Sansa Stark was soaring. Wind whipped through her hair as she sped across the meadow, astride Lady. But this was not Lady as she had known her as a pup. This was Lady as a full-grown direwolf, larger than any before her. Thick lycan muscles rippled beneath Sansa as they glided over the ground, Lady's strides so long and powerful, her steps so light, that with little imagination Sansa could believe that they were truly flying, skimming the earth just a few feet below her.

Tall grass whipped past them, the snow clinging to it spraying onto her clothing, the stalks stinging her legs. But she barely felt any of it through the exhilaration coursing through her body. When was the last time she had felt like this? Certainly not since they had left Winterfell to go to King's Landing all those years ago. Not since her father's death, not since Joffrey's abuse, not since Lady had-

She frowned. Wait, what had happened to Lady? Something important, something significant... The thought pricked her, a lost memory demanding to be recalled. What had it been? Lady had been a pup the last time Sansa had seen her... and then... what had it been?

Without warning, Lady took a sharp turn. Sansa refocused her attention to find that Lady was now sprinting towards the river, barely visible through a grove of trees. Sansa tucked her body closer to Lady's, allowing her direwolf to carry her wherever she meant them to go. They wove through the squat trunks of the grove, cold winter sunlight dappling her cloak through the canopy above. Then, they were through the grove and only a few lengths from the river. Closer now, Sansa could see that it was flowing swiftly, the frozen air seemingly having no effect on its roaring current. And still Lady pounded against the ground, picking up speed.

Sansa began tugging on the direwolf's pelt. "Lady," she gasped. "Lady, come on, turn."

Still Lady ran, not wavering from her collision course. Sansa whimpered. "Turn. Turn, turn-"

They became airborne as the direwolf reached the riverbank and pushed off, her powerful hind legs launching them into the air, across the river. Looking ahead, Sansa saw the opposite shore become closer and closer. For one brief moment, it seemed they would reach the other side. But as they dropped, Sansa's stomach plummeted and instead she watched the furiously churning water rush up to meet them. They crash-landed in the tumult and Sansa was immediately ripped from Lady's back, yanked beneath the furious waves.

The current pulled her down, down, down until she hit the riverbed. She tried to push off the mucky ground, tried to get back to Lady. That's when it hit her.

That's what had happened.

Lady had died all those years ago, killed by her father as a peace offering to that disgusting brute she'd been forced to nearly marry. Fury tore through her and she struggled against the punishing river, trying to get back to the surface to save her direwolf. She wouldn't let Lady go, not this time. But no matter how hard Sansa fought, the freezing river kept her pinned to the bottom. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as water rushed up her nose, down her throat. She tried to cough, but only succeeded in choking. Furious, she screamed and screamed. Something in the current struck her in the head and the world went dark.

Crashing thunder jolted her awake and she raised her head, only to be blinded by a flash of light. She tried to move, to cover her eyes, but found her hands pinned above her head. She twisted her head and saw manacles encircling her wrists, chains bolted to the wall. The grated window above her head lit up again as lightning flashed through the sky and revealed her surroundings.

She was in a small prison cell, a solid oak door set into the wall to her left. Other than the window, door, and herself, there was nothing else in the room. She shifted her stiff legs and realized she was sitting in a large puddle of water which covered most of the floor in her small cell. Just as she began to wonder at the source of the water, lightning flashed again and a deafening clap of thunder followed. Seconds later, rain erupted from the sky. Within minutes, the streets above her were flooded and the small trickle leaking through the grate above her head became a crushing cascade. The river above invaded her cell, crashing down on her head and drowning her.

Hard as she twisted in her shackles, she could not escape its furious flow. Finally, she managed to tuck her face beneath her raised arm, where she found a small pocket of air in which to breathe. The freezing water soaked her body and she began to shiver violently.

The deluge continued for what felt like forever. Sansa began to weep in desperation and exhaustion. A gasping sob escaped her, and the sharp intake of breath caused her to choke on some of the rainwater pounding around her. Great, wracking coughs shook her body as she tried desperately to expel the filthy water from her lungs. When she finally regained her breath, the overwhelming need to cry had gone and instead she spent the long hours desperately praying.

She prayed to the Old Gods, to the Seven, even to the Greyjoys' Drowned God. How fitting, she thought bitterly. She prayed to anyone and everyone who could help her. She stopped short of pleading with the Great Stallion, though. She would rather drown here and now than pray to the power behind the Dragon Queen.

She now remembered what had happened before she had awoken in this living nightmare of lightning, thunder, and flood.

She remembered rushing to her window when she saw the Dragon Queen and her beast land on the walls of her home. She remembered Daenerys telling her that unless she came with her to King's Landing, Jon would die. She remembered the fury that had blazed through her, the way Daenerys had narrowed her eyes and yelled something guttural... something in Dothraki. The last thing she remembered was the beast's monstrous tail whipping toward her and then... nothing. Nothing until she had woken up here.

Nothing except... that dream- was it a dream? Something with a river... drowning. It must have rained like this earlier too, while she had still been unconscious. Finally, though, the deluge was easing up, the streaming streets above her head emptying out as the rain slowed to a light pattering, then to a mist, then to a stop. She was able to breathe freely again, but with the river of water gone, the cold began to move in. Shivering, exhausted, and stiff as a wooden board, she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer and dropped off into a fitful sleep.

She woke to the sound of jangling keys outside her cell door. She raised her head, wincing as her muscles screamed at even the small change in position. The door groaned open and in stepped a child. A strangely proportioned child.... Was it a child? It was so hard to see in the dim cell. It almost seemed to be... "Tyrion", she breathed.

"Lady Sansa," he greeted her. Turning to the guard behind him he said, "Leave us."

Sansa heard the guard's footsteps retreat down the hall, but Tyrion stood still, not speaking. It was not until they both heard the slam of a door in the distance that he finally broke the silence. "My Lady, I am very sorry for the condition I find you in. I had tried to bargain for slightly-" he looked around the cold, tiny cell. "Fairer quarters" he finished. He peered at her intently. "A captivity befitting the Queen in the North."

Sansa gave a weak laugh. "I think you are forgetting, my Lord Tyrion, that there can be no Queen in the North while Jon is the King in the North."

Tyrion looked at her sadly, his pity palpable. "Ah my dear Sansa, in case you do not remember, there is no longer a King in the North."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I know. Jon gave his allegiance to the Targaryen barbarian, your dearly beloved queen" she said bitterly. "But to the people of the North, Jon will always be their king. As he will be mine."

Pain clouded Tyrion's face as he dropped his gaze, refusing to look at her. "You do not know."

It was not a question, only a statement, made so regretfully that Sansa's stomach tightened in dread.

"What don't I know?" she demanded.

His next words struck her harder than Joffrey or Ramsay ever had with their fists. "Sansa," he said gently, carefully. "Jon is dead."

For a moment, she stared at him. Then she let out a scoffing laugh. "That's impossible."

Tyrion shook his head, finally meeting her gaze and in that moment she knew. This was no trick, no joke. No clever move on the Imp's part. He had never lied to her, never tried to use her, manipulate her as he had with others. He had lied to so many, but he had never lied to her. She knew. Jon was gone. And she also knew that the only way it could have happened was-

"Daenerys", she hissed.

Tyrion let his head drop, one solemn nod. "I am so sorry, my Lady. I know you cared for him."

But in that moment, Sansa felt no grief, only ice-cold fury. Raw, glacial ferocity, like a roaring blizzard poured into her veins. Quietly, so quietly it was scarce above a whisper, Sansa spoke. "First she dares to take the North from me? My home, my birth-right, my people. And now she dares to take my brother? I had only three of my family left and she dared to steal another away from me?"

Tyrion did not speak.

"Look at me," she commanded him.

He slowly lifted his head, tired eyes meeting her blazing ones.

"Where is she?"

"I do not know," he rasped. "Not for certain. Rumor has it that she has secluded herself at Dragonstone with Jon's body. What I know of her inclines me to believe this to be the truth."

Sansa leaned back against the wall. Dragonstone was not far from King's Landing, only across the bay. It would not be hard to get there from here. Perhaps a day's ride to Sharp Point and then only a short boat ride. She would need to find someone to take her from Sharp Point to Dragonstone by boat, but she could solve that concern when she reached it. The biggest challenges facing her at this moment were the manacles around her wrist and the devoted Imp blocking the way out of her cell. Perhaps she could-

"I cannot allow you to do what you are clearly planning to do." Tyrion's voice broke her reverie. He looked at her, gaze piercing her transparent thoughts. "You want to avenge your brother."

She looked at him in disbelief, not even trying to feign innocence. "You would begrudge me justice for my brother's murder?"

"Justice is already doing her part." He sighed heavily. "The Queen left King's Landing a broken woman. The Seven will not allow her peace from what she has done. And I do not believe she will ever return to the Iron Throne. She spent her whole life paying its price and now it has demanded too much of her. There is nothing left for her to give." He stepped closer now, earnestness shining in his eyes. "Please, Sansa. Come with me instead. The Seven Kingdoms are in chaos and they need good and generous people to set them right."

She snorted. "And you are one of those good and generous people?"

The insult did nothing to dim his solemn intensity, as he gently shook his head. "No, I have never been good, nor generous. But I have never wanted power, nor fame, nor wealth. I have tried to do the right thing for our people, for our land. I believed in Daenerys. I saw the vision she had and I wanted to bring it about, more than anything. And even though that fell to bits, I still want what is best." He paused. "Please help me."

For several moments Sansa considered him, his offer, his plea. She thought of her family and how they had been torn apart from the second the Baratheons had arrived at Winterfell all those years ago. She thought of her torture at the hands of powerful men and women. She thought of Lady, of Jeyne Pool, of her father, Septa Mordane, Robb, of Daenerys, of Cersei, Ramsay, Petyr, Joffrey... Their faces blurred in her memory. The victims and the victors.

Maybe there was another justice to pursue, a more significant cause. In that moment, she had a shadow of understanding, a brief glimpse into the calculated passion and drive behind Daenerys' fight for the throne. Sansa had been used, manipulated, tortured by people who used their own power against those who had none. She had had so much taken from her, had her bodies and position used against her. She had been married off, raped, forced to acquiesce to her own powerlessness.

Sansa realized how badly she wanted to change that world, to fight to ensure that others would not have to endure what she endured.

Finally, she straightened and looked at Tyrion. "Maybe Daenerys was right. It is time to break the wheel," she said. "I will go with you."