Sansa hummed to herself, kneeling in the snow and facing the snarling dogs. She ignored the wretched figure of what was Theon (now Reek) lurking in the background, focusing on what she was doing.

Even though it was freezing cold and her knees hurt from kneeling on the hard ground, Sansa was not leaving until she did what she had set out to do.

What she had been doing since she'd come back to Winterfell and learned of them.

Ramsay's infamous hunting dogs.

"What vicious animals you are," she murmured, reaching out.

One of them snarled and snapped its jaws at her hand, though it hadn't bit her. Good, they were learning.

So far, she had managed to get these dogs tamed enough that they no longer were fighting against their chains to escape and attack her. Instead, while not yet docile, they stood at the ready for her, snarling still but sitting and watching her. It was a far cry from the beginning and it made Sansa slowly smile to herself.

Lady was long gone, her sweet and gentle Lady. These dogs were not Lady, not sweet and gentle at all. But they were here and they were going to be hers.

She swore it.

"Down," she kept her voice firmed and though they snarled, their sitting forms lay down, growling under their breaths as they stared at her with their beady eyes.

She smiled sadly at them. "Good boys," she said softly, their snarls turning into low growls, their ears flattening a little as their countenance grew just a bit gentler for her.

Yes, a far cry from before indeed.

Sansa reached for the bag and took out the piece of raw meat she had cut up. It wasn't a lot, not with their stores as they were, but it was fit for these dogs and a treat they never got from anyone. They were never treated kindly or given things, so it wasn't actually that hard for her to have attained their attention and this small bit of affection she'd gleaned from them.

Ramsay treated his dogs better than humans, but that wasn't saying much. Even his dogs meant nothing to him and she wasn't going to let them waste away for a bastard like him.

They were married after all and what was his was hers, if the opposite was focused on and held true for everyone.

Once each of the dogs had their treat and were chewing on the meat, she leaned in more towards them and focused on each of their eyes. She took a deep breath and focused. Sansa furrowed her eyebrows as she set out to warg with each of them, determined to tame them more and attune them with her and her with them. Further their attachment to her, outside of what attachment she'd earned through her continuous visits and attention.

These were her dogs now, damned Ramsay all to every Seven Hells.

~⸹⸹⸹~

Her body was still stiff and sore, but she walked listlessly through the halls, reading the books diligently. Thanks to the combined works of the others, as well as her and Lord Bolton's notes and their own work on running of Winterfell and the North, things were stabilizing enough and they'd gained substantial needed information about their odds against the winter and how they'd fare with what they had (along with the rest of the North). There was still plenty more for them to do and more for them to figure out, but at the moment, they'd done a lot to not be floundering foolishly.

"Lady Stark," someone outright called her, making her body tense up and worsening the soreness of her body.

Turning to the quiet voice, she recognized the Bolton soldier who'd called out to her —the leader of the group she'd somehow gotten to run into several times now.

"Captain Walton, my Lady," he introduced himself. "But they call me Steelshanks."

"Captain Steelshanks," she smiled tightly, trying to surreptitiously lean against the wall. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Not at all, my Lady," he said politely. "You just looked unsteady."

Her face blushed, irritated with herself for showing weakness. To her surprise, he moved closer and subtly helped her, holding her steady as he started walking.

"I was thinking, Lady Stark, that we could talk on how to bolster the security of the castle. Winter is here and we must account for the weather, especially as it is noticeably much more colder than it has ever been."

While she no doubt thought this was a valid inquiry and he was serious about it, part of her was suspicious and thought he was trying to help her maintain an image as he helped her along.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Over here, my Lady!" He steered her towards a different retinue of soldiers. He introduced them and she remembered their faces and names, continuing on with Steelshanks as he held her steady and familiarized her with the other Bolton soldiers and had them formally introduced to her.

She took the introductions seriously, making sure they knew she wasn't just going through the motions. She was in her mind and heart, the Lady of Winterfell after her lady mother's passing. And it was best for her to act like it and to think of them all as guests and not as invaders, as pests, as-as —

"My Lady?"

"Forgive me, I was momentarily distracted," she spoke quietly.

He gave her a faint smile. "You are a Bolton now, Lady Stark. I was just trying to remind you of that, and that that means we are all under your command now as well."

Though her feet didn't falter, what he said gave her pause and she silently examined the man's casual gait and his disarming content smile.

~⸹⸹⸹~

When she'd parted from Captain Steelshanks' side, she'd managed to find Lady Walda. The older woman was pleased to run into her as well and began to gleefully tell her about her progress on the books Sansa had given her to read. They was small, easy books that were made for children to learn to read, and Sansa had thought that after their long hours of their first lessons, she'd managed to teach Lady Walda enough of the basics that she'd be able to roughly read her way through the children's books.

She also, as she remembered her teachings from her lady mother and her septa, began to teach Lady Walda of what she should've expected were her duties as Lady of Winterfell. As any Lady of a castle. She also started in on her numbers, teaching her to add and take away, how that would apply to a keep's finances and accounting, the way she could also keep it in mind in regards to rationing.

Sansa just hadn't expected Roose to find them and walk in on their lessons.

He did, surprisingly enough, actually had a confused look on his face as he found them. It was even more surprising that he looked rather adorable like that (or that she even found him capable of looking adorable). He would probably not appreciate her thinking he was, at any rate.

"May I ask what it is that you two are doing?"

"Lady Sansa is teaching me so much!" Lady Walda exclaimed in delight.

She began excitedly recounting everything that Sansa had thought to teach her, even bringing up how this came about in her own embarrassment (and some of Sansa's, as Roose shot her an amused look).

"Is that so?" he said and she swore she heard the undertone of mocking in his tone.

Was he mocking her or Lady Walda? She narrowed her eyes at him, not happy either way. His lips briefly flitted into a smirk, before it quickly ceased back to his usual neutral line.

"Yes, very much so," her voice was hard and she could tell he heard it, his damnable lips twitching.

Amused at her, was he!

"Very good," he said, his voice its usual calm. "Thank you, Lady Sansa, for your help and your thoughtfulness to my lady wife."

He made an odd sort of frown though and she wondered at that.

"I also appreciate your help in regards to the duties of the castle and with the overseeing of the North. It is of great support to me."

Sansa inwardly reeled back, mostly because he sounded and looked sincere. It unnerved her, especially as his gaze became so serious and he did that ridiculously intense stare towards her.

"I would ask that you continue to do so and will have it known that you will be officially in charge of those duties and supporting me in the duties I similarly have to perform."

He minutely nodded towards her and then left them behind.

Did...did Lord Bolton just sanction her overseeing Lady Walda's duties and more or less named her de facto Lady of Winterfell?

Sansa shivered and glanced at Lady Walda hesitantly, seeing only the other's cheerfulness.

~⸹⸹⸹~

It did not take long for Roose to find her. She seemed to have an affinity for his solar when she would find a place to seek quiet and peace. In the days that passed and as she healed, he would often find her lingering around there.

Perhaps it reminded her of her lord father, perhaps it was a place she knew Ramsay would not look for her in or wanted to be in.

But it pleased him all the same, as it was where he was usually located when he did not make his rounds around the castle (made all the more obsolete after her own efforts in running the castle and setting organized and well structured plans in place).

"I have brought something for us to eat," he told her, setting down the small tray of assorted things.

She glanced quietly at him. "Dinner was served."

"We had dinner, yes, but if we have a long night, a little something will keep our energy up," he replied, keeping his tone light. "And it is more sweet than it is hearty."

Lady Sansa watched him curiously, unfurling from her curled up form by the fireplace.

"Will I see you often here?" he asked, moving closer and sitting on the floor next to her. He glanced at the fire and decided there was enough kindling in place that he did not need to place more.

"I often sat in Tywin Lannister's solar as he worked," she admitted to him quietly. "I did not bother him. I promise I will not bother you."

He eyed her, hiding his unease. "I will not be bothered, but be most content for you to seek your peace here with me."

Still, the thought that she might've formed an attachment of sorts to the Old Lion was unsettling and curious. He would be keen to prod further into it later on, when she continued to admit more of her truths to him.

He pulled the tray closer to him. "The cook has had to become a little creative with our stores, considering the incoming harsh winter and our already lack of supplies. He came up with this sweet marmalade that he made with a mix of fruits and some honey, I believe. These red fruits came from White Harbor from the last supply run they were able to send. They just cultivated it, though we won't be able to rely on them for more supplies until the snow drifts have slowed."

"Those are strawberries," she pointed out, glancing at him from under her lashes. "In King's Landing, they were in abundance. They are sweet."

He picked one up and offered it to her, though he moved his hand away when she attempted to take it from him. Flustered, she moved closer and her lips parted. He watched in amusement as she shyly bit into the fruit, moving quickly away after. He dropped the leafy top back on the tray and idly examined his juice-stained fingers.

Roose brought them to his mouth and let his tongue flick out to taste them.

"It is sweet," he concurred, slyly watching her and entertained to find her getting even more flustered. "But I confess they are mostly for you, so allow me to feed you, my Lady."

He grabbed another strawberry and held it up to her in offering. After a moment longer of hesitation, she scooted closer and leaned in again.

Roose smiled to himself.

"Lady Sansa," he murmured when she had straightened up again. His hand chased after her lips, pressing his thumb against them before he traced her lower lip and watched it tremble intently. "I would like to ask something of you."

"Yes, Lord Bolton?" she asked unsurely.

He moved his eyes away from her lips to her startling blue eyes. "Here, in my solar at least, would you refer to me as your lord husband?"

He heard but said nothing of her shocked gasp, waiting calmly for her answer.

"Even if it is...pretend," he frowned to himself, before refocusing his intense focus on her. "I would like to speak of you, speak to you as my lady wife."

She continued to stare at him in shock, but he said and did nothing to push her.

"If it so pleases my lord husband," she finally said, watching him back now with a flushed look.

He closed his eyes, savoring the moment and recalling it again. When he opened his eyes again, he stared into those bright blue eyes of hers.

"It does, Wife." And that made him inordinately pleased. But it also made the truth of the reality much more stark in comparison. He cupped her face and smiled wryly. "I should've been your husband. I should have married you myself," he confessed.

I want to be your lord husband, but this ruse is all I have.

That admission, even if it was to himself, was too vulnerable and not something he expected to think. It had come out of nowhere and he was more and more uneasy with this.

"I would've been much more pleased with that match than what I have," she said plainly and all other thoughts ceased in his head.

He was a man with wants and ambitions, and he did not deny himself.

~⸹⸹⸹~

Lord Bolton made her dizzy with his intensity and desire. And to want her to call him her lord husband! She had no idea what was going through his head, but this was not something she could have predicted; she doubted even the Great Lion Tywin Lannister himself could have.

Since that last time with Ramsay, since that time he'd held her and her breathing with him, steady breaths that intimately linked their breathing and bodies together, Lord Bolton had done nothing but haunt her every thought.

It was clear now, too, that she'd been haunting him, and for a very long time.

She could not pinpoint when, but she understood this was not a recent thing. He'd, now, very clearly admitted that he'd wanted to have married her, and wanted to be her lord husband —a thing she'd suspected before, but now had confirmation from Lord Bolton himself.

She did not understand him. Sansa could not read him anymore than anyone else, but to her, he seemed exceedingly mysterious because of his desire of her. Desire she had no idea where it had come from.

He held out another strawberry for her, and she couldn't help the way her cheeks warmed or the avoidance of his intense gaze.

"Prove it."

Gods, why did she have to challenge him like that? He said he'd make a believer out of her and he was exceeding so far and it terrified her.

All she'd known and had thought was that every touch on her person would bring on pain, but Lord Bolton had all but shown her the opposite and made her body react unexpectedly, in ways she wasn't used to.

Even now, feeding her like this, made butterflies fly frantically around in her stomach. If she didn't distract herself, she might either end up begging him to stop his torment and show her truly what he meant or run from him.

"You had a son before," she found herself asking. "Domeric. I remember hearing of his passing. I'm...sorry for your loss."

She didn't know why she brought that up. Of all the things...Maybe it was the thought that she was stuck with his other son, his legitimized bastard who she she hated and admitted wanted dead. But it made her wonder about his other son and what he was like...

"He was a little older than you," he murmured. Lord Bolton put down the next strawberry he'd been picking up. "Quiet, calm. More like me than Ramsay, though Ramsay has more of my...violent tendencies," which made her shiver, though she saw that had in return made him frown. "He was, truthfully, my pride and joy, if someone like me could experience joy," he mused.

She did not think he couldn't. Something told her he was capable of it, if unused to it or showing it.

"He would've been a good husband to you," he said, voice still that same quiet. "If he'd been alive, I would have wedded you to him, not Ramsay. You would've been better off."

"Would you act like you are now still?" she asked curiously.

That made him visibly pause. "Yes," he confessed. "You would've still tempted me, but I would've felt guiltier."

"And do you feel guilt now?"

He scoffed. "Not at all. If it had been Domeric, most probably. But with Ramsay as your husband, absolutely not. Not that I'm a man likely to feel or suffer guilt."

More and more, he confused and conflicted her. He was, even admitted by himself, not the kind of man her father would have wanted for her and was callous as they come. But with her, he wasn't that same man for some reason. It made her suspicious and yet torn.

She shouldn't be content or remotely at ease with him, not when she knew who he was and what he'd done. He'd killed her brother, had helped caused Robb and her mother's deaths and had personally killed Robb himself.

But then she remembered that they were dead and she was still alive, and she lived in different hells and had only one reprieve in the form of this man.

What bit of happiness she could claim, she'd greedily grab hold.

Her family wasn't here to judge her. She had no more family left to judge her. She had no one left.

None but Lord Bolton ironically.

"You're lost in thought, Wife," he said in observation and she noted how he oddly seemed to relish calling her that.

It astounded her how such a simple thing pleased him, but though he seemed complicated and obviously ambitious, he was also a cautious and quiet, calm man. "A Peaceful Land, A Quiet People" she'd heard him promote once, especially to Ramsay in a chance encounter when she overheard him lecturing her lord husband. He was not the type to lash out like Ramsay, nor was he one to overstep or overreach when he wasn't sure of the results.

Unbidden, she did end up wondering what, then, would have made him betray Robb...

"It's just that, lord husband," she tacked on, watching him carefully and seeing a pleased light enter his eyes, "how did Domeric die? I'm not sure, but I heard it was sickness..."

She saw him grow stiff, frowning down at the tray of fruits and the untouched marmalade. She almost took it back, understanding that she'd upset him.

"It was sickness," he finally said, making her relax, but only briefly as he continued. "That is what was told. It is not proven or widely spread, but he was probably murdered by Ramsay."

She looked at him in shock.

Lord Bolton frowned even more. "My trueborn son admittedly had a softer heart than I. He'd learned of my bastard and wanted to meet his half-brother. He'd always wanted a sibling, but I had no other inclinations of marrying again or fathering another child since I'd had him as my heir. I also, despite Ramsay, am not in the habit of fathering bastards. Obviously, as you know Ramsay's nature best, Domeric knew no better. With no other children, I had no choice but to take Ramsay in."

Sansa bit her lip, but the kindness in her heart could not stop her from reaching over and grabbing his hand and holding on. He gave their hands an odd look, but said nothing about it, keeping his hand still.

"It is all well," Lord Bolton said indifferently, but Sansa refused and believed him not to be. "Ramsay is all I have left, so it falls on me to...correct his behavior."

Honestly, she doubted that even Lord Bolton would be capable of it.

"Lady Walda is fertile and a Frey," she found herself idly musing aloud, a little amusement leaking in. Then she blinked and turned red, looking at him sheepishly and just a bit mortified at the inappropriate remark that had slipped out. "Er, that is, if you were looking to father more children! She's still young and Frey's are known to be fertile. You'll have no trouble, I suppose —" And she kept digging her own hole, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment.

But his hand tugged her wrists away and she looked up to apologize to him, only to inhale sharply at the look in his eyes, especially with his gaze drawn to her stomach.

"It would not be with her I'd like my seed to quicken in," he murmured, gaze too hungry to be appropriate.

Not that he ever truly was with her.

She took a shuddering breath, done so often with him, and tentatively reached out to lightly push him away and create more space between them.

"Despite whatever you call me, I am not actually your lady wife, Lord Bolton," she breathed out, regret strangely filling her.

Then again, she told him she would've preferred marrying him to Ramsay, and it was true. Had she known about Ramsay, she would never have agreed to this marriage, would have told Petyr she would never agree to it. If he'd suggested Lord Bolton as an alternative, perhaps then she would've been more willing to play her part. As it stands, she felt cursed to just suffer.

She saw him frowning again and flinched. Of course she'd made him unhappy. That had not been her intent, even as it was the truth. Biting down on her lips, she clumsily reached out to grab a slice of apple and dipped it into the marmalade, holding it out to him.

A brief look of surprise crossed his face before he stared at her, his unreadable face making her feel foolish and silly for doing this and continuing to just hold out the apple slice like she was. But then his hand reached to grasp her wrist, lifting it up and pulling her hand towards him. His pale eyes, like the gray tints in marble, watched her the entire time, never looking away from her own eyes.

His lips slowly curved slightly, parting to bite the apple, the marmalade and the juice of the apple coating down her hand and down her wrist. She inhaled sharply as his tongue followed, licking down the path and making small licks around her palm, flicking up and down each of her fingers, and taking his time with laving every inch of her hand with it.

Lord Bolton took in a single finger into his mouth, suckling it and occasionally letting his tongue wrap around her finger, sliding against it in soft, slow movements. Sliding his lips around her finger as he removed his mouth from it, he moved on to the next finger and then the next, until every single one of that hand had felt the touch of his tongue, the suckle of his mouth...

Still holding onto her wrist, he held it higher and let his tongue lick up and down it, the trail of marmalade and juice disappearing as he cleaned after it with his eager tongue. His lips pressed down to her wrist, sucking on her pulsating veins there, probably feeling the way he was making her pulse race.

And though he didn't look away from her, Sansa couldn't tear her eyes away from him either.