jon, a knock from the doorway was heard. Jon's head turned to see who would interrupt, and it was a Soldier from the Baratheon. "Sorry to disturb, but Stannis has already planned on executing the prisoners." The Soldier said, leaving soon after. Ramsay was one of the prisoners, meaning he would be on the chopping block. Stannis was quick to move, not wasting anytime to kill any man, woman or child that says they are loyal to a Bolton.

    "I will be back Sansa, I promise. Just stay here and rest." Jon pulled his hand away from her cheek, his body slowly rising from its crouched position. He had no idea it was Ramsay that harmed her, or that she may wish to watch the execution of him.
     
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