A/N: This is a Sansan fanfic. There will be many parts of this story told from Sandor's POV. He cusses and is crude. I will write him the same way. If foul language and sex (eventually) are not your thing, you should stop reading now. Actually, you should avoid all M rated GoT fanfics in the future because that's kinda the premise of the show. Death, language, sex, and politics. Also, I kind of bounce around from one character's POV to the next without any divided sections. I like to know what's going on inside everyone's head at all times. One sided stories are not my favorite. Just a heads up if you get a bit confused.

Also, I am going to fudge the timeline a little bit and change some of the things that happened in the show so that it fits with my story. If you're familiar with the show you'll notice the differences. I haven't read much of the books so this is solely based on the series. Sorry diehards. Don't hate it until you've read it. And of course, I own nothing.

Chapter 1

Baby blue staring in the window pane

Just counting drops of rain

Wondering if she's got the guts to take it

Running down her dreams in a dirty dress

Now her heart's a mess

Praying she will find a way to make it

Sansa lay on the bed in her parents old chambers. It was large and comfortable under her, though the sheets were stained red. Ramsay hand't changed anything in here. The furs on the bed were the same. The rug in front of the hearth, the chairs, the desk her father used to work from. It was all the same. She imagined he did that on purpose. Just another source of agony for her. It was as if they were watching every night as her captor raped and tortured her. Some nights she imagined her father breaking down the door and killing Ramsay with a swift swing from Ice. She tried to picture how it would feel to have his blood splatter on her skin instead of the other way around. She smiled at the thought of the warm liquid running through her fingers as the life slowly left his body.

In the beginning she used to fight him. Used to fight back. She would yell and kick and scream as he ripped her clothes from her body, using his knife and fists on her in ways no true Lord ever should. He had left her face alone. He wanted her pretty, he used to say. Joffrey used to say that. They weren't much different, Ramsay and Joffrey. The only difference was that Ramsay had actually gotten to claim her as his, whereas Joffrey hadn't. Her marriage to Tyrion had saved her from his torturous hands. Once she realized that her fighting and struggling had only made him more hungry with desire to harm her she stopped. She could not avoid his savage hands, but she could avoid making it more pleasurable for him.

She had run out of tears months ago. She laid there, motionless, and let him use her in whichever way he saw fit that night and when he left her alone and cold she did not cry. She'd only curl into a ball on the bed and stare out the window into the night. Her mind empty of thoughts. She did not know how long she went on like this. How much time had passed. She only knew that it grew colder outside as the days went on. As the weeks turned into months she wished with all that was in her that her window was large enough for her to squeeze through and that it was high enough that it would end her life if she fell from it. It was neither.

Night after night, week after week, month after month, she laid there in her parents bed and suffered at his hands. She was lucky in one sense. He had wanted an heir so badly that he hadn't shared her with anyone else. She loathed the day she would become with child and he would pass her around like a pitcher of wine and let any and everyone have a taste. But she also feared the day that she would conceive. Any child she had would be half his. He would get to hold her baby, take her baby from her, raise that child. She feared for it's life even before it had been created.

Some days she left the room to accompany Ramsay to a meal or to walk around the grounds. He wanted to show her off. She was a Stark after all. The key to the North. She felt like a stranger in her own home. She did not recognize any of the faces she passed. She would eat with her husband in the hall that she grew up in. He spent the meals taunting her or whoever else he wanted as the mood struck him. Roose was seeing to the repairs of the castle. It had been burnt to the ground by Ramsay after Theon had been betrayed by his own men. No, not Theon. Reek.

When she had first seen Theon she hated him. He had killed her brothers. Because of him she only had one left. One bastard brother. She hated him for what he did to Rickon and Bran. They had been his brothers too. He grew up here within the walls of Winterfell as their ward. They treated him as one of their own. Arya was as good as dead for all she knew. Jon was her only living close relative. Theon had been in the kennels with the hounds and looked worse off than they had. She wanted to kill him right then and there. But she hadn't. Years of training her to be a lady had taught her to reign in her emotions. Instead she slung hateful words towards the traitor every time she saw him. That wasn't very ladylike but it was her compromise for not killing him. Her anger was not just for her lost brothers, but also for the way her husband abused and used her. She felt no remorse for the hateful words she spoke.

One night in her room he had accidentally let it slip that he hadn't killed Rickon and Bran. He confessed that the two young children he had murdered had been a farmer's sons. She hated herself for how relieved she felt. Though she was glad that here brothers were safe, she felt horrible at the fact that she wasn't bothered that two random boys were killed in their place. That was the world she lived in, however. It was what it was and there was no changing it.

When the truth was out she was finally able to see Theon for who he had become. He was a broken and empty shell of the boy she grew up with. Her words full of hate turned to kind and uplifting words. Now instead of trying to hurt him every chance she got she tried to build him up. She refused to call him Reek and called him Theon Greyjoy instead. She reminded him he was heir to the Iron Islands. He tried to hush her every time she spoke but she would stare intently into his eyes and remind him time and again.

She needed him to be strong for her. He was her only connection to her past and her family. The only thing to remind her of a better time, before everything had changed. When Ramsay was around she had to remind herself to be indifferent towards Theon. She did not know what he would do if he discovered that his wife and his pet had mended their friendship and forged a bond. She was still strong enough to endure much more of his cruelty, but she didn't think Theon could. She knew he was on the brink of insanity and being lost completely.

One day as she walked along the battlements she came across Ramsay's scorned lover, Myranda. Her and Theon shared a look as the girl aimed an arrow at Sansa. Sansa told the girl she was ready to die, but the girl only laughed. "Silly girl, who said anything about dying?" Sansa's face fell as she realized the girl wouldn't take her out of her misery. Myranda taunted her still, lowering her bow and arrow to say "You can't die. Your father was Warden of the North. Ramsay needs you... Though I suppose he doesn't need all of you." She threatened and raised her bow once more. She asked Sansa "He doesn't need all of you, only the parts that will give him an heir. Should we wait for him to get back or should we begin now?" Sansa refused to respond, not giving her the satisfaction. Her plan failed. The girl responded "You're leaving it to me? Good." And she aimed her arrow at Sansa's arm. She shot the arrow but missed Sansa as Theon charged her and pushed her over the edge of the battlements. The girl screamed in horror as Theon pushed her to her overdue death. Her life ceased to exist once her body crashed upon the frozen stone below. Blood staining the ground around her.

Sansa and Theon looked to each their as the Bolton men rode though the gates of Winterfell. Panic had begun to set in as the realization of what had just happened sunk in. Theon grabbed her hand firmly and dragged her along, making her follow him. They stood on the ramparts and looked down at the snow covered ground. Theon grasped her hand firmly in his own and they looked at each other one last time before they jumped to their freedom or their death. Which one they would encounter, they did not know. As she fell she felt free for the first time in years. As the wind whipped though her hair she imagined she was flying and closed her eyes and smiled at the thought.

Lying on her back she wondered if she was still alive. After a few moments she believed that she wouldn't be in so much pain if she had perished. Theon stood first and reached a hand out to help Sansna stand and then they ran towards the gates of Winterfell and escaped with their lives. They ran and ran until they reached a river.

"You have to cross." Theon pleaded to her.

"Won't you come with me?" She asked him. He stopped and looked at her solemnly. "I can't." He said.

"You are my brother, Theon. I can't leave without you." She pleads to the eunuch, begging him to come with her.

He looks down, unable to look her in the eyes. He is no longer Theon Greyjoy. He is Reek. The creature that Ramsay created. But then, unexpectadly, Theon breaks though. "I must leave you. I am sorry Sansa, but I need to go home. I need to help Yara." Sansa nods her head and reaches out to him. She hugs him harder than she knew she had the strength to. She feels him resist the hug at first. The only thing he's felt physically for years was pain. Slowly he returned her hug and she heard him breathe in deeply, drawing out some of her strength to keep for himself. She let him go and they looked at each other another moment before he says "I will see you again, Sansa. I promise." She nods and watches him as he leaves her, headed south.

After he disappears she hears the hounds in the distance. She looked at the river with disdain, not wanting to go through the fridgid water. The dogs bark closer and she has no choice but to cross. Maybe she'll get lucky and the hounds will lose her scent. The water is unbearably cold as she puts her right foot in the water. She steps in only to fall back on the frozen bank. Her breathing is labored as she tries to ready herself to walk across. The hounds howl louder and closer to her than before. Fear grips ahold of her and she sucks in a deep breath as she stands and pushes through the pain of the freezing water and wades out across the river. She gasps loudly as the water comes up to her waist. She walks as fast as she can with her heavy winter dress and cloak on and struggles for air on the opposite shore. She falls to the ground and tries to catch her breath. As it steadies she stands and begins walking, lifting her drenched and heavy skirts as high as she can. She makes it to a fallen tree who's deep roots stand ten feet into the air. She is too cold and too close to death to continue on. She curls into the little fortress the roots have created and tries to disappear into the cold.

Time passes and she knows she must keep moving if she doesn't want to be discovered by Ramsay's men but she doesn't have the strength to stand. She is so cold. Too cold. She knows how dangerous getting wet in the cold North can be. She'd seen frozen bodies before, blue and black and hard as ice. Just as she was mustering up enough power in her body to stand she heard them. They were here.

Sansa peaked though the roots of the fallen tree and watched as the hounds lead their handler closer and closer to her. She saw two men riding horses behind the man leading the hounds. Her heart sank. She was found. There was no escaping her hell. She would be returned to Ramsay and she was certain she would receive the worst torture he had yet to bestow upon her. She lowered her head in acceptance of her fate. She vowed that moment that she would find some way to end things. Maybe if she taunted him he would get too carried away and finish her off himself. That way she wouldn't have to do it herself. All these thoughts ran through her mind in a matter of seconds. She longed for a dagger or shard of glass that she could plunge into her neck, granting her a swift death.

The hounds were louder now and when she looked up she could see them in the clearing mere feet away from her. She backed up against the dead tree as far as she could go as they came to bark at her feet. Their teeth showing, snarling and hungry, saliva dripping from their growling muzzles. Sansa whimpered as the man looked down at her with a satisfied grin on his face. "Lord Bolton will be happy to have you back home, my Lady." He taunted her. She was cold and wet and defeated. She lowered her head, waiting to be dragged from her hiding place and back inside the walls of Winterfell.

In the distance she heard the sound of hooves galloping towards them at a fast pace. Sansa kept her head downcast, assuming it was another Bolton man come to aid in her recapture. She shivered, curling into her cloak as much as she could. The hounds retreated and then ran off. She could hear their whines get farther away. She was perplexed as to why the handler would let them loose to run off but the despair she felt at her circumstance kept her from raising her head to investigate the cause. She heard the clank of swords meeting in a violent manner and yelped, afraid she was going to be struck down this instant. Isn't that what she was just wishing for, though?

Sansa could easily hear the grunts of the men as they fought and the screams as they died. Bones crunched and and cracked as punches landed on their intended target. Whoever had come was doing a fine job at killing the Bolton men, even though he was outnumbered. She wondered who'd be fighting against them, instead of with them. They held the North at this time.

Since crossing the river she couldn't keep the cold out. It had seeped through the thick layers of her cloak and dress and had permeated her skin, chilling her to the bone. She felt her breathing slow as the cold took hold of her like a vise and was slowly squeezing every ounce of life out of her that remained. As far as deaths went, this was about as lucky as she could have gotten. This would be a fairly painless death, slowly slipping into a sleep to never wake again.

The first thing she noticed was the silence. It was deafening. She heard heavy steps come towards her and she closed her eyes once more, surrendering herself to death. She begged for the end to come, for the darkness to take her into it's open arms and hold her there for all eternity. The man, she assumed it had been a man considering he had defeated three soldiers with relative ease, crouched down in front of her. She found the strength to open her eyes, but she did not look up at him. Instead she stared at his worn leather boots. They weren't really appropriate for the cold weather of the North, she thought to herself. Not thick enough souls to protect from the frozen ground underneath. She shivered and his hand reached out and stroked her cheek tenderly. Why was he being so gentle?

And then she heard the words that saved her. The only words that could filter through the cold and keep her skin from hardening like ice. They came from the least likely person in her life she had ever expected to protect her, but who always had. The sound of his rough, yet soft voice rang in her ears and gave her enough strength to look up into his brown eyes. "Don't worry Little Bird, I won't hurt you." A small sob escaped her as she looked into the eyes of her savior.

He reached forward for her and gathered her up in his arms. She noticed that he was not wearing his dark armor. He only had on a tunic with a vest and breeches and a heavy, brown cloak. "You're wet." He said, assessing her condition. He placed her back down on the cold ground and removed her cloak and replaced it with his own. It was warm and smelled of him. Of sweat, and wood, and blood. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, savoring the scent. Committing it to memory. He placed her cloak over the back of one of the horses that hadn't run off during the fight and lifted her into the saddle. He climbed up behind her and pulled her close to his chest, using the heat from his body to help warm her.

He whispered in her ear, "I will keep you safe." As he made his promise he kicked the horse to get it going. She nestled back into his chest and reveled in the warmth she found there. She closed her eyes and let him hold her upright in the saddle with one arm around her middle. She didn't have the strength to stay awake any longer and she fell asleep. She finally felt safe for the first time in years there in his arms.

A/N2: Song is Fly by Maddie and Tae