Cross the Line

Chapter One

The North, as always, was bitterly cold.

The northern winds were strong today, blowing with them the iciness from beyond the wall. Or perhaps it was the breath of those spoken of in hushed whispers by drunken men- the Others, the White Walkers.

Sansa shivered at the thought. It was not something she cared to think about, but Jon believed in them, said he'd even fought them. These mythical creatures of old had shown themselves to the King in the North, and now he was on a crusade to unite all the Seven Kingdoms against this ancient evil. It reminded her of the Targaryens, the Conquerors who were the first to unite all the Seven Kingdoms.

Under their reign, there had been good times, yet such horrible things happened too.

In these recent days, Sansa had begun to wonder if perhaps it was the end of the Targaryen reign that brought the icy demons back from the dead, the fire of dragons unable to subdue them any longer.

If the blood of Old Valyria still sat upon the throne, if the reign of Fire and Blood had never ended, would the Others, the White Walkers, have come back to the realm of men?

Sansa wasn't sure. The blood of the dragons didn't matter to her much; here in the North, wolf-blood was all that mattered. Her Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna had wolf-blood running in their veins. Sansa's father, the Quiet Wolf, had once said that their wolf-blood led them both to early deaths. Arya had the wolf-blood, too, as had Rickon. As a child, Sansa had worried for them often, worried they would meet similar fates to their father's siblings.

Well, she'd been right about Rickon.

Sansa brushed a tear from her eye, the tear burning her skin where it touched. It stung due to the frigid air, but it did not sting as much as her brother's death. Sometimes, she wished Lord Ramsay Bolton was still alive so she could kill him all over again.

Sansa shook her head, thinking she sounded like Arya. Arya had thought of killing men even in their youth- Sansa shared the sentiment now. She'd seen the darkness in men's hearts, and she never wished to be the target for their torture ever again.

Sometimes, instead of fantasizing of killing Ramsay all over again, she wished that Myranda had killed her when she'd had the chance. Instead, Myranda had met a sudden end and Sansa had lived to see her baby brother die.

Sansa watched Lady Brienne train Podrick, a sweet man if ever there was one. Sansa sometimes envied Lady Brienne- she wasn't very attractive to most, leading men to ignore her, and she was big enough and skilled enough to fight off any man who did pursue her. Sansa could not imagine Lady Brienne falling victim to the men who'd preyed on Sansa. Sansa became a plaything as soon as she entered the world; but Brienne, Brienne was no plaything, and anyone who treated her as such would promptly be proven wrong at the edge of a blade.

She was what Sansa imagined Arya would be like, given the training she'd wanted as a child.

Sansa smiled then.

The smile died when Lord Baelish decided to join her.

"Ah, the radiant Lady of Winterfell. How have the title and duties been treating you?"

"They've treated me well, Lord Baelish," Sansa replied coldly. She wore a mask once more, hiding every thought in her head. Baelish exploited those thoughts, weaknesses, just as Sansa did. He taught her, just as Cersei, Joffrey, Margaery, and even Ramsay had. They all taught her lessons she wouldn't soon forget.

"I'm glad that you are fairing well in your position, but you seem unhappy. I want to see you happy, Sansa. How can I make you happy?"

"A moment's peace, perhaps," she replied coolly, then worried she'd revealed too much of the game.