Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair

And I eat men like air

Sylvia Plath, "Lady Lazarus"

Walk Through Fire

Sansa Stark knelt in the cool grass. The thin blanket of snow that had covered the ground since the end of the Great War had started to thaw. Her knees were damp, and the cool Northern wind chilled her cheeks. The ground at her feet was burned black like coal. She could still smell the smoke in the air, and still see the small fires peeking out through the mounds of charred ash and bone that lay at the feet of the huge black dragon that sat before her. Tears stung her eyes as she looked once more at the pile of blackened bones and soot, trying to pick out something familiar, or someone familiar. The air was still heavy with the smell of burning flesh. Jon. Tyrion. Arya. Now, it was her turn.

The rough hands of the Dothraki guards holding her seemed to tighten their grip as they approached the smoking heaps of bone and ash. They spoke to their queen from afar in deep, guttural tones, sharp enough to cut her flesh, and Sansa felt like a toy in their hands. They thrust her forward, towards the spot where the piles of ashes sat still smoking, and presented her to their Queen. Sansa took a small step forward. She breathed in, and closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer to the Stranger. She intertwined her fingers, stretching out her hands. Her hands had been tied together behind her back; she had gotten used to pressure of the ropes that bound her wrists, but her fingers felt numb and stiff. A loud snorting sound came from the direction of the ebon dragon, and Sansa suddenly looked up. The dragon's eyes were piercing through her. They shimmered like gold in the sun.

The sun. Sansa wanted one last look at the sun. She wanted to see the sun, and feel it warming her face. She looked at it now, behind Daenerys shoulder, just beyond her death. She turned her face towards it, and savored the feel of it, even as it stung her eyes. She cast her eyes towards the bright blue sky over Winterfell, where she was born, and where she would die. The sky was as clear and as blue as a Robin's egg, betraying nothing of the horrors that lay before her. She looked intently at the clouds, desperately trying to dampen the fear that chilled her through. She looked at Daenerys, studying the hard line of her jaw. She felt her stomach roiling, her feet felt heavy and clumsy, and she tried to will herself away from this place, if only in spirit. She thought of her father, and of Jon, and of Arya. She thought of her mother. She thought of the spark in Tyrion's eyes, as he threw his Hand of the Queen pin at Daenerys' feet in his last act of defiance. She whispered a prayer to the old gods, and hoped that they would hear her. She was far from the heart tree now. Her trial and execution were taking place just outside the gates of the castle. The Dragon Queen sat before her, glaring down at her with an air of disappointment. At one time, she had thought them friends. That had to have been a million moons ago. They had fought the war together. The dead had been beaten. But it wasn't enough . " Nothing was enough ." Sansa thought. Daenerys saw enemies everywhere. Jon was a threat to her. Sansa was a threat to her. Tyrion had betrayed her. She had judged them all guilty of treason. Now, here she sat, the " last Targaryen" astride a large black dragon, dealing out death indiscriminately. She turned her glare towards Sansa looking down as she sat astride Drogon, her amethyst eyes studying the faces of the Northerners as they watched her in fear. They had gathered to watch their chosen Queen be put to death for treason.

Sansa Stark was the first and the last Queen of the North to rule in her own right. Her brother Jon had been burned to ashes right before her eyes, right outside the very gates she stood before now. Tyrion had met the same fate.

The Dothraki guard eyed her, and whispered things to each other. One of them said something to Daenerys in a harsh tongue, and her eyes turned towards Sansa. There was a long silence before Daenerys addressed Sansa directly. "Well," she said, "do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Sansa laughed. She looked into Daenerys' eyes, and she laughed, saying "I would do the same thing again. You are no queen, " Sansa spat at the ground in front of Daenerys' feet, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Dracarys." She heard it like a whisper. It was fast, but the pain was excruciating. In an instant Sansa was on fire. She saw herself burning. She writhed in agony, and saw the reflection of it in the eyes of her people. She felt her skin peeling away like the rind of an orange. She heard the inhuman screams coming from her throat, as if they were coming from someone else. The pain became so overwhelming within a few moments that Sansa no longer felt anything. Soon, there was nothing to feel, only darkness.

She thrashed and wailed. She was burning.

"Sansa!"

She heard a voice. It was a woman's voice.

She heard a steady drumbeat of footsteps approaching her door. She heard herself screaming out into the dark of her room.

Her mother grabbed her by the shoulders. "You're having a nightmare."

Sansa's body couldn't stop shaking. She was glued to her bedclothes, and soaked in sweat. She wiped her forehead with the arm of her chemise, and her chemise smelled like smoke.