Sansa awoke with a gasp. Her room was dark, lit only by a sliver of a moon.

She wondered what had waked her, until she heard the soft knock again. Rising from her bed, she wrapped her nightdress tightly around her shaking body and went to the door. "Yes?" she whispered.

"My lady," the hoarse voice of Tyrion greeted her ears, "I beg your pardon, but there's something we must speak about."

Sansa stepped back, opening the door. Tyrion stood just outside, Bronn just behind him, looming in the darkness. "My lord, what is it you wish to speak with me about?" She said softly. "Sansa, Bronn has heard whispers of Brienne."

Her heart lept up into her throat as she beckoned him inside, but Tyrion simply shook his head. "We must act now if we wish to help her. We do not have time for explanations." Although frightened, Sansa joined them in the hall without a second thought.

Brienne. Her knight needed her, and she would not let her down.

Bronn led the way through dark hallways, lit only by the ambient light from the night's sky. They wound their way from passageway to hallway to backstaircase, down down down into the dungeons. Sansa began to feel a little light-headed, thinking of her knight in a place like this, dark and dank and smelling of rat-feces.

Suddenly Bronn halted them. Voices could be heard not too far off. Sneering, ugly voices that pierced the dark with a venom. "...laid there and took it, didn't she? Ugly big brute of a woman, I guess your cunt works as well as any other..."

Sansa gasped and closed her eyes, feeling her heart turn to stone. Maid of Tarth. The words echoed in her mind. A maid no longer, then. She was not even able to spare her that.

Sansa started as she felt Tyrion's hand on her arm, and looked up to see where Bronn was disappearing around the corner. There was a gasp, a gurgle, and the sound of steel on bone, and then Bronn was peering around the corner, nodding to Tyrion, who led them both forward.

Rounding the corner, Sansa stepped over one bloody carcasses to confront the man Bronn held, kneeling, with a sword to his throat. "Why did they take her?" she demanded of him. The man spit at her feet, and Bronn nicked a chunk from his throat. "Fine," he hissed. "They took her because the King found out about her plans to rescue the lady Sansa, and of her admiration for the bitch."

Sansa's eyes watered. Her fault. She nodded towards Bronn, and moved towards the only locked cell, hardly noticing the sound of the man dying. She could barely make out a huddled mass in the corner before Bronn was there, unlocking the door, and she was able to move inside.

Brienne was naked and shaking, curled in on herself, and Sansa could see the dried blood between her legs, and the bruises beginning to form across her body. Sansa swallowed consciously, before quietly calling over her shoulder. "Ser Bronn, if I might borrow your cloak?" Keeping her eyes trained on the shuddering figure, she held out her arm as Bronn gently handed her his heavy cloak, long enough to sweep the ground on a normal sized man. "Please close the door, and stand guard," she said, before moving to kneel close to the only person in the world who had ever come close to her idea of a perfect savior.

Brienne. The word caught in her throat, and she suddenly found she could not speak. Her heart ached for this woman who, in such a short time, had wormed her way into a heart that Sansa had long thought incapable of emotion. Instead, she found herself wrapping the cloak gently around the woman's broad shoulders before placing a dainty hand gently on an arm where it shielded a tear-streaked and abused face.

The smallest of gasps, and then with a sudden movement intense eyes of the brightest blue connected with hers and for one, two, three seconds, she was staring into the eyes of her beloved knight...and then they were dead. Full of pain, anguish, and humiliation.

The blonde head turned slightly, but Sansa caught it gently with her other hand, turning it back to face her. "It is over." Sansa said, with a confidence so strong she wondered where it came from. "They will never hurt you again." Brienne's eyes closed, a single tear falling down her cheek as Sansa moved her hand to tie the top of the cloak closed.

Sansa swallowed, once, about to speak again, when there was a distant commotion.

Bronn stuck his head back in, "Better hurry up, I think the guards are changing, and we may encounter a welcoming party if we linger." Sansa nodded to him, and turned back to Brienne. "Can you walk, my lady?" Brienne nodded, looking at the floor. Sansa looked over her shoulder. "Give us a moment, and we will come as quickly as we can." He nodded, unsheathing his blade.

Unsure how best to proceed, Sansa simply stood, and offered her arms to Brienne. "Come. Let me help you." It took some delicate maneuvering, and not a few gasps from the taller woman, but soon she was upright.

Sansa set about fastening the rest of the ties to the cloak so that Brienne's modesty was protected, and then placed and arm around her waist. Slowly but surely they made their way out into the hall. Bronn and Tyrion had been joined by Shea, who stood and rushed towards the women as they emerged. Feeling the way Brienne immediately tensed, Sansa stopped Shea's approach with a subtle shake of her head. "Shea, please see Lord Tyrion back to his room, and then start a warm bath in my chambers. And find some clothes for the Lady Brienne." Shea nodded, and she and Tyrion disappeared into the darkness.

It felt like it took an eternity, but they finally made it back to her chambers.

Bronn insisted on standing guard outside, and Sansa finally got a good look at Brienne as she sat her down on the oak chest at the foot of her bed. A warm bath waited by the fire, but Sansa refused to push Brienne into anything.

She moved to stand in front of her knight, surprised that, when seated, the Maid of Tarth's eyeline was finally equal to hers. "May I, my Lady?" She motioned to the ties. Brienne's eyes closed, and a pained expression flickered across her face. "Lady Sansa, I have not been, nor never will be a lady." She paused for a moment, as did Sansa, unsure of what to say. "After today, I could understand if you wish to discharge me from your service." Brienne's voice sounded dead, and Sansa's chest began to ache. "Why would I do that?" she whispered.

"I cannot even take care of myself, how can you trust me to take care of you? I have failed you, I have failed your lady mother, I -"

"Stop." Sansa barely recognized her own voice, but Brienne choked off the rest of her sentence as if gagged. The young Stark moved closer to her, gently taking the large, coarse hand in her small soft one. When she was able to speak, her voice was strong. "You are my knight, Ser Brienne. But like it or not, you are also a woman...and women can be hurt this way. I have experienced it myself on several occasions."

Brienne's face colored with shame, and she looked as if she wanted to die. Sansa knelt next to her on the chest, holding her hand close to her chest. She knew Brienne still blamed herself for not getting to her fast enough. "Hush," she whispered gently, "You are here. We are together. What has happened shows neither a fault in your character or your strength. These injustices done against you were done to hurt me, and for that I must humbly beg your forgiveness."

Brienne raised her head to argue, and Sansa squashed the small urge to smile. Always the protector, aren't you, my lady?

"It is true. No need to deny it. Joffrey went after you because he knew I care about you." Sansa gently traced a bruise on Brienne's cheek. "Since I could not prevent these wounds, at least allow me to mend what I can."

Brienne let out a small sob, and looked away, before nodding slowly.

Sansa smiled encouragingly at this woman who had risked her life on multiple occasions to find her, and had gone through so much in the last few hours for her sake. Brienne would never abuse her or abandon her, as so many others had. She said a silent prayer of thanks to the gods, and vowed to do her best to be worthy of the woman's loyalty.

She moved to untie the robe, and Brienne, blushing, made to help her, but her large hands were clumsy and shaky, and Sansa captured them in her own soft grasp. "Let me." She whispered. The only sign of acceptance the maid showed was to let her hands fall, still facing away. Sansa made quick work of the ties, pulling the robe from her shoulders and setting it aside. She held out a hand and guided Brienne to the tub, helping to ease the pale and muscular form down into the water. Brienne let out a sharp hiss as her womanhood made contact with the heat, but otherwise made no complaint.

Sansa took up a cloth, lathering it up before gently beginning to wash her shoulders and back. Each woman stayed silent, thoughts to themselves, as this progressed on.

'How can I tell her, now, that I love her?' Sansa wondered. This tall, proud woman had been wounded, and Sansa knew she would think Sansa was pitying her. But, in truth, Sansa had never felt more in love in her entire life. And she was in love with a human, not just an ideal.

She had also never felt more useful, more needed, more alive. For once she was in charge of her own situation, and she had changed destiny to bend to her will. She felt as if she could walk through fire with this woman by her side.