It was the war horn that woke her. The deep and loud sound rang out over and over again until it seemed to be its own heartbeat. Sansa flew out of bed and her feet hit the cold stone floor hard. Gasping, she yanked on boots and pulled a loose and easy to get on woolen dress over her night shift. Her fingers fumbled as she fussed with the laces. There wasn't any time to do anything about her tangles of sleep-matted hair. The horn blared again and she let out a small whimper. She was almost out of her room when she remembered her brother Robb's most recent gift to her. Reaching into a carved wooden box that sat atop her dresser, she drew out the small dagger. It's handle was pure white bone and was shaped into that of wolf. Though the weapon still drew apprehension from her, Sansa slid it into its leather sheath and tucked in into the hidden pocket in her sleeve anyway.

As she slammed the wooden door of her room, shouts were coming from downstairs. Her brother's voice was the most prominent, along with the deep tone of her father. Looking down the hallway, her little sister, sword in hand, was in a similar state as herself: disheveled and in mismatched clothing, racing out of her room. "Arya!" Sansa called, running toward her. "What do we do?"

"Everyone's in the solar," the short and lithe girl answered. "They're getting armed. I came back up for Needle." She waved the sword their half-brother Jon had given her the same time Sansa had received her dagger. After the previous raid, their parents had decided to put propriety aside and make sure the girls knew how to defend themselves should the time come when it was necessary. Apparently, the time had come much sooner than expected.

The horn blared again, seemingly louder than before.

Sansa turned her head toward the noise. "Is it-"

"Aye. Vikings."

Another whimper escaped her lips but Arya didn't comment. Together the sisters ran down the steps and toward the sounds of rough voices and steel being drawn. In the solar lit only by the dim light of the early morning and a torch, her father and Robb were hastily strapping on armor. Jon was there, and Theon too-a boy older than Robb whom her father had taken in when he was only six. While her brothers looked grim, Theon's eyes were alight with anticipation.

"We must get to the cove, that's where they're like to come in. And if we get atop the bluff we'll have a height advantage," Jon said.

Theon shook his head, a mad light in his blue eyes. "Wait for them to come to us? Where's your sense of adventure? Mount the horses and ride to meet the bastards!"

Suddenly their mother Catelyn was there, little auburn haired Rickon clutching her skirts. Despite being pulled from her chambers, Sansa's mother still managed to look the part of a proper lady. "Girls," she called, calm even within the storm. "To the keep. We are going to the fort with the others. Quickly now, quickly."

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief at having direction, but Arya stomped her foot and twisted out of Catelyn's arms. "I want to fight! I'm not going to sit with a bunch of wailing women!"

The boys laughed, but Father only shook his head with a stern expression. He had his imposing two-handed sword by his side and stood tall in his armor. "You will leave with your mother, Arya. Now. Go. We will come for you when they're gone." He looked to his wife and held her face gently. "Stay safe."

Mouth set in a firm line, Catelyn replied, "And you as well." She spent a moment appraising her son who looked almost a man in his iron. "Be brave Robb. But not foolish. I love you." No parting words were spared on Jon or Theon, Sansa noted. She prayed for them anyway, trying to cast her wishes to any god listening.

Robb pushed his curly dark hair out of his eyes and nodded. With that, the girls were swept from the room and out of the warm house into the biting cold. Sansa blinked to adjust her eyes to the darkness and gasped at what she saw. Ships. Countless ships were being rowed at a furious speed toward their coast. The white sails billowed, hurrying the approach. When she squinted, she could make out dark figures standing on the deck. She could only look for a moment before she was being yanked by Arya after their mother. The horn was even louder outside as the three of them ran up the dirt road toward the fortress situated at the crest of their village. Around her, other women and children were making their way toward the keep as well. Noticeably less children than the last time they had ran toward their safe haven, Sansa couldn't help but notice. Her beloved brother Bran was one such missing child.

The last time the Vikings landed, only a few moons ago, the village had been unprepared. Their way had been a way of relative peace, men only knowing the fighting arts for tourneys or hunts. Yet war came to their shores anyway. A cruel short battle ensued that left Sansa's people with no livestock, burnt homes, stolen children and women, and slaughtered men. They were also left with a burning desire for vengeance. A desire that would be satisfied when the outlaws landed on their stony shore and found a different type of people than those they had last fought. A people with a rage.

When the horn abruptly stopped blaring, Sansa risked a glance behind her and saw the enemy ships scrape against the shore. The sound of the horn had been replaced by the war cry of men. Sansa shuddered as they finally reached the Ice Keep. The four of them were ushered inside along with a few other stragglers. Behind them, the stone door shut with a resounding bang. The Keep was the largest structure in the town, built with hardened black stone to shelter as many as a thousand men. Three sides faced land, and one was faced toward the sea. When it was built, many questioned its usefulness, but those who had feared days such as this persisted. It was a good thing they had.

All around her were the curt orders of the few men in arms that remained with the women, filtering the villagers through the second wall and then into the main hall of the keep. It was cold and damp, but Sansa could see women starting a great fire in the center pit. Children were crying and clinging to their mothers as the women joined in a circle of prayer. Catelyn kissed both girls on the head. "Do not leave this keep. Keep fast to each other. Sansa, watch over your sister." With that, she scooped up Rickon and made to join the others.

Sansa attempted to follow her, but Arya grabbed at her wrist. "Come on, don't you want to see?" Her grey eyes were pleading and she was tugging the direction of the steps, leading to the second level balcony which oversaw the town.

Before she could make up her mind whether it was a good idea or not, Arya was slipping away from her, ducking underneath the arm of a busty woman carrying two squabbling children. "Arya!" Sansa yelled, running after her. "Mother said to stay together! Arya!"

Seeing no choice, Sansa followed her defiant sister and ascended the steep stairs. Stupid, stupid, reckless girl, Sansa thought angrily. Arya was always doing this-pretending to be a soldier, doing everything possible to prove that she would never be a lady. Normally Sansa was good at ignoring her sister's dirty cheeks and generally unpleasant smell but it was at times like this, where her need to prove herself was downright idiotic that she wished for a different sibling. Just when she thought she had lost her to the crowds of the milling soldiers that had stayed at the keep in case the Vikings made it so far, Sansa spied her dark-haired sister on her toes peering over the stone wall. The wind on the balcony was bitterly cold and she smelled the promise of snow in the air.

Relief spread through Sansa's core as she jogged over to where Arya was standing. "Mother told you not to leave me, Arya! Do you always have to be so-"

Her comment was lost to the wind as she gazed down on the scene unfolding in the village only a few hundred yards away. There was fire. Fire everywhere. It was a bright and deadly contrast to the dim early morning light around them. The screams of men were matched only by the screaming of dying horses. A dozen houses were already aflame and by the amount of torches being carried by the intruders, it seemed many more were on their way to ashes. "Oh gods," Sansa murmured, her hand fluttering to cover her mouth. Down below, she heard the women begin to sing a hymn, but their song was overpowered by the song of steel outside. Arya was staring blankly at the carnage, clutching her sword to her side.

"Why are they here?!" Arya screeched. "Didn't they take enough last time? Don't they no we have nothing left?" Sansa could only shake her head, horrified at the carnage. It was true, they had nothing left to give. The Vikings' last visit had left the town starving, and with winter upon them, hope was bleak. What more could they take?

Sansa jumped when a hand laid heavily on her shoulder. A young soldier, only a few years older than herself leaned in toward the two of them. "They're 'ere for you."

"Get away from her!" Arya shouted and pointed Needle in the boy's face. He merely laughed and raised his hands in surrender.

Sansa stepped back and asked, "What do you mean, for us?"

The boy smiled and picked up his spear. "I 'eard that some plague got the Vikings' women. They came 'ome and all they see is dead bodies. Children dead too. Well, if the women are gone, then who's gonna make the new little Vikings, eh? So they go from town to town, looking for the pretty ones." With that he leered at Sansa and reached to touch her hair. "Don't worry lass, I'll protect you. And then maybe you and I could make a little Viking eh?"

This time Arya poked him with the blade hard enough to draw a prick of blood. Still, the boy only laughed and then he walked away, back to his post with the others. Sansa turned to Arya, worry stricken across her features. "Do you think he was telling the truth? They've come to steal wives?"

For a long time Arya said nothing and merely watched the battle continue to unfold in the village. "I don't know. But it's true enough that we have nothing else worth shit."

Sansa found that for once she did not even have the strength to reprimand her for her language. All at once, a column of riders broke out of the village and began to ride hard for Ice Keep. "Look!" Sansa shouted, pointed toward the progression. "Are they ours? Can you see Robb or Father?"

The soldiers that had just been joking around them sprang to action, gripping spears and swords and shouting commands. Arya's face blanched. "They wouldn't be getting ready to fight if they were our men. Come on!" Her little sister pulled her away from the wall and around the side of the fort toward the backside, away from the battle. They ran against the tide of men running toward the front wall. Sansa could hear the sound of bows being strung and launched behind her - and the sound of those arrows finding their targets. "We have to get out of here, they'll break through soon enough. If we leave though the back, maybe we'll have a shot of getting into the woods."

Sansa merely nodded at her sister, allowing her to lead. "What about Mother? Rickon?"

Arya just shook her head and continued running. A tremor began to reverberate throughout the fortress. Sansa was wondering what was causing it when men began to shout, "A ram! They've brought a ram! To the door!"

A battering ram? What could they possibly have that was so important the Vikings would bother to bring a ram for? Could the soldier have been right? Women? Sansa felt tears pricking her eyes and refused to think of the thought. Surely they couldn't be worth all this trouble. She knew one thing for certain, Winterfell village was her home, she would die before she allowed herself to be stolen by her brother's murderers.

"There has to be a way down..." Arya muttered to herself as they neared the back wall. Ahead was a short stone wall and over it, two stories down and then free land into the forest. But as far as Sansa could see, there was no way over it, and they certainly couldn't go back downstairs and be stuck inside when the door broke open. Her palms began to sweat and the tears were flowing freely now, there was no escape.

Her sister reached the back wall and glanced over it for only a second before cursing and jumping back so far she landed on her back. Sansa's eyes went wide but before she could ask what had happened, Arya screamed, "They're coming over the back wall! They're climbing the back wall! Get your bloody arses over hear! THEY'RE CLIMBING!"

The soldiers turned to respond, but it was too late. Sansa watched with terror as huge figures pulled themselves over the wall with a strangled battle cry. Arya was up already with sword in hand but Sansa saw how futile her battle was. These men were the largest she had ever seen and there were too many. Too, too many.

One made to grab Arya but a raspy voice commanded, "Too young. Leave her. Mayhaps we'll get her a few years from now!" That drew laughs from the men. Sansa turned to face the speaker and screamed. Though long black hair attempted to hide it, half of his face was ruined, a sickening red mess that only fire could leave. He towered over the already huge men and scars laced down his bulging arms. He was a monster. A Viking. This is how I die, Sansa thought, petrified. She must have whimpered, for the monster turned toward her and locked his eyes with hers. Grey eyes, filled with hatred and bloodlust that made Sansa weak at the knees. He started toward her with a slight smirk and forced herself to move.

"I am a Stark," she told herself, backing away. "I am of the First Men. I am the blood of the wolf, I am not afraid."

"Really, girl?" The man rasped with amusement. "You looked damned terrified to me. But no matter, I like a fighter."

A sudden rage bubbled up inside Sansa like she had never known before. She would never be his. Never. With only this thought in mind, she turned on her heel and sprinted toward the edge of the wall that overlooked the sea. She could smell the salty air mixed with the smell of burning. He will not have me, she swore to herself desperately. I am a Stark of Winterfell. His heavy footsteps rang out behind her on the stone.

"A wolf can't fly, girl!" He shouted behind her. She leaped from the stone up onto the precarious edge of the fort. Below her, the sea rolled and thrashed angrily against the rocks. She couldn't allow herself to think, or else she would be far too afraid.

"Good thing I'm a bird," she called. And the she leapt from the ledge and dove into the sea.

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