Another chapter. Thank you for the reviews, they've been (mostly) positive, and pretty overwhelming. Thanks guys. Apologies if there are any grammar/spelling mistakes, I didn't really proofread this (sorry!), as it's 2:05am here in Australia and I just finished and want to sleep, but didn't want to make any of you wait. Enjoy.
In Winterfell, it snowed. Sansa stood in the empty courtyard, the wind whipping her hair about her face, stinging her red cheeks. Her fingers were nearly blue and her toes were numb where they were buried in the slush of mud and snow.
Winterfell was barren but for the blanket of white. She walked barefoot through the courtyard and shivered in the thin petticoats she wore.
The Great Hall, a large building of stone, its ceiling partly caved in, stood before her. The enormous oak-and-iron doors sat ajar, and Sansa could see people inside. The roar of the wind in her ears was too loud to make out any voices or music.
She slipped inside, embarrassed at her lack of attire, wondering where her gown and shoes could have gone. In the doorway, she squinted to make out the guests. The hall was full of people, sitting at the long trestle tables.
She walked between the rows, and peered down at them. She could not recognise anybody. They were so still… so quiet… and the wind rushed so loud in her ears. She reached for the arm of one and nearly cried out at the feel of the clammy skin on hers. He was dead. Involuntarily, she took a few steps and bumped into somebody else. She touched his shoulder and screamed when she realised it was the butcher's boy, Arya's little friend.
There was a sad girl with dark hair and eyes who resembled so strongly the bust of her aunt in the crypts; it could only have been Lyanna Stark, and beside her, the lifeless body of a handsome, silver-haired prince. He clutched the hand of a Dornishwoman holding a baby whose head had been smashed to pieces. A pretty little girl sat in the woman's lap.
In horror, she stared at the masses of people seated for the feast. The food laid out looked months old, and the smell of rotting filled her nose.
In horror, she walked, drawn by the sight of the raised dais where figures sat that she could not make out. She knew already who they would be.
King Robert sat in the middle, his stomach torn open, and his hands attempting to hold in his guts. His face was frozen in a pained grimace, a lopsided crown upon his head. Joffrey beside him, his face purple and distorted and lifeless. Sansa glanced to his right and saw her father, his head held in his hands. Her mother beside him, her face torn and bloody and her neck sliced open. Robb was next, Grey Wind's head sewn on instead of his own. Then there was Bran and Rickon, and Arya beside them. Headless Septa Mordane sat there, too. Maester Luwin, clutching a wound at his stomach. When Sansa saw the sad girl at the end of the table, she tripped and fell. Her own face stared right back at her, her smile bloody and her eyes blank. Sansa shrieked, and clutched the table as she fell.
Her eyes fell on the beast on the platter in the centre of the table. Lady.
Sansa screamed.
'Your Grace?'
The Queen in the North lay on the hard, narrow mat on the floor of her tent as Roslin shook her softly. She tossed and turned and moaned, distraught. There was sweat at her brow, and her skin was clammy.
'Your Grace!' somebody cried, shaking her.
Sansa's eyelids fluttered open and her eyes were wild. Roslin's face swam into view.
'Are you all right, your Grace?' asked the girl, putting a hand to her forehead. 'It was only a dream. Are you going to be sick?'
Roslin reached for an empty pail and held it before Sansa, who promptly emptied her stomach into it.
'It's all right, your Grace,' said Roslin, stroking her arm comfortingly. She helped the breathless Sansa sit up. 'You're shaking like a leaf.'
'I… I'm fine,' Sansa managed to breathe.
'Are you sure, your Grace?' asked Roslin, her brow furrowed in worry. 'I was sure… I only—I heard you screaming.'
Sansa closed her eyes for a few moments as her head swam. When she opened them, Roslin had not moved, her hand still firmly on Sansa's shoulder. Sansa brushed it off and got to her feet shakily, gripping the table gingerly.
'Why are you here?' asked Sansa, embarrassed.
'There's a fuss in the camp, your Grace,' said Roslin. 'They've caught a spy, I think. He was found following us. Some of the knights are saying it's the Hound, but others are saying that's impossible. There's a young boy with him.'
Sansa's eyes widened. 'Who is saying it is Sandor Clegane?' she demanded.
'Ser Warris, I think,' said Roslin.
'Ser Warris was in King's Landing with Lord Arryn when he was Hand, of course he would know if it is the Hound or not!' cried Sansa. She wiped the perspiration from her face and reached for her furs and shrugged them onto her shoulders. 'Come along,' she told Roslin.
Her uncle's little wife followed her dutifully from the tent. It was dark, but with the fires lit and the shouts drifting through the encampment, it was easy for Sansa to tell where the trouble was.
She hurried through the tents, slipping between men and horses alike. Finally she reached the scene of the disturbance.
She saw at once that it was Sandor. It had taken four men to restrain him, and still they struggled. He had not changed in the slightest since she had last seen him and she wondered vaguely why her heart had jumped when she had heard it was he.
'Unhand him at once!' she yelled, and immediately her men released him and took a step back.
Sandor's face turned to hers and she struggled to read the expression.
'Are you hurt?' she asked, and moved towards him.
'It'd take more'n this lot to hurt me,' he said gruffly. 'Half of them were playing with sticks until this war started.'
Sansa frowned. 'These,' she said firmly, defensively, 'are my men.'
'I can see that,' Sandor said with a suspicious glance at them. They were wary in return.
'She is a queen,' snapped Ser Tyrstan, stepping forward, his hand on the hilt of his blade. 'You will address her as "your Grace", dog.'
'Hush,' Sansa told him quietly. 'Why have you come?' she asked Sandor. 'Has the queen sent you?'
'The queen,' scoffed Sandor. 'I haven't been back to that shit heap of a city since the Battle of Blackwater.'
When you meant to take me with you, thought Sansa. She wondered now how different her life would be if she had accepted his offer.
'Besides, I have something to return to you,' he said roughly. 'If those lot will let go of your sister.'
Sansa nearly took a step back. She paled in disbelief. 'Arya?' she demanded. 'Where?'
Sandor gestured wildly, and she saw that two of her men held a scruffy-looking, boyish figure. On closer inspection, she saw that it was, unmistakably, her little sister.
'Let her go,' she ordered immediately.
Arya was released and walked forward quickly, clutching an old, blunt-looking sword. There was hesitance and in her eyes, which Sansa could not understand.
They stood like that, a few metres apart, for several moments, until their resolve broke at the same time and they reached for each other. Their embrace was tight and warm and bone breaking. The breath left Sansa's chest and she let out a dry sob into her sister's dirty hair.
'I thought you might be dead,' Sansa whispered.
'I thought I might be, too,' said Arya quietly.
Reluctantly, Sansa pulled away from her sister and faced Sandor.
'You have done me a great favour, ser,' she said humbly.
'I am no ser,' grumbled Sandor, his face stern. The way he looked at her made her feel as though she might as well be the same little girl she had been in King's Landing.
There was a scattering of muttered discontent at his misaddress of her. What do I care for titles? she thought dismissively.
'How would you have me reward you?' she asked. 'There is no price I can put on my sister's life, but I will give what I can to you.'
Sandor frowned at her. 'I once offered to take you away from King's Landing and return you to Winterfell,' he said. 'Do you think I come seeking your rewards?'
'How dare you speak to the Queen in the North in such a fashion!' growled Ser Warris, reaching for the hilt of his sword. 'You ought to have some respect.'
But Sansa placed a restraining hand on his arm.
'He is an old… friend,' she said quietly. 'He will be forgiven.'
Ser Warris looked angry, but acquiesced. Instead, he stared in a distrusting manner at Sandor. 'Your Grace, he is Cersei's dog.'
'Not any longer,' she said, a flash of ferocity in her features. 'He returned my sister. I will hear no more on it.'
Arya stood beside her but said nothing.
'Will you at least take supper and some wine, ser?' asked Sansa finally.
Sandor nodded. Ser Warris opened his mouth but Sansa interrupted him.
'I will see to it, Ser Warris, thank you,' she said quietly, and motioned for Sandor to follow her. 'Thank you,' she also murmured to Roslin as she passed, and the wide-eyed girl curtseyed.
Arya walked stoically beside her, and Sandor a few footsteps behind. As she walked, Sansa snaked her hand into her sister's and squeezed it gently. Arya returned the gesture.
As they walked, several men stared openly at them, but Sansa did not care. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her dead self from her nightmare. I am strong, she reminded herself. What is a queen without strength?
'Here,' she said, and pulled the opening to her tent aside and allowed her sister and Sandor passage.
Inside, Arya immediately helped herself to salted beef and fruit, as hungry as a wolf.
She gestured to a chair for Sandor, who sat awkwardly. She poured two cups of wine and a cup of water for herself. As she handed it to Sandor, her own slender fingers brushed his rough, calloused ones and she blushed inexplicably.
'Thank you,' Sandor muttered, and drank.
Sansa turned away hurriedly. I'm as nervous as a septa in a Godswood, she thought, closing her eyes for a moment. When she reopened them, Arya was still hoeing into the supper.
'As much as you dismiss it, I must reward you, ser,' said Sansa. She turned to fix her gaze back on him, and found that he had downed the contents of the cup. She refilled it hastily.
'I have want of nothing,' he said.
'There must be something,' she persisted, unperturbed.
His gaze was not pleasant and made her feel as little as a mouse. Who would think I was the same girl to execute Walder Frey now? she thought, and nearly laughed.
'I would stay,' said Sandor.
'Of course,' Sansa said immediately. 'You would be our honoured guest, ser. It would—'
'Not as a guest,' Sandor cut her off impatiently, 'fuck the airs and graces. I'd be a sword, a sworn sword… your sworn sword. I'd serve you better with a blade in my hand than as a guest.'
'I cannot ask you to—'
'You're not asking, I am,' he interrupted her again. 'Say yes and be done with it. I'll serve in your Queensguard.'
Sansa considered him for a moment, and then nodded. 'As you will.' She doubted Brienne would warm to the idea. Brienne, she thought, my lonely Lady Commander.
'Are you quite warm, Arya?' she asked, turning to her sister. Her plain doublet looked thin and old, but she only shrugged.
'S'all right,' she said, in between mouthfuls.
Silence filled the tent, but Arya barely seemed to notice. Sansa snuck a look at Sandor to see him staring into the dregs of his cup.
'More wine, ser?' she asked.
'I'm no ser, little bird,' said Sandor.
'I'm no little bird,' said Sansa defiantly.
'Oh, I see,' said Sandor dismissively. 'Too big for your crown already, I see.'
Sansa stood abruptly. 'I won't… you can't—' She had no idea what to say to him.
'Calm yourself, your Grace,' said Sandor, wiping his mouth. He got to his feet and stared at her for a few long moments.
'Why are you always so hateful?' she demanded. 'I thought you might have changed, at least a little.'
'What good is change to me?' he demanded fiercely. 'Will it feed me? Will it kill my enemies? I piss on change.'
Sansa noticed that Arya had stopped eating, and was staring between them, open-mouthed. Sansa tried to make herself a little taller, without much success.
'You wish to stay,' she said quietly. 'So be it. But I won't be spoken to like that, especially in front of my men. Watch your tongue, ser.'
He looked like he was about to move towards her, but appeared to think better of it, and turned abruptly, and nearly tore the opening from the tent. It fluttered as he slipped out and she caught the briefest of glimpses at his retreating back.
'Wha' was tha' all abou'?' asked Arya, her mouth full. She looked incredulous, but Sansa shook her head.
'He's a very angry man. If I knew what could gentle the rage inside him, I would seek it,' was all she said.
Arya swallowed her mouthful. 'You've changed,' she said.
Sansa smiled sadly. 'So have you.'
Arya glanced down at her boy's clothes and shrugged. 'It's easier being a boy,' she said. 'Less questions.'
Sansa sat upon the little bed, and Arya joined her silently.
'Where did you go?' Sansa asked, and suddenly she sounded like the little girl she had been. 'Where did you go when father… when they…'
Arya stared back at her sadly, and they lay down together, hands intertwined, the soft sound of Arya's voice giving way to sleep for Sansa.
'But your Grace, you cannot be serious,' said Brienne quietly. 'He is the Lannisters' dog, how do you know his loyalties have changed? A dog does not so easily forget his master.'
Sansa glanced sharply at her. 'He is not a dog,' she said, 'he is a man. More than that, he is now one of our men, and one of my Queensguard.'
'Are you sure, y—'
'If you ask me one more time whether I am sure or not, I believe I shall tear my hair from my head,' said Sansa, exasperated. 'Do not ask again, just see it done.'
'Of course, your Grace.'
Sansa sighed, and then turned to see a reproachful look on Brienne's face. She moved her gaze to Edmure instead, who looked uncertain.
'One more sword will only further our cause,' she said to nobody in particular. 'He abandoned the Lannisters after the Battle of Blackwater. He is loyal to us now.'
'Not after, but during,' said Edmure. 'Who's to say he won't do the same to us? And take all of our secrets right back to his mas—to the Lannisters?'
Sansa closed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but it was Greatjon who spoke instead.
'It'd do you both well to remember who is queen here,' he said gruffly. 'She may be gentle, but she's no longer a child. Seems to me she's got more sense than you, Lord Tully.'
She opened her eyes and smiled wanly at Greatjon. 'I've heard enough on the matter,' she said. 'He's the reason we have my sister back. Quite frankly, he could have whatever he wants from us.'
Silence followed her words, and she was grateful. She felt so worn nowadays, and they were only a day's ride from Riverrun. She had to be ready to face what was coming, no matter what is was.
That night, Arya crept into her bed again. With another body beside hers, Sansa could pretend that it was her mother. Arya smelled of home, of Winterfell and of wolf.
But still, Sansa could not sleep.
In the middle of the night, she pried herself out of her sister's grasp and wrapped her furs about her shoulder's tightly.
She peeked her head out of the tent and saw Sandor keeping watch. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stepped outside.
He turned abruptly at the sound of her feet on the ground but relaxed somewhat when he made out her face.
'What are you doing up so late, little bird?' he asked.
The camp had fallen into silence, most of her men asleep. The coals in the fire before Sandor glowed red, and Sansa stared at the little spires of grey smoke that trailed up into the night sky. It was bright, and full of stars. She liked to pretend that they were people she had known who had died. The brightest would be her mother.
'I can't seem to sleep,' she said eventually, turning her gaze back to him. Somehow, in the dark, he seemed less frightening.
'Is it hard to sleep without Lord Baelish sneaking around?'
Sansa glanced at him sharply. 'I don't—I don't know what you mean. Littlefinger did not—does not—love me…'
'I don't doubt that,' said Sandor roughly. 'I doubt that snake loves anybody or anything. Except gold, perhaps.'
Sansa stared at him. Was it jealousy in his tone? She sighed.
'I am surprised he has not sent men after me,' she admitted. 'I was his claim on Winterfell… on the North.'
Sandor tilted his head at the camp. 'What, with this lot at your back? There's not enough gold in the world that would make him risk his neck. Even for you, little bird.'
Even for you, little bird. Was she so special?
'I need my uncle's men,' she said quietly. 'My mother's uncle is at Riverrun, with my brother's widow. We must break the siege.'
'It will be easily done,' he told her. 'The Lannister men at Riverrun are like waves breaking on sand.'
His words soothed her. She shivered in the breeze and pulled her furs tighter about her.
'I want to learn to fight,' she said finally, decidedly. 'I want to be able to protect myself… to protect others…'
He turned to her in surprise. 'It is not so easily learnt,' he said quietly. 'Although, I heard of your bravery at the Twins. You killed Lord Frey.'
She wanted to say that it had been easy, but she knew that Sandor would know she was lying. 'It was hard,' she admitted, 'but it didn't feel… bad.' It didn't feel good either, she thought solemnly. No matter how many heads I take off, it won't bring Robb or mother back.
'You're wondering why I said killing was sweet,' said Sandor, staring off into the hills.
'Yes,' she admitted.
He turned to her. 'Every time I kill, I see my brother,' he growled.
Sansa nodded slowly. 'I understand.'
'How could you?' demanded Sandor.
To her surprise, she found herself reaching out to touch his arm. He twitched, as if she'd shocked him, but did not pull away.
'I understand,' she repeated, but he did not answer.
There you go! Please review, they make me write so much quicker. Thank you all. :)
