To Heal A Broken Bird

Battle Of The Bastards

Sansa stared down at the Stark sigil drying on the letter. Her insides were wrought with turmoil and nerves. And nausea threatened to erupt in a cascade of chucked up food. But despite it all, she refused to allow guilt to rise to the surface. Writing this letter was absolutely essential for them to survive.

Their attempt to rally Northern houses had not gone as well as they had imagined it would. Although they had the Mazins, the Hornwoods and the Mormonts on their side, major Northern houses had turned them down, such as the Glovers, the Manderlys, House Cerwyn. Plus there was the problem of the traitorous Karstarks and Umbers. It all boiled down to them having a shortage of men. They had half of Ramsay's number which would not do at all.

Sansa wasn't sure if Littlefinger would reply, but she was banking on his need to have her rely on him. Rescuing her would fuel the hero complex that he thrived on when he was around her. She hurried out of her tent, walking briskly to where the ravens were kept. As the raven set off with her scroll attached to its leg, all Sansa could do was hold on to that bit of hope that refused to die. It was humiliating to have to rely on Littlefinger again, but she couldn't dwell on it. Not when all of their lives depended on him rallying to her side with the Knights of the Vale.

Jon mustn't know. Of that much she was sure of. He couldn't plan his battle strategy around a wild card that might or might not come through. If he relied on the Knights of the Vale and Littlefinger failed them, the consequences would be catastrophic. Sansa was convinced that a surprise ambush was the best way to utilize this possible wild card. That way Ramsay couldn't be tipped off and their chances of failure would be dramatically decreased.

She was aware that a great number of men would die before the Vale army arrived, and she mourned their impending deaths just as she mourned Rickon's. But she knew that this was a sacrifice that had to be made because if they failed, the North would bleed. Ramsay wouldn't only punish her, he would punish everyone.

To keep her mind calm, Sansa busied herself by helping to skin some of the prey that were caught. When the blade accidentally cut her finger, she barely flinched, simply holding up the injured finger and staring at it as the blood welled and oozed. A vacant look had overtaken her eyes as if her mind was somewhere far away; lost in another time. And when she returned to her surroundings, Sansa realized to her surprise, that her finger was being treated and wrapped. She turned her head slightly, to find Jon's eyes on her, an unsettled look on his face.

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Jon kept asking her if she would rather stay at base while he went to meet with Ramsay pre-battle. She turned him down. When they reached the open fields, Ramsay and his men were small specks in the horizon that increased in size the closer their horses rode, both sides riding forward to close the gap between them.

Jon turned to her again when they stopped at the neutral half way mark, waiting for Ramsay and his men to reach them and halt. "You don't have to be here," he told her

"Yes I do," Sansa confirmed. She turned her attention forward, steeling herself as he drew up and stopped a mere few feet away. The memories threatened to overwhelm her as her insides suddenly felt cold. He was staring at her and she hoped that her body wouldn't betray the faintness that was creeping up or the slight trembling hidden beneath her heavy dress. She took a few calming breaths, her eyes growing frigid as a smirk broke across his face.

"My beloved wife. I've missed you terribly," he greeted, his voice pleasant, his eyes cold and taunting.

Sansa felt a chill, but Jon moved his horse closer to hers, offering silent support. She braced her shoulders and held her head high and regal as she studied Ramsay in a dispassionate manner. The longer he spoke, the more a cold, detached, calmness spread throughout her body. She stared at him and all she could picture was his death. She listened as he taunted Jon, observing calmly as if witnessing the scene from a great distance. She unhurriedly skimmed her gaze over Ramsay's men, making sure that she saved a scathing look for the traitorous Smalljon Umber and Harald Karstark.