Fianna Bua, Lady of House Bua, never thought that she'd be riding off to war for the liege lord she hadn't even met.
But oaths are oaths, the Buas have fought alongside the Starks for centuries and she wasn't about to be hailed an oath breaker.
So w...
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Sansa
Sansa Stark, as naive as she once was, did not often hope for much these days.
When she was first brought to King's Landing, she had hoped to marry Joffrey and become Queen. She soon would realise how dangerous that wish had been.
When her father had been imprisoned, she had hoped that he would be released unharmed, as Joffrey had promised to her.
When her brother started a war, she had hoped he would reach the Red Keep and rescue her from her bed.
It's no foolish thing to say that Sansa once gripped a naivety only a spoiled highborn daughter would possess, that she hoped for and expected too much, that she thought the Gods weren't as cruel as all that.
Now, being resigned to a life as a prisoner awaiting sentence in her former home, her life was as cold and miserable as the weather had grown to become. And even though she knew better, Sansa Stark hoped with every fibre in her young body that Fianna Bua would be the one to rescue her.
Two weeks had passed since Roose had told her his offer, perhaps it was stupid of her to think that Fianna would allow herself to be taken captive just to release her. After all, Fianna was a Queen now, and Sansa was only but a daughter and sister to a 'traitorous' Lord and 'treasonous' King.
But there had been something in her eyes.
Sansa had been hearing stories of Fianna since his brother rode off to war. The maids in the Red Keep would talk of this wild woman, tell stories of her beauty and her fierceness, and equally of her ill-mannered nature. She had never once met her good sister, but when she saw her the two weeks before she knew the rumours to be true.
Sansa knew that her brother, Robb, did not fall for his bride for her looks - although she guessed that didn't exactly sway him the opposite direction. While Fianna had spit words and exchanged unpleasantries with Roose, Sansa had been watching her.
There was a confidence to her, an assuredness in her figure that Sansa longed to bear. When they exchanged gazes, no words needed to be spoken aloud to be heard. Sansa wondered now if she had completely misread Fianna's communication.
Her chamber maid had relayed the message to her days before, of the man who had infiltrated Winterfell just to save her. Sansa didn't know whether or not to trust it, but once again that niggling nudge of hope had sprang up.
But the day had arrived. Two weeks had passed, Winterfell and the Bolton's stood as strong as ever and she was still in their clutches. Either it really had been a lie, perhaps a form of torture by Ramsay, or a failure. Now Roose Bolton was free to decide Sansa's fate.
