Sansa is a Stark of Winterfell.
It is her duty to protect her people and lead them to victory, however impossible it may be.
Sansa is the last Stark standing. Loss of her whole family, years of imprisonment and torture, and war against the Night Kin...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Beside her Ghost comes to attention.
When the man decides to show himself Sansa has just come out of the crypts where she has left the handful remaining children of Winterfell.
All the surrounding area had become quiet, too quiet, and that is the main reason for Sansa's stillness. The way how even the frozen white winds silenced their unforgiving howling when faced with the existence of this man was not normal.
He looked healthy. When it has been perhaps a year since anyone was able to eat for two days in a row. Besides the Others, the endless darkness and cold, the Long Night had brought along hunger for the living.
He was unlike the Others but Sansa didn't know the purpose of this creature and that made him dangerous. This other was neither a white walker, a giant or one of the children of the forest. This entity belonged to an entirely different class.
He had magic, powerful magic.
You could see it from the way he looked, with a crimson silk shirt that showed his muscled chest despite the freezing, howling blizzard that was ever present and always baying for any warmth it could steal, to the way his deep black hair looked as if it was absorbing the night they were standing in. It could be understood from the way how this creature was radiating heat to the way the unnatural colour of his eyes.
Eyes which were watching Sansa with boredom. With the surety of knowing Sansa everything she has done and will do, and being certain that he had the power to halt if it didn't please him.
That wouldn't do.
After surviving the King's landing, surviving Joffrey, Cersei, Baelish and Ramsay and fighting against the Night King and this endless winter for years and spitefully clinging to life with her fingertips Sansa would be damned if she got killed in her castle because she was predictable.
Not when she hadn't taken vengeance upon that bastard and his walkers.
Ghost's massive body is crouching in front of her ready to pounce, lips drawn back in a silent snarl to reveal deathly sharp teeth.
The savage beast inside her chest that has been snarling since Arya, her little sister, her last sibling, perished at the hands of white walkers finally stops and pays attention to something other than destroying each and any walker that could reach.
Sansa relaxes whatever pitiful amount of muscles has been left from hunger and readies herself.
Sansa is not a warrior like her elder brothers had been. Robb and Jon had both the authority, charisma, power and skill in sword to be able to lead an army successfully. They were both accomplished warriors. She is not a talented marksman like Brandon nor she can wave and pick through enemy lines like Arya. She doesn't have Rickon's gift with spears either but that is okay.
