Chapter 2
Sansa was riding hard towards Moat Cailin, gritting her teeth at the recent memory of Ramsay's smiling threats outside Winterfell. If Littlefinger had gotten her raven and planned to fulfill his promise, she would meet his army on the way. The knights of the Vale had no need to travel off the king's road, the Boltons were sufficiently occupied, any warning would now be too late. If her raven had been shot down, she would ask for help herself. If Littlefinger wasn't waiting for her, at least she would be as far from Ramsey as possible. Death at the hand of bandits was likely preferable. She spent a moment wondering where she would ride to if Littlefinger was not, as promised, waiting to help. That would clearly be a sign of betrayal, so it wouldn't be the Eyrie. Riverrun would be lost to the Lannisters. Either the Blackfish would have been slaughtered, or - though the hope was slim - the Tully forces were already marching to aid her and Jon. She shuddered to think what may have happened to Brienne if her attempts to bargain with the Lannisters were shot down. The sheer terror of the possibilities made Sansa's eyes well up with hot tears. She wished more than anything that Brienne were with her now. It was the first time she was truly alone, cantering to some uncertain dark future through vast, lonely winter hills.
She thought the Queen might help her, but would be no point going to King's Landing. Jon's army was rebelling against the royally decreed warden of the North in her name. Sure, the Boltons had traitorously entered a marriage agreement with her, the Stark heir, but she wouldn't gamble on the crown's opinion of the Boltons; especially when the alternative was a Stark bastard leading a wilding horde. The reasonable solution was to ride to Highgarden, if she could get there alive, and send word to the queen. Even if Cersei intercepted the message, she wouldn't go to war with the Tyrell army just to extricate Sansa. She almost laughed through her tears at the thought of her impossible plan. She imagined arriving there after some time, starved, clothes ragged and extremities frozen, begging for the Queen's protection. A lifetime ago she would have given anything to live out the rest of her days safely tucked in the Tyrell rose gardens, quiet, sewing, hidden from all the world. Margaery might visit her. That last thought still excited her slightly, even though the rest made her feel ill.
She was put out of her memories of her and Margaery brushing each other's hair by the sight of a massive moving body of mounted soldiers stretched out before her as she arrived at the top of a hill. She pulled her horse to a halt, smiling, nearly laughing, through her tears. One rider separated himself from the crowd, galloping across the valley towards her. She watched him approach, the sight of the enormous army and fluttering Arryn banners left behind him filling her with overwhelming relief. Littlefinger stopped just in front of her, cheeks flushed pink, eyes gleaming. She couldn't help but smirk in a satisfied way as he took her hand and gave it a prolonged, whiskery kiss. "What an excellent day, my beautiful lady," he said, exhilerated, "to win a battle."