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Chapter 6: SixChapter Text

A/N: warning- this is not for Daenerys Targaryen fans. Also, probably not for Jon or Jonsa fans. If it's not your thing, you can skip the back-story, which is a season eight AU, but please don't leave negative comments or troll comments, because they will be deleted. There won't actually be much negativity, just in the chapters that deal directly with Sansa's life in Westeros. 

SIX

The thick, rich iron perfume of blood lingered on Naruto for days after the attack. Sansa hated it. She clung to her brother, the most present she had been since that first, awful night, rubbing her cheek against his every time he so much as whimpered; her poor brother was so exhausted, so afraid, the way no babe should ever be. She curled herself up around him, like a pair of wolf pups, unwilling to let either of them expose their tender bellies in such an unsafe den.

Sansa ached for her brother; life for a babe was rough, even if it didn't outwardly appear so. Everything was big, bright and new, and Naruto had no mother to nurse him lovingly at her breast, no father to cradle him protectively in safe arms. All her brother had was her own small form curled up around him, her tiny, still-mostly uncooperative arms doing their very best to hold him tight when he sobbed and wailed, his little face red and puffy from tears, only for nobody to ever come soothe him; no wet nurse, no maid, not even one of the masked guards who stood so impassively as Naruto cried and cried until his voice turned hoarse.

Her heart bled for him, even as the wolf inside her, furious and wild, howled its rage at the blatant neglect. Her brother was suffering, yet these people did nothing, all of them did nothing! It reminded her in part of her time as a hostage at the Red Keep, where everybody had turned a blind eye to how she was tormented, and it made her rage. Sansa could and had been accused of many wrongdoings by her enemies over the years, but doing nothing? That had never been a crime she had committed.

When Naruto wasn't crying, or feeding, he slept. Sansa slept too, but not as much as her brother. Instead, she often let her mind drift, her brother a warm weight in her arms. It was easy to let her mind wander and just float away. 

Sometimes she thought about Westeros. She could so vividly picture herself running through the woods of Winterfell, the spring snow crunching beneath her feet, the nip of the breeze against her face. Other times, she felt she was curled up in a dimly lit den, surrounded by warm, furry bodies and a sense of pack. Once, she even thought she was looking up at Arya, at her sister clad in yellow-and-black, her dark hair loose and wind-tousled as it fell about her shoulders, subtle lines of age evident on her face, Argella laughing at her side, storm-blue eyes bright and laughing.

Sansa had violently jerked back to the small room then, back to her frail, feeble, infant body, tears spilling down her cheeks, howling her grief like the wolf she was, her heart shredded in her chest. It set Naruto off too, and it had taken over an hour for them to both stop crying. Eventually, Tora had emerged from wherever he was hiding to run gentle, soothing hands over their backs until they stopped sobbing.

But remembering Arya and her daughter, Sansa's dear niece, picturing their faces, it forced her to face what she purposefully had been avoiding since her rebirth; her death.

She wondered what songs the bards of Westeros sung about her, now that she had stepped into the Stranger's embrace. She remembered well how they praised Cersei, "Light of the West" "The Lioness Queen" as she lived, and how the vilified her, "Mad Queen" "Brother Fucker" as she died. Sansa could only imagine the titles they called her now; "Warmonger", "Wolf-Bitch", "Whore-Queen"…

Sansa turned her small face so it was pressed into the warm curve of Naruto's neck, hiding from their masked watchers. She'd always known better then to show weakness. Any misstep, mistake or weakness in her conduct would be quickly identified by her allies and enemies alike, and much like crows on carrion, descended ravenously upon. To show her vulnerable throat would only ever get it ripped out. Nobles had been taught since the cradle how to prey upon weakness and Sansa had spent her childhood at the Red Keep been picked apart by sweet, merciless smiles and cruel, honeyed words.

Breathing in the warmth and slight musky smell that was Naruto, Sansa sighed softly as she thought of Arya, of the North, of Westeros. She had to confess, if only to herself, she had never expected to die old. Not after what she'd done. Not when she'd succeeded where Daenerys Targaryen had failed.

Sansa was patient. She wasn't reckless, or impulsive. She could wait, and she could plan. She could let her enemies fight each other until they had cleared the board and then she could wait for them to grow complacent in their victory before she moved in. Did that make her the villain? Perhaps. But so be it, she knew the truth of the world; there were no heroes. In life, the monsters win. Her family, her pack, her kingdom– they came first, and she'd tear out the throats of any and all who threatened them. And Daenerys Targaryen? She had been a threat.

It was such a simple plan, in the end. She had been inspired by Tywin Lannister and Olenna Tyrell both; two of the oldest living players in the Game of Thrones. She didn't believe that was a coincidence.

Amidst the chaos of the aftermath White Walkers, with Daenerys Targaryen's army lurking in the North and the battle against Cersei for the Iron Throne on the horizon, Sansa had learned the truth of Jon's heritage, the terrible truth her lord-father had kept from her lady-mother, a truth that could have seen them all slaughtered during Robert Baratheon's reign. It was immediately clear what she must do– for her family's safety, and for the North.

Jon was easy to seduce; he may have fancied himself in love with his Dragon-Queen Aunt, but he spent his entire childhood yearning for the acceptance of the Stark family, to really, truly be one of them, and it was the Lady Catelyn Stark who had denied him that acceptance most viciously and contemptuously.

It was not the first time Sansa had manipulated a man through her resemblance to her Lady Mother.

It was not the last, either.

It had not been wholly necessary for his seed to take for her plan to work. It would be a bonus, without doubt, but not necessary. Jon had betrayed his Dragon Queen, betrayed Daenerys Targaryen, for her, for Sansa Stark, and they both knew it– it was the axe over his neck, the sword to his throat, the dagger to his heart, and it was she who held it there. If Daenerys was victorious, if she seized the Iron Throne from Cersei's cold, dead hands, for that was the only way the Lannister Lioness would ever give it up, then Sansa would threaten Jon into convincing Daenerys to accept the North's independence, lest she reveal their secret to the Dragon Queen. 

Jon hated her for it, Sansa knew. She just didn't care. She couldn't afford to, not when there were so many relying on her to maintain the Northern Independence Jon had so thoughtlessly thrown away. Jon accused her of wanting to be queen, of course. Of wanting power, and not caring who she hurt to get what she wanted. Sansa had laughed in his face. He was a man, what did he know of wanting power? For that matter, what did he know of being powerless? 

When Jon accused her, when men accused any woman, of being power-hungry, she wondered how they could ever think why she would not be– not when the more power she had, the less chance there was of her being hurt.

In the end Jon left to go South with his Dragon Queen and Sansa stayed North, where she knelt before a weirwood and accepted a crown before her people while Daenerys massacred a city and sat herself atop a bloody throne.

The game could have ended there, in a stale-mate. Cersei's armies had taken out the last of Daenerys' dragons and depleted the numbers of the Unsullied and Dothraki Screamers to the point that Jon's arguments for Northern Independence had managed to sway Daenerys. Sansa honestly could have accepted such a stale-mate, except for the lingering fear. What if Daenerys found more dragon eggs? 

Everybody knew she was searching for them. Everyone knew the extravagant price she was willing to pay for one. Since her father's execution, Sansa had lived with the bitter taste of fear on her tongue. She was determined not to live in fear any longer. And if that meant she had to keep playing the game... Well, at least she had had the very best teachers– and a stroke of great fortune, for Jon's seed did take. Sansa should have expected it; she was her mother's daughter, after all. 

As she and Brienne grew round with child together, for a short time it appeared as if the wars were over and the foreign Queen would rule over Six Kingdoms. Oh, it was not a happy reign, which was very Targaryen, really. At least Robert Baratheon's reign had managed at least a degree of stability, in spite of Robert– until Robert's death anyway. The Westerosi resented the foreigners Daenerys had brought to their land, resented more mouths to feed, resented the tens of thousands that had to go hungry because of the crops she'd burned.

Occasionally eyes strayed North, Sansa knew, but Tyrion Lannister was a clever man and an even clever Hand to the Queen, and he kept Daenerys in power, having her publicly wed a legitimised Jon to tie her to Westeros and its people, though the whispers that she was barren somehow became public knowledge. 

(Arya was an excellent Mistress of Whispers with all her little strays)

And then, just as it seemed her clever, clever, ex-husband was getting on top all the rumours again, Sansa finally gave birth, a long, torturous, agonising ordeal, one made even more torturous for the fact that her lady-mother was not there to sit with her through the contractions. But it was all worth it when the pain was over and she was cradling in her arms a perfect silver-haired, purple-eyed babe. Exhausted, sweat-drenched and almost delirious with delight, Sansa couldn't help but laugh as she named him Torrhen, kissing his sticky brow and telling him that one day he would be King.

The other kingdoms underestimated the Starks. They always had, and Sansa didn't bother to correct them. After all, there was nothing more dangerous than loyalty. In Robert's Rebellion only the Northern forces had answered in full when the Banners were called to Arms. When the Heir of Winterfell called the Banners for his father, Lord Stark, the North answered without hesitation. When the white-walkers raised the wights, the North needed no evidence other than the word of a Stark to raise their standards and march into battle against nightmares carved of ice and death.

And when Torrhen Stark claimed the Iron Throne, she already knew the North would rally behind him, united.

It had been a good plan, Sansa thought, nuzzling against Naruto's neck. The sort that all her mentors, the willing and the unwitting, would be proud of. Face hidden from their watchers, she smiled at the memory of how it had all unfolded. They could call her Warmonger if they wished. They could call her Wolf-Bitch and Whore-Queen. It didn't matter. She was one of the She-Wolves of Winterfell; she was the Queen-Mother, the Queen in the North, the Mother of a Dynasty.

By the bloody end, she had finally been powerful enough to protect the ones she loved, powerful enough that she hadn't feared for their safety, feared that they would be stolen from her, that their lives would be snuffed out by forces beyond her control.

She might be frail and helpless now, in a way she hadn't ever been before, not even when she was a hostage in the Red Keep, at the mercy of a mad boy-king, but Sansa swore to herself, and to the innocent babe she was curled around, that she would not be weak for long. She would grow strong, to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. 

A/N: So, this is obviously an AU of Season Eight. I wanted Sansa to have more of a shinobi mindset, so she's Darker and more manipulative, more willing to go to extremes to get shit done for those she loves. Naruto is now her sole living family member and she's going to be willing to raze Konoha to ashes for him. The rest of her life in Westeros and her death will be revealed later. Hope you enjoyed! And if you're a Daenerys or Jon fan, I'm sorry guys!