Later that night, after spending a few hours in scalding hot water she had her tender legs wrapped by the maester. Pycelle had hardly made eye contact with her as he worked, though her handmaidens had made clucking sounds of disapproval as they cleaned her wounds. He had spoken with one, handing her some ointment to administer ever four hours before nodding towards Sansa and leaving.

Sansa allowed her maids to redress her and dismissed them. The wounds stung, but she was determined to visit the gods wood tonight. It was the only time that she had to herself, undisturbed by any handmaiden spy or threat of the kingsguard. And she needed some time to herself tonight. It had been such a stressful day. Her thoughts drifted to the moment Tyrion had held out his hand to her earlier. Before he had arrived she had been a beaten down pup, but with one moment of shared energy between them she had found the wolf in her that had allowed her to leave with dignity.

She had only had a few interactions with the littlest Lannister, but as she drew on her cloak she thought about them. He had made quite an impression with the north men while the royal party had visited Winterfell and Sansa vaguely recalled the boisterous voices from his table during the welcoming feast. His bawdy sense of humour and uninhibited laughter had fit right in amoung the northern lords. Though Sansa had been quite distracted by her handsome prince and the beautiful queen, she also remembered that Tyrion had followed her brother, Jon, to the wall as well. Most southerners were uninterested in the harsh beauty of the wall, but Tyrion had been intrigued.

And then there was the moment when he had returned during Joffrey's nameday tournament. He had looked at her kindly and given her condolences for losing her father. She had been ready to thank him for his kindness when Joffrey had interrupted and reminded her of where she was. Still, it had seemed as if Tyrion had seen through her practiced words.

Resolving to learn more about Lord Tyrion, she quietly pushed her door open before squeaking in fright.

There on the other side of the door was a massive person, all rippling muscle and furs and armour. Her eyes widened in terror as the creature turned to her and she fell back into her rooms, trying to slam the door. The creature reached out however and stopped the door with a strong arm before speaking.

"Can I help you?" the voice was roughly feminine and Sansa was shocked to see it was a woman.

"Wh-who are you?" she whispered, still fearful despite no impending attack.

"Name's Chella. Daughter of Chyek, of the Black ears!" The gruff woman said proudly, slamming a large fist to her own chest in introduction. "The half man said you needed a warrior at your door."

Sansa blinked in confusion. "You mean Lord Tyrion?" She clarified. She remembered seeing some rough looking people in Tyrions retinue when he had returned to court. Something about the hill tribes of the Vale? The woman shrugged.

"That's him. Says I'm to turn away any who try enter, but I'm not to stop you if you want to leave, little Lady. Though I'd bet he'd expect me to follow. I'll keep my distance though, believe me. You won't even know I'm there." The woman gave what Sansa assumed was a smile, though with her blackened teeth, she couldn't be sure.

"That...that will hardly be necessary, Lady Chella. I would love your company." A woman's armour was her courtesies and Sansa would not drop them in this unfamiliar territory. She was not expecting the woman to burst into throaty laughter.

"I'm no lady, little one. Just 'Chella' works for me. You lead the way."

Sansa moved to pass the woman and gestured for her to walk beside her.

"That is a lovely necklace, L- Chella." Sansa struggled to make small talk with the woman who clearly had nothing in common with her. In the dark, all Sansa could really make out was the bulky necklace that seemed to contrast greatly from the rest of the woman's outfit.

The woman let out a loud guffaw, catching her off guard though. Sansa was almost offended by the woman's laugh as it was almost mocking, but held off and looked at her quizzically.

"Did I say something funny, My Lady?" Sansa raised an eyebrow at her interesting companion.

"Most of you highborns wouldn't appreciate the...style that we tribesmen live by" Chella chuckled. "Made this one here all by myself, its taken me a few years to...collect the materials."

Chella lifted the cord into the light and Sansa felt her mouth go dry. The large rough beads that she had thought were handcrafted medallions were actually dried human ears. Sansa's mouth fell open in shock and she visibly recoiled, causing Chella to laugh again.

Although the severed ears disgusted her, Sansa was more intrigued by the woman in front of her. She was kind enough-respectful enough to Sansa although she doubted there was any loyalty there. She was obviously Tyrion's friend, so she couldn't be completely terrible. She seemed to genuinely care about Sansa's safety as well. During their walk through the halls of the Red Keep whenever a knight or guard passed them, Chella had gently pushed Sansa behind her. It wasn't often that anyone seemed to care about her well-being and although it was the barest trace of caring, Sansa was happy for it.

But what intrigued her the most was the absolute strength of the woman. Sansa was always the delicate, beautiful flower-only made to be pleasing to the eye. Yes she was excelled at needlework, but what use was that really? People only needed so many embroidered pillows or handkerchiefs. Chella had a use. She could protect herself and others and Sansa couldn't help but admire her for it.

She knew she had to using snap judgments of people. Coming to conclusions of others before she really got to know them. It had gotten her in trouble so many times before. She had been sure that Joffrey was a golden prince who would be her savior just because of how he looked. Assumed that the queen was perfect and kind just because she was beautiful. She needed to stop. Just like her small moment with Tyrion earlier. He was a Lannister and she was inclined to hate him just for that. But something had made her hesitate. The same thing that prompted her to bite the bile that was rising at Chella's attire back and ask her how many she had collected. The woman looked at her approvingly, before launching into stories of her battles and duels.

Sansa found herself growing more and more interested the closer they got to the godswood.