𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿𝑿𝑰𝑰

꧁CHAPTER XXII꧂
꧁300 AFTER CONQUEST꧂

꧁SANSA꧂

Overlooking the landscape beyond her home, she watched as thousands of men rode out in force to the North. Banners of Manderly and Frey alike flew together, though something told her that they weren't truly riding together. Lord Wyman rode with them, unfortunately, under the orders of Lord Roose. His forces and the Freys were clashing constantly inside the walls of Winterfell, and blood had been drawn on multiple occasions. To save what little control he has left, Sansa knew this was to keep it, and that Lord Roose was falling apart. What she could be thankful for was that Ramsay's blood was up, that he wanted something, or, someone to kill, and so rode with the Freys as well as his Hunters.

He had been boasting about how he'd take Stannis' head and show it to her, presenting it as a gift. Like Joffrey, she thought to herself, the memory coming to mind. The face of her father came to memory again, and again, Sansa closed her eyes, trying and failing to refuse to look, as even when she closed her eyes, she still saw it. "Or maybe he'll give me yours," her words of rebellion came to mind, and she prayed to herself every day that it would come true, just now for another, as Joffrey, that monster, was gone now.

"Are you a betting person, my Lady?"

Turning slightly, Sansa stumbled back only slightly in surprise, the Lord of House Bolton presently standing behind her, eerily like and all. Even before all of this, before she and her family had traveled to the South, Sansa had met Roose Bolton only once, a feast at Winterfell. The man seemed strange, eerily creepy and odd, and the effects had not changed with the years. Only back then Lord Roose looked a younger man. Stress and paranoia had done a number on his figure.

"I do not partake in gambling."

"Wouldn't have figured you were. But—"

"But I know you are, my Lord."

Lord Roose raised a brow at that as Sansa continued gazing out amongst the riders, those who rode to their deaths, unsure who would get it first, one or the other? Whatever his point was mattered not as he questioned her.

"Oh?"

"It's all you've done your whole life. Gamble and make moves against my family. You've risen the stakes by sending them all out there. I know Stannis."

"As do I. A great battlefield commander, most certainly. I joined your father's host in the Greyjoy Rebellion, and I saw Stannis' fleet crush the Ironborn and drive them back to the Iron Islands. He was ruthless and efficient. But Stannis Baratheon is no longer that same man, not since the Blackwater."

"You were not there, my Lord."

Sansa smiled lightly, but kept her gaze toward the North. She didn't want to see his face, but she could imagine it quite well enough.

"The Imp laid a chain trapping the majority of Stannis' fleet in the bay, and he set Wildfire to them. From the towers of Maegor's Holdfast, I saw the Blackwater burn. I saw the stag burn. Yet, Stannis landed on the beach, rammed the gates, and near entered the city and won. You say he is not the same man, and I'd have to agree, my Lord. He's more dangerous now than he has ever been."

Sansa drove deep with her words, sharpened like a blade in hopes that it would stoke fear in the man of Bolton. The Lord had been driving himself half mad couped up inside the walls of Winterfell, paranoid and afraid, always suited in armor to the highest degree, even while relaxing. Roose Bolton was afraid, and Sansa Stark had nothing to lose.