Seven Dreams One Kingdom

12-Sansa

The battle had taken shape exactly as before. Jon and his men were almost decimated, until Littlefinger arrived at the last minute, swooping in to save the day as if he were some gallant knight. Of course Sansa hadn't fell for it, but she needed to at least pretend to see him that way. Rickon was still dead, Jon had still been unable to save him. Thousands were dead from both sides, as was the last giant Wun Wun.

Eventually she rode through the gates of Winterfell. She dismounted to find Jon pummelling Ramsay's face, a madness taking over Jon. The whites of his eyes were bright against his face, hair and body, which was covered in blood, excrement and death. She stood there, watching him, willing him to continue, yet she knew Jon would kill him if he didn't stop, and Ramsay was her kill, not his. She wanted to chop his manhood away and burn him alive, screaming; fire and blood, just like Jon's family motto. It had been Jon who'd dissuaded her, claiming it would give the Lords an even greater cause to distrust Jon.

The first night back in Winterfell, Sansa spent organising the wounded and tending to some of them, while Jon helped find the dead bodies and burned them to prevent them from returning, should them not be able to prevent the army of the dead from crossing the wall. Sansa's duties left her barely any time to eat or sleep. Fortunately this also kept her away from Littlefinger, who she was trying to keep at arms length until the northern conclave. After most of the wounded were tended to, Sansa was able to find Jon. It was the first time they'd seen each other since they'd kissed, and Sansa was concerned things might be awkward between them. However, Jon's face was downcast as Sansa approached him. He was staring at Rickon's dead body on a stretcher. Even though Sansa knew she should feel sad, she'd had nearly eight years to mourn the death of her little brother, therefore the sight of him didn't upset her as much as it could've done. Jon, on the other hand, was visibly distraught.

"We'll bury him in the crypts, next to his father." he told the stretcher man who simply nodded and walked away.

"Jon." Sansa put her hand on his arm. "You couldn't save him, no matter how much you tried."

Jon nodded. "I know." he said quietly.

"Is he in the kennels?" Sansa asked, Jon nodded once more. "And his hounds?"

"Awaiting their last meal." Jon sighed.

"They're used to human meat. They're too dangerous." Sansa warned, knowing Jon wasn't happy about the dogs being killed afterwards, to be honest, neither was she, but there was no alternative, the dogs couldn't be controlled.

"I want to be there when he dies." Jon growled.

"Of course...There's still time to change your mind and use the other method like I originally suggested." Sansa worried her bottom lip, but Jon shook his head.

"We've gone over this before, it will just convince the Lords that I'm just like my forebears by influencing you to use fire and blood. Despite the satisfaction it would be to see him suffer, I don't want them to associate me with that family." His voice was low. "Come, let's get this over with."

They made their way to the kennels, where Ramsay was being held. Darkness had begun to settle while they waited until he was conscious so that he would suffer more. Neither Sansa nor Jon were cruel by nature, but Ramsay deserved everything he got. Ramsay was tied to a chair inside the kennel gates, mangled and bleeding from the beating Jon had given him. He groaned and coughed, raising his head to look at Sansa standing outside the gate.

"Ah. Sansa. Hello, Sansa. Is this where I'll be staying now?" he smiled. "No. Our time together is about to come to an end. That's all right. You can't kill me. I'm part of you now." Jon appeared from behind Sansa and smiled sadistically. "Oh, the sister-fucking bastard. You wanting to take my place in her bed? She does like to scream you know."