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I can't give up that quick.
My life is a candle and a wick.
You can put it out but you can't break it down,
in the end we are waiting to be lit.
She watched.
She watched the Vale men ride into battle, their swords drawn and their faces fierce. The clanging of swords, the drawing of bows and the slicing of bodies filled the air. She watched as the Bolton men were slaughtered and the mud congealed with the guts and brains and scarlet blood until everything was brown and burgundy and no one knew who the other was.
Sansa did not flinch. Sansa had seen her father’s head being held triumphantly to a crowd of blood thirsty wretches, the grey eyes she loved so dearly were now blank and empty. No, Sansa had seen things far worse than pain and suffering.
Sansa Stark had been waiting for this day for a long time. She had done her time, playing the meek girl who obeyed orders of the men that owned her life in their hands. Sansa had watched her family disappear in front her, had suffered beatings from so called honorable Sers who were just following orders and had to bear the touch of a man she was forced to call father.
No more. Sansa would have no more. No more beatings, no more unwanted touches and no more tears.
“King’s Landing is my home.”
“My brother is a traitor.”
“I am Alayne, Father.”
Sansa had spun many pretty little lies.
And she survived. One by one her enemies fell and yet Sansa Stark survived.
Now she watched as the men who swore fealty to her destroyed the last of her enemies. The Boltons did not know that Sansa had come for them and how they suffered. Just like Joffrey, Cersei and Littlefinger. She had come for all of them, the weak little bird. They misjudged her compliance for weakness. They all thought her a stupid little girl. They forgot that Sansa was a Stark.
While her beloved direwolf Lady may have been slaughtered as the first victim of this war, Sansa was still the blood of Winterfell and the wolf was still inside her, biding her time to snap the necks of all those that wronged her. Sansa was the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. And she would avenge them.
Pick up your rope Lord, sling it to me,
if we are to battle I must not be weak.
And give us your strength world, and your food and your water,
oh, I am your saviour, your last serving daughter.