Sansa sat quietly in the wagon, she knew Petyr was staring at her, and she did not want to make conversation. Petyr was a man with unknown motives, for the most part. But Sansa knew he wanted her. Many men had, and like many men, he would not get her. But now, Sansa was to be wed, and to a Bolton of all people. It disgusted her. Sansa didn't want this marriage, and she knew that she could try to convince Petyr to let her stay with him. Yet, Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to stay with Petry either.

"Do I have to marry him?" She asked, turning her attention to Petyr.

"You'll be home, in Winterfell, my dear,"

Petyr wasn't found of the marriage either. He knew what the Bolton bastard was capable of, and knew what he would want to do to a girl like Sansa. But Petyr would have Sansa eventually, as long as everything worked out the way he thought it would.

"I could stay with you," Sansa almost whispered. She didn't want to stay with Petyr, but it would probably be better than marrying a man who flayed people for fun.

"I wish you could, Sansa, but you cannot." Petyr touched his hand to Sansa's face and curled a piece of her hair in his hand. It disgusted her, but Sansa had learned to hide her disgust.

Petyr leaned in as the wagon began to slow and kissed Sansa. He knew it would be one of the last chances he had to kiss her, so he savored it. When he backed away, the wagon had stopped completely, it was time for the two of them to greet the Boltons.

Sansa and Petyr rode in silence. The cold wind lashed at them, the horses, and everything else. This was the north, this was Winterfell, this was Sansa's home. She would make sure that the traitor Roose Bolton knew that. Sansa was no longer the naïve little girl that left Winterfell a few years ago. She was hardened by the things that had happened to her family and to her, and she wanted the north to be under the rule of a Stark again.

Petyr and Sansa dismounted their horses and stood in front of the two Boltons. Petyr smiled at Roose and shook his hand.

"Lord Bolton, I present to you, Lady Sansa Stark." Sansa smiled, and curtseyed. Her eyes flickered to Lord Bolton's bastard, he was staring at her with intense blue eyes. She extended her hand, and he kissed it, his blue eyes never leaving hers. Compared to Lord Bolton, he was very attractive, and he seemed to be very strong. Yet under it all, Sansa could sense his blood lust.

"Ramsay Bolton, my firstborn." Lord Bolton spoke. Sansa smiled again.

"A pleasure to meet you both." Her words were crisp like the winter air. Petyr and Lord Bolton headed off, with apparent business to attend to, leaving Sansa in the presence of Ramsay. He was still staring at her intently. To ease her mind, Sansa left, thinking about the words and whispers she had heard about the Bolton bastard.

Sansa walked around, but secretly heading towards the forest. Sansa had always loved going into the forest to think when she was a girl, maybe she'd feel the same after so much time. Sansa found a good place to sit and think when she heard footsteps behind her, she turned around, hoping it was no one threatening. It was Petyr, staring at her the way a hawk stares at its prey.

"I'm sorry to frightening you, Sansa." He cooed. Sansa smiled and let her body relax some.

"It's alright, don't worry about it." Petyr walked closer to Sansa and tried to keep her body as relaxed as possible. She had never been this alone with Petyr before, there was always someone close enough to hear her if she yelled for help, and now, there wasn't.

"I'm leaving tonight," Petyr remarked

"So soon?" He nodded, and stood right in front of her. There was hardly any room between the two of them, and Petyr wished desperately that he could close that gap and make Sansa his right where they stood. But, he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he put his hand on her cheek and pulled her in for a kiss, this one he wanted to make last. He wanted to do so many things, but she was promised to someone else. He pulled away, his left hand still laced in her auburn hair.

"You are so beautiful," He whispered, finally taking his hand out of her hair.

"I'll be married next time we meet." She said as she walked Petyr walk away. Sansa wanted to curse and scream at Littlefinger, but she stopped herself. If she wanted to reclaim the north, she would need alliances, and Littlefinger was a powerful man. Even still, Sansa wished him dead.

Sansa walked back from the forest, her mind wondering. She wanted to be like Margaery. She manipulated Joffrey, and he was a mad man. Margaery would know what to do with a man like Ramsay Bolton. But, it was becoming clear that Sansa was not like Margaery. Instead, Sansa held pent up rage, she wanted to fight, maybe even to kill. She wanted to show no mercy to those who had betrayed her family.

As Sansa headed towards her room, she noticed an open door, leading to what was possibly a strategy room. It was dark, so Sansa knew that no one would be in there. Her heart pounded as she slowly crept into the dark room, her eyes darted to the long table. There it was. The Boltons game of war. Sansa walked towards it, her hands touching the edge of the table, gliding along the edge. It was here that they planned to kill her brother. She picked up one of the pieces, the crest of the Bolton family—The flayed man. Sansa shook her head.

"I will avenge you brother, one day." Her voice was quiet, but she said the words with strength and finality. Sansa placed the flayed man back onto the table, shaking her head once more. Then, the door slammed shut. Sansa shuttered, wondering who heard her say those words.

"Don't let father catch you saying that." His voice rang out in the dark. Sansa was frightened, the most she had been since she'd arrived. She was alone and in the dark with Ramsay Bolton, a man known as the mad dog.

"I won't." Her lips trembled as she stumbled, using the table as a guide. Suddenly, she ran into something blocking her from inching farther along the table. It was an arm. She tried going back, but he had placed his other arm there, trapping her between him and the table. A candle lit behind her, and she saw his face. His blue eyes staring at her like they were earlier, only know they had an emotion she could not understand behind them, and on his breath she could smell the wine. He was most definitely drunk.

"Are you going to avenge your brother?" He asked, moving his face closer to hers.

"No, I'm not." He nodded, and leaned in, kissing her. His hands moved to cup her face, and he pushed himself closer to her. He pulled away, leaning in to whisper in her ear,

"I want you, Sansa Stark."

"Many men have, and yet, they did not have me." Her response was almost a growl. Ramsay looked up, smiling that strange smile of his. "But I will."

"Maybe." His smile grew at this, and he kissed her once more, grabbing her hip in one hand and her chin in the other. Sansa knew that she didn't want to marry Ramsay, but it seemed easy to please him. He was rather stupid while drunk though, and that frightened her.

Ramsay pulled away, then stumbled out the door, leaving Sansa to navigate to her room. She went to bed quickly, as she had a big day tomorrow.