A/N: I'm sorry this update and others is taking so long!

Sansa had forgotten how mundane traveling could be. The terrain hardly ever changed as they made their way North, occasionally switching paths through wooded areas and little used roads. At least they weren't being actively pursued, for the time being.

Every night, Sandor changed into the Hound and scouted the area, sometimes bringing back rabbits for their meal. He would also find little streams for them to keep track of, and abandoned roads that seemed to lead right where he wanted. Sansa envied his sense of direction. "I've been around a long time, little bird," Sandor told her. "I've had time to learn the land. Being a skin-changer gives me an advantage as well."

Once, some robbers tried to make off with their belongings while Sansa was washing her face at the river and Sandor was off scouting. Stranger kicked his hooves at them and neighed loudly, and Sansa pulled out her knife, screaming for Sandor as the men came closer. They were filthy and ugly and grinned menacingly at her. But Sandor showed up, scaring them badly before he attacked each of them, sharp fangs digging into the flesh of their necks. He dumped their bodies somewhere later, and they made camp farther down. "They'll make a good snack for the wolves," Sandor chuckled darkly.

Sansa continued to have the dream every night, but as she and Sandor could make no interpretation of it, she tried not to think of it much. The witch lady Sandor was bringing her to would be able to help, or at least give a reason why such a dream was happening to her. Although she had been afraid at first, the children in the dream, and even the wolf, began to grow on Sansa, and feel familiar. Nothing you shake her uneasiness though, the moment she became the wolf in the dream and felt such a powerful desire to destroy something and protect something else.

Stranger was warming up to her. The bad-tempered horse favored Sandor more, but there were times when he was calm enough to accept an apple or scratch without giving her a death-glare and a warning whinny. Sansa was so eager to work herself into the horse's good graces that she even tried to comb his mane out. "That can't be comfortable, all full of knots like that," she cooed gently, hoping to sooth him. Stranger had watched her closely the entire time, his ears pulling back if she took too long on any one knot. "There, doesn't that feel better?" she asked when finished. Stranger simply tossed his mane and went back to grazing. "Well, I tried," Sansa said, joining Sandor on one of the bedrolls. He chuckled and reached up to finger her hair. "You did. And now it's time you pay attention to me instead of that horse." He pulled her down to him, and she squealed as he tickled her sides and kissed her neck.

The weather was turning cooler the more north they traveled, and Sansa was glad she had remembered her warm cloak. It felt good to breathe in the crisper air. She had been in the south so long she was worried she might not be as compatible with the chilly north as she once had been. I am a Stark, she told herself. I am a wolf. The cold is my home. Her eyes rested on the large hands of the man sitting behind her, gripping Stranger's reins with confidence. And Sandor is my home. Sansa wondered if he had spent much time in the North, and whether he preferred cold or warm weather. She had never asked him about it before.

Sandor led them up a rocky winding trail into some mist covered mountains. The air was still and quiet, with an occasional hooting of an owl or the scurrying of a rabbit. Sansa felt Sandor become much more alert as he eased Stranger into a slower gait. She glanced over her shoulder at him to see his eyes sharply taking in their surroundings. "The witch sometimes leaves traps, when she's feeling productive," he rasped quietly. "It's best to stay on our guard." Sansa licked her lips and looked around. The path was leading them through a rough terrain dotted with underbrush, and before them loomed an archway carved from the rock. Beyond it, Sansa couldn't really make out the rest of the path. The other side seemed dark and blurry, hazy, though the mist stopped at the arch.

Her skin covered in goosebumps and she shivered. Sandor tightened his arms around her protectively. "Don't be afraid," he said. "I've been through here many times." Sandor halted Stranger before the archway. "We will go on foot the rest of the way." He helped Sansa down, unsheathed his sword, and took Stranger's reins. "Stay close." Together they walked under the archway into the blurry beyond.

Sansa gripped Sandor's cloak, squeezing her eyes shut, sure something was going to leap out at them. Nothing happened.

The other side of the path looked normal, if not a little more dreary, than the side they had just come from. Sansa breathed a sigh of relief.

A breeze trickled past them, and swirled the leaves on the path in front of them. The breeze and leaves swirled bigger and faster, and a horrid, screeching sound came from the whirlwind, making Sansa cover her ears. Sandor stood straight, baring his teeth at the wind, and he strode forward with his sword. The wind and leaves rushed towards him, and even in the swift movement Sansa realized that the leaves had turned to sharp black arrows. "Sandor!" she cried out.

Sandor planted his feet and swung through the air hard, cutting through the thick line of arrows, and they burst into pieces, shattering to the ground. A few were flung off course, and found their mark in the surrounding trees, leaving hissing and smoking marks with black ooze pouring from the bark. Sansa stared in horror.

Her husband waited a moment, then returned to her side. "That wasn't so bad," he said, gruffly. She blinked up at him. "It…it wasn't?" He shook his head, patting her shoulder. "No, little bird. My guess is that she's been a particularly lazy mood. That was a weak offense against someone like me and my sword." Sandor picked up the reins again, and they continued.

The path winded through large tunnels made from gnarled tree trunks, some with faces carved into them. They reminded Sansa of the faces carved in weirwood trees, but without the red sap gushing out. Occasionally she felt like they were being watched, but when she looked over her shoulder, nothing was there. Which seemed more eerie.

The terrain changed again, and they entered more of a wooded area, thick with trees and overgrowth. It was getting dark out, but Sandor could still see well, even in his human form, and of course Stranger, being a horse, could see as well, but Sansa felt herself stumbling along, and she groped for Sandor's cloak again, so she could follow him more easily. Her husband reached around and wrapped an arm about her wait, pulling her closer to his side. "We are almost there," he said. "No doubt she will have some food ready for us." The thought of some fresh food made Sansa's stomach growl, but she wondered how the witch could know they were coming.

Finally, the trees cleared slightly, and they faced a sprawling stone cottage that seemed to be built around and on top of the trees, but the various branches and even roots projecting from the walls. The roof was thatched, and a small billow of smoke protruded from a leaning chimney. The windows gleamed with a soft orange light. "I'm going to take care of Stranger first," Sandor told her as he led the horse to a nearby tree that offered a nice shelter with its thick leaves. He pulled off their bags and the saddle, wiping the horse down and giving him his feed, while Sansa studied the cottage with curiosity and nervousness. Would the witch be alright with them dropping by like this, unannounced? Sandor said they went way back, but you never knew with witches.

Sandor finished his tasks and picked of their packs, swinging them over one shoulder, and he took her hand. "Come, little bird." Sansa followed him to the front door, and he knocked.

There was a shuffling sound from within, and the door creaked open, allowing a strong aroma of herbs to filter out. No one stood in the doorway to greet them.

Sandor shouldered his way in, leading Sansa, until they stood inside a warm sitting room. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, with a large cauldron heating on top, and spoon was floating in the air, stirring something inside of it. The room was fairly cluttered with random objects, and Sansa took great care not to touch anything. Bottles with strange substances filled the shelves, while dried plants, garlic, and twisted herbs hung from the ceiling. A spinning wheel stood in the corner, turning by itself. The rest of the cottage faded into darkness, as if the firelight couldn't reach.

"Is she here?" Sansa whispered, afraid her voice would interrupt whatever spells were at work in the room. Sandor was watching the floating spoon, which paused in its stirring as if to regard them. "Don't stand there like strangers, now," came a voice out of thin air. "Put down your bags. You've had a long journey. Sandor, you should know better than to linger in doorways." Sansa gasped and gripped her husband's arm, searching around the room for the voice. "It's alright, little bird," he told her as he placed their packs on the floor and closed the door.

Something shimmered by the fireplace, and a faint outline took form, filling in gradually until an old woman stood where there had once been empty space, dressed in a worn brown dress, gray hair pulled back, and a wrinkled face. It was she who was stirring the pot. Sansa jumped, blinking. Was this witch? She had been invisible!

The witch turned large, brown eyes upon Sansa, and nearly dropped the spoon. "Well, well!" she cried in a raspy, yet sing-sing voice. "You are a pretty thing! Come here, child, let me see you properly now." Sansa hesitated, looking to Sandor, and was surprised that he was grinning. "Go on, little bird." She stepped forward to the old woman, who took her hands and looked deep into her eyes. "Ah…what is your name?" "Sansa." She wondered if she should curtsey.

"Sansa," the old woman repeated, studying her face. "Yes…you have a touch of destiny about you, Sansa." A strange tingle ran through Sansa's body at the words. Suddenly the witch smiled and patted her hands. "It's very nice to meet you," Sansa said, remembering her courtesies. "What a sweet girl! Sandor, why have you only just brought her to me? For shame." The witch shook her head in exasperation.

"We've been busy, Mercia" Sandor muttered, ducking under a clump of dried garlic. "Hmmph, that's no excuse." She smiled at Sansa again. "Come, my dear, sit and rest yourself." A chair was suddenly behind Sansa, and she sat gratefully, her head spinning slightly. "Dinner will be ready soon," the witch announced, then she strode over and took Sandor's hands. "You've been gone far too long, Hound," she scolded. Sandor rolled his eyes, but he smirked. "I can tell. You've got older." The witch swatted at him. "Impudent! I'll have to speak to your wife, see that she teaches you some manners."

Sansa bit her lip, not sure if she should laugh or not. "Why were you invisible when we first came in?" Sansa asked as Sandor pulled up a chair next to her and the witch settled at the spinning wheel. "I was working on a new potion," the witch answered, settling her eyes on Sansa again curiously. "Alas, it needs more sprig root, I believe." Sansa did not know what sprig root was, but it decided it must be something used for magic.

The witch looked at Sandor thoughtfully as she turned the thread in her hands. "You seem different, Hound. Ah, I reckon it is your pretty wife. Love does wonders, doesn't it?" Sandor squirmed in his chair, and Sansa blushed. "Newlyweds," the old witch clucked, and she made a motion with her fingers. The cauldron turned on its handle out of the fire, and out of a cabinet came three bowls and three spoons. "Help yourselves," the witch told them. Sandor took two of the floating bowls and spoons and spooned out dinner for he and Sansa. When he handed her a bowl, she saw it was a venison stew, and Sansa realized how hungry she was. "Thank you," she told the witch. "You are kind to offer us food."

Mercia practically glowed. "Polite little thing, isn't she?" Sandor nodded, winking at Sansa as he started eating.

The stew was just the thing to make Sansa feel warm and comfortable, and Mercia insisted she take seconds. "Now, what brings you to my neck of the woods? I know you need something, Sandor. You only ever come by when you need something," the witch sniffed. Sandor took a long swig of wine, shaking his head. "Don't act so pleased to see me." The witch rolled her eyes, glancing at Sansa.

"How did you two meet?" Sansa asked shyly. Sandor hadn't divulged his background with this woman, and Sansa had simply forgotten to ask. "I helped her get rid of some trolls," Sandor said with a shrug. Sansa gasped. "Trolls? Real trolls?" The witch cackled a little as she snipped off some of the thread. "Aye, girl, trolls. Terrible wretches. They made a home under my bridge, and one old witch isn't enough to tell them to move off." Sansa had never imagined that trolls actually existed. She wondered how many other magical creatures lived in the world, hidden and forgotten.

The witch set aside her sewing and came closer, her chair floating behind her and stopping when she sat again. "You haven't answered my question, dearies." Sansa glanced at her husband, who nodded towards her. "Go ahead, little bird. Tell her." She licked her lips nervously and met the old woman's inquisitive gaze.

"I have…this dream. It occurs every time I fall asleep, and it is exactly the same as the first time I dreamt it." "I see," said the witch slowly, tapping a long wrinkled finger against her chin. "And what is the dream about?"

"In it, I see two children playing by a house. There's a bit of snow on the ground. And then the scene changes, and I am…a wolf. And I'm hunting something…I don't know what, I always wake up before I find it." Sansa shivered. "It's so real. I smell, I hear…I feel…like a wolf." She blushed twisting her hands in her lap. "It's hard to explain."

There was a few moments of silence, and she looked up to see the witch staring at her very hard. "What is your name, child?" "Sansa…Sansa Stark, before I married Sandor." Something flashed in the woman's eyes, and she held out her hand. "Give me your palms, child." Sansa glanced at Sandor again, but he nodded in encouragement, and even in leaned closer. She offered her hands, and the witch took hold of them tightly, tracing the lines and closing her eyes and muttering something to herself.

Sansa shifted nervously. Though she had been around Sandor for some time now, there was still so much she didn't know about magic, and she couldn't help but feel a little afraid of it.

"Tell me about your family, child," the witch muttered, her eyes still closed. "Oh…well…we are of the North…we are descendants of the First Men..." Sansa wasn't sure if this was what Mercia meant, but the old woman nodded so she continued. "My father, Eddard Stark, was the Warden of the North, later made Hand of the King. My mother is Catelyn Tully…my parents are dead." She stopped there as a wave of sadness washed over her. "Keep going," prompted the witch.

"Our house sigil is the direwolf," Sansa said after a moment. The old woman froze, and her wrinkled face scrunched with concentration. "I had a pet direwolf, once," Sansa continued uncertainly. "Her name was Lady…she was killed on the way to King's Landing…"

Suddenly the witch let go of her hands with a cry and stood, spinning around and disappearing into the darker portion of the cottage. Sansa stared after her in bewilderment before turning to Sandor. "What happened?"

Her husband's face was unreadable. "Probably triggered some memory of hers," he said. "Went to look for something."

Mercia reappeared as quickly as she had vanished, carrying a large, well-worn book that smelled of dust and spices. She thumped it down on the table and began turning the yellowed pages with careful fingers, muttering a language Sansa did not understand. Sandor made no move to say anything, so she didn't either.

"Aha!" the witch cried out, making Sansa jump. "Yes…yes…the Starks…" she mused, running a long finger down a page. Sansa furrowed her brow. "Did you find something?" she asked.

Mercia turned to her finally, a strange look on her face. "Did you know that direwolves are untamable, more than any other creature besides a dragon?" Sansa blinked uncertainly. "I…people said that, of course, when I got Lady. But she was good." "To you, yes, she was," Mercia replied, taking a seat once more. "My dear, you formed a magical connection with that direwolf, and it seems that when she died…a part of her merged with you."

Sansa gasped as Sandor straightened next to her. "What do you mean? How is that possible?" Mercia smiled, showing crooked teeth. "I mean…the Starks are a very old family, and you have magic running in your blood. It's the only way you could have made such a connection with a direwolf, and…I think it is not impossible for you to be a Warg, of sorts."

"You're certain?" Sandor rasped. Mercia nodded. "That dream of hers is more than just a gift of foresight." "Foresight?" Sansa asked, her heart beating rapidly as she struggled to understand all this new information. "That's what I thought," Sandor added quietly, more to himself than anyone.

"Indeed, child." The witch took her hand again. "Your dream is telling you a piece of the future. You see the yourself as the wolf in that dream because…that is you."

A/N: I know there will be questions, but more will be revealed!