Clash of Wills

Death. 

It was supposed to be the end of everything. Of life and all meaning....

How many times has she died, figuratively if not actually, ever since she left Winterfell to go south?

Let's see....there was the time when Lady was murdered. Her poor innocent direwolf, who got killed by Cersei's cruelty. To her shame, after all she went through, she had all but forgotten about the poor creature until she saw Ghost, the last of the Stark direwolves, the runt of the litter. The experience had brought on as much tears to her eyes as the reunion with Jon. She couldn't help but cry at the death of her childhood.

It had truly died, perhaps, when she finally realized just how cruel and unjust the world could truly be - her father's murder. For that is what it was, murder and not at the hands of a foe in battle, but one cruel empowered boy king.

She died again, she figured, when the news of the Red Wedding reached her. And she certainly felt something die inside her, whenever Ramsey forced himself on her.

Enough of death. Let me live at least a little while longer. She thought to herself. Just long enough to see those who butchered my family suffer for it.

"We are the last of the Starks." she had told her brother. Not half-brother. Brother. Sansa couldn't help but feel guilt for the way she had treated him as children. Jon had forgiven her, of course, being so much like father, yet she couldn't stop blaming herself for the past. All of it.

And, despite that, she had insisted that he fight for her. Fight, when he was so obviously exhausted from fighting. 'I am tired of fighting' he had said more than once. She had wanted him to fight for her, to defend her. It was a basic instinct - they had to defeat Ramsey and take back their home. They had to, for else he would not leave them in peace.

His letter, written on pink paper, had said he had their brother, Rickon. Their little brother, somehow alive and a captive of the Bastard of Bolton. 

He is as good as dead. She had known immediately, but insisted to fight. They had to avenge him, at the very least. Such was their duty. It was all that Jon had needed.

They had gone to the wildlings first. As it turned out, they were not as wild as others said they were. At least not all of them. Among them was a man, named Tormund Giantsbane, who had so many titles, Sansa japed that he must be some southern lord. He was Jon's friend though and agreed to help them. Alas, it was not enough.

"When Mance first united the Free Folk, he had 100,000 people behind him. Now most of these have died....to the crows, to Stannis, to the Others. That can march and fight.....there are only about 2000."

And that wasn't enough. She had overheard the Boltons say they had 5000 men to fight Stannis with. Sansa had seen how brief of a fight it were, so she doubted they had lost many. Littlefinger taught her how people would always side with the ones they believed would win. She had wanted to scoff and tell him that the Northerners were different, yet were the Boltons not Northern, too? Was there really that much of a difference between North and South, save for some customs and the gods?

Were they resisting the Bolton rule? She had not heard of such stories, save for a brief attempt of Lord Cerwyn to refuse paying taxes to the Flayman. He lost his kin for it, save for a young son, who had no fight left in him.

The rest were ignoring them at most, yet there were two Starks left and no one to help them.

Yet.

They had to show them that the Starks were still living. They had to see the Boltons were not invincible, for elsewise, how did a simple girl escape from her home, which they had turned into her dungeon? 

"We have to call upon the Lords of the North. All of them. They have fought for the Starks for thousands of years and Bolton rule is not secure. It is new and fresh and not impossible to overturn."

Jon slightly nodded in agreement, but she could see he was focused on something else. The originator of the so-called 'pink letter', sent by Ramsey. "Ramsey....Snow? What happened to his father?"

"He is dead. Ramsey killed him." She had heard once from the guards how there was a bet on which Bolton would kill the other first. And it must be so. Poisoned by our enemies, he claimed, yet Sansa hadn't done it, neither had Jon. And the Northern lords....a part of her wished that her people had done this. The people, that were truly hers, in fact, not those in name only. Maybe even Littlefinger, whose endgame she still was not fully clear on. Yet, she knew it was Ramsey. She felt it in her gut. "He is ruthless and beyond cruel. He will be even worse than his father."

Jon looked to her determined. "I have fought against worse than Ramsey Bolton or Snow or whatever name he has. We will see about all that."

"You don't know him like I do."

"We will win or we will die."

"If he takes us prisoner, we won't die for quite a while." she responded grimly. Sansa had no intention of letting herself be captured alive. For all she knew, Ramsey would not even leave her in peace as a corpse, but at least there will be no pain.

"He will not hurt you again." Jon responded after a moment of deathly silence. Don't make promises you can't keep. She wanted to say. 

She didn't.

They went first to Bear Island, home of the Mormonts, the most loyal. In its great hall, or what passed for one in the castle, which looked more like a small manor made of wood, Sansa met with a 13 year lady, who had a heart of iron. At first, she pitied herself for having been reduced to asking a child to go to war for her. A child, who yet knew nothing of the true horrors of the world, having perhaps heard of them, yet never actually experienced them.

"The North knows no King but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. We will support you."

After hearing that, she stopped pitying the little girl. She was obviously much braver than Sansa herself. Like Arya. She thought to herself, then wiped the painful memories off her head. 

62 men. That is what Davos Seaworth had told her. The former Hand of Stannis was an odd addition to Jon's circle. The wildlings, she could understand, but Davos was an odd man indeed. A good man though, so she had surmised. Smart too. Nevertheless...

"It is not enough."

"We have gathered 200 Hornwood soldiers and 143 Mazin men...."

"And it is not enough." She had said lauder than she wanted to. "I am sorry, ser. It is not your fault, but...."

"Stannis may have weakened Ramsey's numbers." Jon mused.

"Not by many. Not enough. I saw it Jon. Half the Baratheons ran for the wolfswood as soon as the Boltons charged. All the horses were with the latter, it was no battle, it was a massacre."

"We will fight with what we have, we cannot wait any longer. Think of Rickon."

She had thought of him, but to her shame, little and less. She had practically forgotten what he looked like by then. What kind of a man had he become, spending half his life on the run from their enemies. She hated thinking of Rickon though. For he was not going to survive this. Ramsey would never let him live. She would be surprised if he was still alive by the time they got to Winterfell.

Within a fortnight, they had arrived at the battlefield. Well, not quite. It was to be the battlefield. It was agreed that there would be a parley before the battle, as was custom. The weather had cleared quite a bit recently and so she knew that Ramsey won't be able to harass them in the dead of night or something like that. 

Jon had told her so and Davos had seconded. And they were the military commanders, not her. Her knowledge was about politics, which was frowned upon in the North, which focused on the blunt way of playing the great game. She could appreciate that, were it not for the madman they faced. A madman, who has twice their numbers. At least.

Seeing Ramsey made her shake and Sansa had to use every ounce of willpower she had, in order not to show it, even as flashes of the recent past blurred in front of her eyes. To steady herself, she looked around the field. Ramsey had scattered crosses with burning people on them. Flayed people, whose smell would have disgusted her, had she not grown used to death. Little Lyanna Mormont was stoic as always, but even she made a face for a moment. The rest were apathetic, focused on the moment. 

Beside Ramsey stood his allies - Harald Karstark and Smalljon Umber. The former she somewhat understood. The treacherous cadet branch of the Starks had been antagonized by Robb, when he killed Harald's father for killing prisoners against his orders. His two elder brothers were also dead. It was Umber who surprised her. According to rumors, Rickon had sought refuge at Last Hearth with his father, but upon the latter's death, Smalljon decided to join Ramsey. How could a good man raise such a traitor was beyond her. 

The parley was ridiculous in her mind. Both sides demanded the unconditional surrender of the opposite one. Naturally, both sides refused. Then, the threats were exchanged. Jon threatened Ramsey, who in turn threatened all of them. Her brother even made an attempt to challenge him to a single combat to solve it all and when he refused, tried to spark a conflict between Ramsey and his lieutenants over it. 

She had to hand it to him, Sansa never expected Jon to ever do something as subtle as that. The two lords, Karstark and Umber, looked at each other for an instant, but did nothing. They feared Ramsey too much. Still, it was nice to see that Jon was not just a soldier. It gave her a little hope that maybe they would live through tomorrow and not as hostages of the monster, who made her skin crawl. 

The two argued in the night. Sansa had no desire to do so, but she couldn't stop herself once the words started pouring out of her mouth. Jon wanted to charge in with the men they had. Sansa wanted to try to gather more men. They had argued over it ever since they had assessed just how outnumbered they were the first time. It hadn't mattered much. Jon wanted to fight him. Worse, he underestimated him.

"I have fought against worse than Ramsey Bolton." he would say. 

"You don't know him like i do." 

And on and on it went. 

Sansa had taken to sleep in Jon's tent, where she felt safer. There were no second bed, so they shared one, with him embracing her from behind. She was embarrassed at first to sleep with him like that, all the lessons of her mother flowing through her head. Yet, that was the old Sansa and that Sansa was stupid, naive and quite frankly pathetic. This Sansa was not that kind of woman. Not anymore. Never again.

Jon had promised to protect her and keep her safe from Ramsey. One way or another.

She had no desire to do so though. She wanted to win. Sansa wanted to make Ramsey pay for everything he had done to her, to their home, to everyone. That is why she finally reread the letter she had received from Baelish. The smug snake had sent her a letter a few days back, which asked for a meeting between the two. The redhead was long since done with trusting the man, yet he was promising the knights of the Vale. Could she trust him now to help her?

Every instinct Sansa had told her to ignore him, but she couldn't. If he hadn't exaggerated the number of troops, he claimed were waiting half a day's ride away…..they could win. She still doubted they could save Rickon, despite Jon's delusions and her wishes. Unless by some miracle, some long-forgotten god managed to let him slip through Ramsey and his men, he was dead.

And so she and Brienne went to meet him in the dead of night, leaving only a letter behind, explaining what happened. To see what Littlefinger had to offer. 

He offered words first. Spoke of winning the North and a crown for herself. Promised to help her in overthrowing Cersei. Professed his affection, as he called it, for her. How she looked like her mother at her age. All the things that made her skin shiver, yet she stood as still as stone. Then he spoke of his troops. Of Lord Royce, who commanded two thousand men. With her knowledge of the impending battle, which was mere hours away, Sansa agreed. 

They rode hard for Winterfell, which luckily was close enough to their position. 

The Vale army arrived just in time as Jon's forces were surrounded in what looked like a mass grave living. A vast mass of men, her brother's men, were struggling to breath while the Bolton soldiers were pressing them with their shields. 

Sansa couldn't see it clearly, but she imagined Ramsey's look of terror, when the knights of the Vale rode hard through the Bolton lines, carving them up like a knife through butter. The Stark soldiers were saved and were now chasing the fleeing Bolton men. From a distance, she spotted Ramsey riding back towards Winterfell, with Jon and a few others, among them a giant, running to catch up with him. 

Ramsey hid safely behind the castle gates, but that did not deter the pursuers. The giant slammed his fists through the gate and tore it apart, even though he did so under a rain of arrows. She saw the creature falter by the time it entered the castle grounds, eventually falling on its knees and then belly. He was dead. The last giant was dead and the Starks were inside.

As soon as she saw this, Sansa rode hard for the gate as well, not wanting to miss a thing. By the time she arrived, Jon was beating Ramsey to a pulp. As much as she wanted him dead, Sansa wanted to do it herself. She had to. And as soon as Jon saw her, he knew so as well. 

Sansa released a breath, she knew not she was holding, when the Stark banners replaced the now fallen Bolton ones. The crumbled and stepped on flayman on the ground and the Stark direwolf flying.......it brought a smile on her face. All that was ruined, when they brought in Rickon's trampled body. Jon did not fill her in on how their brother died, but she had her guesses. Ramsey. She told them to bury him in the crypts, alongside the others and then asked Jon where Ramsey was.

The kennels. A fitting place for a dog like him. 

No, this is an insult to dogs. Ramsey was less than that. 

When she saw him, Sansa barely recognized him. Jon had beaten his face in so much that several of his teeth were missing. One of his eyes was bloodshot, the other shut by his swollen head. He could still speak though, whispering nightmares and taunts, promising her that he would always be a part of her.

Perhaps it was true, but he needn't know that. 

"Your family will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your words will disappear. Your name will disappear. Even the North can forget if there is nothing left to remember." is what she told him, before releasing his own starved hounds to deal with him. A slow and painful end, nothing less than he deserved. 

She stayed through it all, listening to his screams until they stopped. She won't regret enjoying it. His death was satisfying, even if it didn't last nearly as long as that thing deserved. She left him to his dogs, to be eaten and scattered in their stomachs and excrements and in truth thought of him less and less from then on.

Enough of that though. The future was ahead. Sansa did not include Littlefinger, much to his spite, in her private conversations with Jon. And they had a lot to talk about. 

"I saw the way he looked at you." Jon said, anger in his voice and eyes. Sansa knew who he was. "Give me one good reason, why I shouldn't just cut off his head where he stands."

"There are a thousand reasons to do so....and only one not to. He has the Vale and we need it." Jon did not seem pleased with her answer and Sansa had to admit that his reaction to Littlefinger's ogling was endearing. Was it jealousy? A great part of her hoped it was so. "We will deal with him, Jon. The lords of the Vale are not happy with him at the helm, that much is obvious. An opportunity will arise soon, I promise." 

"The lords have sent their letters. They will come." Jon said, walking to the burning hearth of father's solar and tossing one such letter. "To help decide to future of the North, they say. I have half a mind to tell them to go to hell."

"We need them Jon. We still do, if what you told me of the threat beyond the Wall is true-"

"It IS true." he interrupted.

"We will need all the men we can get. But we need to think of the south, too. The Lannisters are not going to ignore their vassals being overthrown by us."

"We have a greater enemy."

"Yes, but that one will not forget us either. And we can't kneel for them, Jon."

"We won't.....but we need all the help we can get."

Both knew that they were at an impasse, until it happened. Jon was proclaimed King in the North by the lords. As angry as she was for being ignored by them, Sansa couldn't help but be happy for her brother finally receiving the recognition he deserved. The more she taught on it the more fitting it was. And she told him so one evening, when they lay in the lord's chambers - brother and sister.

"Some say we are like the Lannisters." he muttered, when the noisy maid finally scurried away.

"Do you want to change anything?" she asked, half afraid that he would say yes. Sansa had grown so used to his warm embrace, which enveloped her like an armor. She did not want to lose it, though she knew that Jon's honor would make him do it at one point. Certainly when the lords finally succeeded in pushing for one of their daughters to become his wife.

"No." he answered honestly. "I am right where I want to be, even if I know it won't last."

"Why say so?"

"I....the lords will need us to marry, have children to further the-"

"Fuck them."

"What?"

"Fuck the lords. Why should we care for their opinions when they left us alone in our time of peril?"

"Then what do we do?"

At that point, she was at an impasse. She could tell him she knew not and leave the problem hanging over their heads, like the sword of an executioner. Or she could ask him to do what she wanted, be selfish again and.....have him.

"What if we marry?"

"Sansa..."

"No, hear me out. We could say that it was done for political reasons, as a way to strengthen your claim. Incest is hardly unfamiliar. Which we will. Yesterday, Littlefinger said that he had convinced my cousin Robin to name me his heir. The Valemen would like that too and we could finally work on getting rid of him." 

"But....do you want to marry me? Sansa, after all you have been through, I will not have you marry against your will."

"I...I will have to marry and so will you. We...I believe we can be happy together, don't you?"

Jon was lost in thought for a while, until he smirked. "Your mother will be rolling in her grave. The bastard in the end did steal everything away."

"Let her roll. She was wrong about you. Will-"

"Yes." He said. "I will marry you. And I promise to do my best to make you happy Sansa."

Jon sealed his promise with a kiss and Sansa slept better than ever before.

When they announced their decision, there was an uproar at first, but they managed to make them buy their story. Let them think of this as political, Sansa had no desire to marry anyone but Jon. Not since she first got the idea in her head. The wedding took place within the fortnight and Sansa had not been happier. Was this too sudden? Too quick? 

She knew only that she wanted it and that was enough. Will they grow to love each other more than a brother and sister, more like father and mother? They could only hope. Jon and Sansa needed home and family and they could only find them with each other.

Considerate as always, Jon forbade the bedding ceremony and insisted that Sansa not give herself to him until she is ready. They were young and in no rush. Besides, they may all be dead soon anyways. Nonetheless, she had insisted to do it once. To see if she could do it without wanting to die.

She could, as it turned out. It was the most pleasant experience of her life. Soon after that, the maester gave them a surprise.....she was with child.

Seven moons after the wedding, they had received news from the south. Tommen was dead. The Great Sept of Baelor gone and Cersei queen. She wanted to vomit at such dreadfulness, but took heart in hearing that Margaery had escaped. No doubt the Tyrells would now fight against the Lannisters and Sansa knew just how vital that alliance had been to Lord Tywin.

"Cersei gambled and lost. Margaery was well loved. With the Tyrells alive, the whole Reach will turn on her and with no one to help her.....she is dead."

And dead she became. However, she was not torn to death by the thorns of the roses, but burnt by dragonfire. All had heard whispers of her and the dragons. Jon even mentioned an old and dead maester at the Wall, who was her uncle. 

Daenerys Targaryen was back in Westeros and had reclaimed the Iron throne with the help of Dorne, the Ironborn and the Tyrells. Littlefinger, despite his attempts to do so, failed to cover up his anger at his longtime rival, Lord Varys' success at installing his own monarch on the Iron Throne. She had come with three dragons, vast armies and a great claim - all of Westeros. As much as she was relieved that it was all over for the lions, this was a problem.

"I don't know what surprises me more - that dragons and White walkers roam Westeros or that you two are married. And have this." Arya's return was as happy a surprise as any. It also coincided with the birth of her daughter. Lyanna, they named her. Sansa couldn't name her after her mother and with Arya back, Jon felt the need to give her a different name - the name of his dead aunt. Lyanna Stark. "What are we going to do about the letter though?"

Another letter had graced their rookery. This one contained a request for a parley at Harrenhall to decide the future of the realm. None of the monarchs were to attend, only their representatives, a move which surprised her. Who was she going to negotiate with? Anyways, the Targaryen had helped her with Littlefinger. Apparently, her not-friend had sent information to the Red Keep on the goings on in Winterfell, in exchange for power in the South. A desparate move, she had not expected from him. A move which cost him dearly, given that the dragon queen was surrounded by so many people, who did not trust him. She had sent a letter back, implicating him in treason against us. A letter, which conveniently found its way into her hands. Something she doubted was a coincidence. 

Not that she did not make use of the situation to turn all the Vale against him and have Arya cut his throat. Nonetheless, they had to meet the south once more. Her uncle had promised her the Riverlands, but his lords had sided with the Targaryen, who promised the food of the Reach in exchange for fealty. A promise that the North could not hope to match. That is why Edmure Tully was here, and almost all of the Riverlands flew the Targaryen banner, led by Jonos Bracken. The West had bent for Tyrion, in order to protect itself from further reprisals from the only person, who probably hated the Lannisters as much as the Starks did. And only the gods knew what her idiot of a cousin Robin would do. 

The North could not ignore the South any longer, certainly not when they needed its help to fight the White Walkers. Jon and Sansa knew this and decided to act.

"Write a letter south. To the Red Keep" Sansa addressed maester Wolkan. "I will go meet with the dragon queen's representative and talk about peace on behalf of the North. And of the greater threat to us all."