Fanfiction only. I own no part of Game of Thrones.

Clipped Wings

Sansa and Lyanna stood atop the wall of Winterfell, looking south. Sansa had become as cold and stoic as the stone of the keep, and she watched for many hours every day, preferring the icy wind to the scrutiny of the household. Though Winterfell was her home, it no longer held the same warmth it had before the Boltons ravaged it.

The Mormonts had been the first to respond to Jon's muster and had arrived in advance of their liege himself. Lyanna had become a frequent companion, preferring Sansa's taciturn silence to the senseless twaddle of other women. They watched in silence as black riders trudged through the snow, the jingling of the tack occasionally borne back to them on the wind. A handful of bannermen straggled behind the King of the North, accompanied by Wildings. Lyanna assessed them critically, counting her own men. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Who is that rider beside Jon Snow? He's neither a Northerner nor a Wilding."

Sansa flicked her eyes over Lyanna with silent amusement. Though she was only a maid of twelve, she was far shrewder than most men thrice her age. She'd have made a fine queen, she mused. "Sandor Clegane."

"The Lannister Hound?"

Sansa nodded, thoughtfully. "Not anymore. He abandoned their cause after the Battle of Blackwater."

Lyanna lifted her chin. "For all the stories I've heard, I'd not have thought him a coward."

"He's not." Her words had come out sharper than she'd intended. Lyanna looked up at her and lifted a brow in silent query. Sansa's chin rose. "He was disgusted by the cowardice of King Joffrey, and refused to shed another drop of his blood for a king so undeserving his sacrifice." Privately, Sansa reflected that the wildfire raining down upon the garrison troops had likely been living hell for Clegane, and had had no small part in his desertion. She would never forget that Clegane alone had offered to liberate her from her misery in the Red Keep. Nor would she forget the many small kindnesses he had shown her, the only succor he could offer as the cruel king's sworn shield. She glanced at Mormont. "He was one of the very few men left in King's Landing with any shred of honor."

Lyanna and Sansa were waiting for the riders when they swept gratefully in through the Winterfell gates. The Mormont riders dropped immediately into obeisance at Lyanna's feet, and she spoke to them with authority in a child's quiet tenor. She led them away without a glance at Sansa. Their commander had already started issuing his brisk report of their mission.

Sansa waited patiently for her brother to acknowledge her after dismissing the men. After a glance of wary acknowledgement in her direction, Sandor Clegane shouldered his saddle bags and started to trudge through the grimy sludge of the courtyard towards the barracks, having handed his enormous horse off to a quivering stable lad.

"Clegane!"

Jon Snow and Clegane both looked up at her hail. After a nod to the Master of Horse, Snow handed the reins of his mount away, and both men approached. Clegane reached her first.

"Little bird." He glowered down at her and murmured, "I'm pleased to see the Bolton bastard didn't clip your wings."

Sansa narrowed her eyes, trying to assess if he was jesting. His expression and tone were grim, and she saw sympathy mingled with seething anger in the depths of his dark eyes. She released a breath she'd not realized she'd been holding and nodded her acknowledgement.

"I'm grateful to see your blade beneath Stark colors. I guarantee Jon will put it to better use than the Lannisters did."

Clegane barked a rough laugh and grinned ironically at Sansa. "The fucking Stranger knows where to find me, regardless if my blood is on a Lannister or Stark banner."

"That's not how one speaks to the Lady of Winterfell." Jon had arrived, his eyes flashing at Clegane.

Clegane snorted and answered with derision. "Yes, my liege." He turned his gaze back to Sansa with genuine amusement. Glancing at her stern bastard brother, she repressed the smile that twitched at her lips. Clegane was coarse, but he was forthright and honorable. It was a welcome respite from the shifting loyalties and petty intrigues that seemed to always swirl around her.

"I'm well acquainted with Clegane's ways. He was often set to guard me in the Red Keep." She flicked her eyes back to Clegane. "Where are you quartered?"

Jon answered for him. "In the barracks."

Sansa narrowed her eyes at Jon. "Clegane is the only representative of his house." She ignored Clegane's snort. "I'll find him quarters amongst the other lords. His experience as a battle commander and with Lannister tactics are invaluable."

"I'm no lord or ser. The barracks are fine."

Sansa folded her hands before her, lifted an arched brow, pursed her lips, and tipped her head in an imperious expression stolen right of Cersei Lannister's smug face. She narrowed her eyes for good measure at the two men looming over her, and both fell silent, though Jon's mouth had popped open to voice his own opposition.

"I'm still the Lady of Winterfell. I will decide where our guests are to be quartered." Jon mouthed the word 'guests' with a sneer and a sharp look at Clegane. Sansa ignored him and gave Clegane a last long look before turning. Over her shoulder, she tossed, "I will expect to see you seated appropriately at table."