Author's Note: Guess who's back, back again!
So I finished school for the semester so I should have a little extra time to write. I am moving into a new house, though, so a majority of my time will be focused on that.
Either way, here's the new chapter. It's definitely one of my favorite chapters. As always, let me know whether you like or dislike something, and I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 6: The Wolf Dreams
"The realm…the realm knows…what a wretched king I've been. Bad as Aerys, the gods spare me."
"I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, you'll bring me his head, or you'll burn with all the rest. All the traitors."
"If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will."
"Little cat. My little cat. I watched for you…"
"Love's not always wise, I've learned. It can lead us to great folly, but we follow our hearts…wherever they take us."
"Khal vos zigereo adoroon anevasoe maan. Me zigeree sajosoon disse."
"No man has ever died from bending his knee. He who kneels may rise again, blade in hand. He who will not kneel stays dead, stiff legs and all."
"You're mine. Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first we'll live."
"Sweet one, listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave…
"…and gentle…
"…and strong…"
Each voice floats through the air as she falls deeper and deeper into the darkness. They sound far off and muffled, as though she were in water, and yet they reverberate within her with an unnatural clarity. Her hair flows all around her, fiery tendrils surrounding and engulfing her. She can't see anything, though she feels tiny hands grabbing at her. Or perhaps they are pulling her ever downwards. How strange, she thinks.
She tries desperately to remember how she got here. She remembers…Arya…or Nymeria. Had she simply imagined that the wolf was Arya? Sandor, Allayi, and Gared had been there as well. She'd jumped in front of Nymeria to protect Sandor. And then the wolf's eyes had changed from grey to gold.
Then there was just…nothing. The voices were what woke her. But surely, she's just dreaming. She's certain she'd merely fainted. She squeezes her eyes shut, concentrating on waking up. None of this is real. You're going to wake up in Sandor's arms, and everything will be fine. You'll leave the forest, and then you'll be home, in the north. And you can go see Jon at the Wall. You can tell him how sorry you are for the way you treated him.
But you have to wake up.
And she does.
However, it is not from within her body that she finds herself. She tries to crane her neck, but an excruciating stab of pain jolts up her body from her shoulder. She cries out but not with her own voice. It is a whimper, like the one Grey Wind made when the Freys killed him. She opens her eyes. She is in a grove, sequoia and ironwood trees towering above her. She can smell water and the indistinct smell of others like her nearby, but anytime she tries to turn her head and look her shoulder aches.
She's hungry too; completely famished, as though she hasn't eaten in days. She craves to rip into something alive and taste their hot blood on her tongue, feel their flesh nourish her body. She opens her mouth to lick at her lips, and she feels sharp teeth scrape against the bottom of her tongue. Her mouth is also very long she realizes. And dry. She needs to drink.
She tries to push herself up, ignoring the blinding pain shooting through her body with each movement. As steadily as she can manage, she stands on four legs. She hoists her neck up and sees a large pond, its depths crystalline and pure. At the center is a small island with a heart tree growing strong and tall with a tranquil face. She steps towards the pool, only to lose her footing. She whines in pain when she hits the ground.
She uses every ounce of strength she can muster to crawl across the floor, her legs shaking from exhaustion. When she has made it to the water's edge, she sticks out her tongue. Tentatively, she wets her tongue before greedily plunging her mouth into the water and gorging it down. She starts coughing and choking when she drinks far too quickly, almost vomiting.
She sees herself in the reflection of the water's surface then. Though, it is not her that she is seeing. Instead a large direwolf stares back at her with blue eyes exactly like her own. Her fur is red with tufts of white around her snout and brown at the hollows of her ears. Before she can study more of her appearance, she blacks out…
…and falls to the ground, knees scraping against stone. She gasps for breath, her hands searching through the darkness. I'm here again? It's then that she remembers one fatal detail. Her fingers graze over her shoulder, where the arrow had hit her. She feels a rough scar there in its place. Am I…am I dead? Her eyes water at the realization.
Was this darkness the only thing she would know for all eternity? The septons always said that there were seven heavens where the dead could feast and laugh and sing with their loved ones for the rest of time. Where is her father and mother? Her brothers? Is she in one of the seven hells? This doesn't look like any hell that she could ever imagine.
Then she remembers Sandor and Arya and Jon. The tears overflow from her eyes and streak down her cheeks. She cries, pounding a fist into the ground. She'd never gotten to see her living siblings before passing on. She didn't even make it home. She feels so useless; the failure weighs down on her unyieldingly, crushing her to the floor. She weeps even louder. Had Robb felt this way when the Freys had killed him? And Sandor…
"I didn't get to…" she sobs, "I never told him I…"
Even in death she can't say it. She screams in anguish.
A rustling somewhere within the darkness catches her attention. She yelps, searching frantically. Her eyes can just barely make out a figure, and once she realizes what it is…who it is…her blood runs cold and throat becomes dry. Hateful glowing green eyes penetrate her and black blood oozes from his nose and mouth.
"Traitorous bitch…" he growls, his voice distorted and menacing. "How did you get here? Were you killed, like me?"
She can't bring herself to answer him. She is paralyzed in fear. This Joffrey doesn't even resemble the one she knew. And he's angrier, more sadistic. She can feel it radiating from his body, the amount of hate he's carried with him to the grave.
He hobbles closer to her, and she clumsily pushes away from him. "Don't you back away from me, cunt!" he shouts, "I should've killed you. You and that damned dog. I should've hacked your head from your shoulders like your father."
She reaches beneath her skirts feeling the handle of her dagger at her calf. She puts on a fierce expression, steeling her nerves. "You can't hurt me. We may both be dead, but you have no one here. My brothers and father will be here soon enough, and you will be nothing but ash."
He stumbles back as though he's afraid of that very scenario, so she continues, "They'll rip you apart, and when they've broken you they'll tear your beating heart from your chest. I'll bathe in your blood for the rest of time."
His fear turns to rage, and he laughs.
Sansa feels her skin blanche, knowing that she won't be able to scare him. She tries again. "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave. Don't you think you've failed enough in life? You wouldn't want to continue that in death."
His face twists grotesquely, and more blood gushes from his mouth. "Shut up, you whore! I was the one true king of all the seven kingdoms. You should've been honored that I'd even considered you to be my bride. I smashed my usurper uncle's army in the Blackwater and did the same to your brother's army at the Twins. I would've squashed all my enemies if that dwarf hadn't killed me."
Sansa tightens her fingers around her dagger. "Leave me be, or you'll be sorry."
He lunges at her, his clammy hands grasping her throat. She unsheathes her dagger and drives it into his stomach. He chokes a little from the blood in his throat and looks down to her blade. She pulls it out slowly, blood gushing from the wound as it's being withdrawn. He lifts a hand to the gash, his features contorting viciously. He lunges for her again.
A low rumble echoes all around her, and a grey blur jumps out from the corner of her vision, ripping into Joffrey's arm. He wails as he's wrenched away from her, blood pouring from the new wound on his arm. She turns her head to see what has come to her rescue. She widens her eyes, heart beating rapidly within her chest.
"Lady…"
She is exactly as Sansa remembers her. Her grey fur glistens even within the darkness of this hell that they've found themselves in. Her golden eyes shine ominously in the dark, but still Sansa can feel the good from them. She knows Lady better than she's ever known anything and seeing her here now Sansa feels her anxiety vanish. Sansa runs her fingers down her wolf's back, and she feels happy tears sting her eyes from the familiarity.
"You stupid bitch!" Joffrey hisses, bringing Sansa's attention back to the situation at hand. He reaches for his belt and unsheathes a longsword. Sansa's mouth falls open in surprise before furrowing her brows in anger and grinding her teeth together. That's not your sword.
The Valyrian steel of the blade ripples black and red. Though the hilt is glittering gold with a lion's head and rubies, Sansa knows her father's sword anywhere. The steel sings with the voices of the old gods.
He raises the sword above his head. "I'll butcher your wolf and force her entrails down your throat!"
"No!" Sansa shouts. She will not stand by and lose her Lady ever again. She falls to her knees, wrapping her arms around her wolf, anticipating the ripping of flesh against her back. A loud booming penetrates the quietness of the dark, and a gust of wind sends her hair swirling all around them. The clattering of steel on stone catches her attention, and she turns to see Joffrey splayed on the ground a few steps away from her, limbs bent unnaturally around him. The sword lays abandoned in front of her, glowing.
She reaches out and touches the hilt, the voices of the old gods ringing in her ears. There are so many, but she can't seem to make out what any of them are saying. She tightens her fist around the golden handle, and the wind returns in a huge burst. The sword's glow intensifies, her eyes widening and tearing up at the beauty of it all. She watches, completely dazzled, as the hilt changes from gold to iron. The lion's head forges itself anew, back into its original shape. The blue smoke color that Ice had saturates until the red and black are no longer seen. Though, it is not a perfect copy, only a half of a whole. Sansa's heart still rejoices at the sight.
It weighs almost nothing in her grip, and she turns to Joffrey, glancing at his broken body. He cranes his neck up and spits his black blood at her feet. "What did you do to me?!" The sight of him lying there on the ground, useless and shattered, makes her a little sad. She knows how it feels to be at the mercy of someone who wants to hurt you. She wouldn't wish that on anyone. "I'll rip you apart, you traitorous whore!"
No. Don't feel sorry for him, she thinks, closing her eyes and grasping the hilt of the sword in both hands. He didn't feel sorry for you. Do your duty. Give them their justice. Robb, mother, father…Bran and Rickon too… She feels Lady's nose rubbing against her hip. Tears sting the back of her eyes. And Lady… She opens her eyes and stares down at Joffrey, her expression hard and unfeeling. She lifts the blade above his body, aiming for the heart, and brings it swiftly down through his chest.
The darkness flees as the wind picks up again. Joffrey writhes and screams in agony, his body melting before her into a black puddle. As soon as his wailing stops, so too does the wind. Sansa looks to where his body used to be, where it's becoming one with the soil below. A small round object is nestled in the grass and red leaves. When she picks it up, the surface is rough. She realizes it's a fruit when she squeezes it and feels its soft insides move with her prodding.
She smiles down at Lady when the wolf sniffs at the fruit in her hand, bringing her attention to her surroundings. In front of her stands a weirwood heart tree with a melancholic face, its eyes bleeding dried red sap. Behind her is a pool, its depths black. All around her are trees of different kinds: sentinels, ironwood, oaks, and she assumes she's in a godswood. When she turns to her left she sees a stone wall past the tree line with an iron gate leading to a castle. Her eyes widen.
Winterfell…
She's sure of it. One of the towers beyond the wall is the Guest House. And the other tower is where she and her family used to sleep. Her eyes fill with tears, and she giggles, kneeling down and wrapping her arms around Lady's neck. She closes her eyes and nuzzles her face in the direwolf's fur, her giggling becoming hysterical.
"I've made it!" she exclaims, "I'm home!" She separates from Lady and the wolf licks at her face. Sansa laughs, her hand coming to caress the wolf's muzzle. The tears the wolf licks off her cheeks are replaced immediately after; Sansa is so overcome with joy. Eventually her happy sobs and laughter quiet, and she stares at her wolf with adoring eyes.
"Lady…" she says, "You never left me." The wolf stares back at her. Never. Sansa scratches her between the ears, laughing when her wolf sighs happily from the touch. "Our souls are bound to each other." Happiness pulses through her heart, making her eyes water once again. "I was so lost and scared all this time, and yet…" Sansa sobs, "…and yet you were always there, a part of me." She burrows her forehead against her wolf's snout.
"Sansa!"
She hears someone calling her and turns, knowing immediately who it is. Her father stands at the open gate to the godswood. Robb is there as well, Grey Wind standing protectively at his side. There are others there too, other Starks whom Sansa's never seen before. A man and woman that look a lot like her father stand behind him. Is that my Uncle Brandon and my Aunt Lyanna? And there is another older man behind them, with grey in his brown beard and hair. Her grandfather, Rickard Stark, she presumes, and a woman next to him who she thinks is her grandmother, Lyarra. She instantly notices that neither her mother, Bran, or Rickon are there. She wonders if they are waiting for her in the castle, and she stands and gathers her skirts, excited to spend all of eternity with her family.
But the sound of raspy singing fills the air and stops her. She turns around, drawn to the sound. There is a small campfire on the right side of the heart tree, three horses grazing on the side. Nymeria is sleeping on one side of the fire, and when she sees herself and Sandor cuddled up at the direwolf's belly, her heart flutters.
The song he sings is unfamiliar to her, and his voice is not the prettiest thing she's ever heard. However, it is something so new to her, so unlike him, that it moves her to tears. She can tell that he's crying, or at least trying to hold back tears. Seeing him like this breaks her heart.
He sobs, stopping his singing, and it saddens Sansa that the moment is over. "Little bird…My little bird…Please, wake up," he says, "You can't just leave me like this."
"Why are you showing me this?" she whispers, to no one in particular. She doesn't understand what is happening. She looks at the sorrowful face of the heart tree, hoping to find answers. She closes her eyes trying to listen for the guidance of the old gods. She feels Lady lick her hand, and she looks down at her wolf.
Choose, she hears from within, Choose, and I will follow.
"I have to choose?" Sansa asks. Her heart sinks. How can anyone expect her to make this sort of decision? Why is it that she gets to choose whether or not she lives or dies? Why hadn't anyone in her family gotten the choice?
She looks to her left, where her family remains smiling at her. Death, the other side. A world completely separate from the living one. She can become a part of everything…the wind, the stars…She can be with everyone she's ever loved, forever. She would never know pain again.
"I love you, Sansa."
Her eyes widen and she turns around quickly, towards where she and Sandor lay. Her eyes fill at the brim with tears, but she cannot blink. She doesn't want to take her eyes off him. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, and blood rushes to her head, making her feel faint. She clasps her hands in front of her chest, his words replaying in her head over and over.
I love you, Sansa.
Living. Feeling. Being in love.
"I love you so gods damn much, little bird."
Growing old together.
"Please, wake up."
There are so many things that she still must do. And in that moment, she's made her decision. She turns back to her family, the tears escaping from her eyes. She misses them so bad, it physically hurts. She longs to spend the rest of forever with them, to dance and laugh and sing with them. But she cannot leave Sandor behind. She'd never forgive herself.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers.
Nobody looks angry or disappointed, though. All they do is smile and nod to her in understanding. Grey Wind howls, and Lady answers his call with her own. I will see you again, brother. Sansa turns away and approaches Sandor and her sleeping form, Lady at her side. She kneels and places her hand over her other's heart.
She opens her eyes, the light of the morning sun making her head pound and blurring her vision. When her sight is finally able to focus, she notices the branches of the trees above her moving, and she wonders if the trees are walking. She turns her head to look around, trying to bend her arms so she can roll over or sit up, but her arms are bound to her side. Her shoulder aches unlike anything she's ever felt.
"…San…dor…" she gasps, her voice sore and hoarse from disuse. She tastes garlic in her mouth and suppresses the urge to vomit. She tries again, "Sandor…my love…"
The vines rustle as someone pulls themselves up, Sansa's spine tingling with relief when she sees Allayi's face. Allayi's features turn from apathetic to surprise to joy when she notices Sansa's alert state. "Hey, stop! She's awake!" she shouts, laughter in her throat. Sansa notices tears in the corner of her eyes, but she quickly wipes them away. Everything comes to a stop, and she panics when Allayi slides off of whatever she's perched on. She does not want to be alone, bound, and scared. She wants Sandor.
"No…please…" she croaks, eyes watering from the pain in her shoulder.
She feels her bed lower. "Hurry up and get her down!" She hears Sandor's voice and wriggles within her confines to try and get to him. "We're going as fast as we can. These knots are too damn tight." She recognizes Gared's voice. Finally, two pairs of hands grab her cot and pull her down. Gared and Allyai begin untying her restraints, but it is not them that she wants to see. Their hands fumble about the knots in the vines, and she gets restless, tossing and turning within the furs that cover her. She moans in frustration.
Nymeria's wet nose nuzzles against Sansa's cheek. Be calm, sister.
"No…no…" she rasps, "Sandor…Where is he?"
"Get the fuck out of my way," Sandor growls pushing his way between Allayi and Gared. "Useless, the both of you. I should butcher and feed you to the wolves."
Her heart leaps when she sees his burnt face twisted in gentle annoyance. "Sandor…I lo- "she breaks into a fit of coughs.
"Shh, little bird…" he rumbles, his voice creating pleasant shivers down her back. "I'm here. I won't leave your side."
I love you! She wants to scream from the top of her lungs, but her throat is too dry to form words. He unsheathes a hunting dagger from his belt and cuts the vines keeping her pinned to the cot. When her arm is free, she reaches for him, laying her hand gently against his burnt cheek. Once she's rid of her ties, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her out from beneath the furs, hugging her close to his chest. He lifts a large hand to her cheek with a gentleness one wouldn't expect in a giant like him, but she knows him better than that. His fingers tangle into her copper mane as he stares into her eyes, his features unreadable as he searches her face for any sign of discomfort.
He turns away from her, and she whines at the loss of his silver gaze. "What are you two standing about for? Get her some water."
Allayi pulls her waterskin from her palomino's saddlebag. She kneels in front of Sansa, holding the skin to her lips tenderly. She instructs Sandor to tip Sansa's head back. "Drink slow, Queen," she says, her voice kind and soothing.
The water is sweeter than lemon cakes, and greed consumes her mind as she tries to slurp more water. Allayi does not let her engorge herself, though, pulling the skin back every time Sansa barely gets a sip past her cracked lips. Sandor never takes his eyes off her, his stare penetrating to the deepest part of her soul, and she matches it with her own.
Once Sansa's drank enough, he orders for camp to be made so she can break her fast. She realizes how hungry she is then, her stomach groaning loudly. Embarrassed, she places her hand over her tummy, but she doesn't feel the rush of blood to her cheeks. Sansa pushes herself up on shaky legs, but it's been so long since she's used them that her knees buckle. Before she can fall, Sandor bends and sweeps her up into his arm, holding her as a man would hold his bride.
He situates her at the base of a tree trunk while Gared prepares a fire at her feet. The heat does not beat the chill off completely, but Sandor secures her cloak tighter around herself. Allayi busies herself with heating the haunch of a rabbit. Once it's finished warming, she places the leg in Sansa's waiting fingers.
"Take small bites. Eat too fast or too much, you will be throwing it up," Allayi says, "You understand?"
"Yes, I do," Sansa answers, "Thank you for taking care of me."
Allayi looks thoughtful for a moment before saying, "You should be having soup, but there is no pot for me to cook."
"It's all right; I'll manage." But it is easier said than done. The moment Sansa bites into the rabbit's flesh, the more ravenous she becomes. She desperately craves to suck the bone till it's dry, but she can already feel her tummy clenching angrily within her from just a single bite. When she is through, her stomach still grumbles, craving more even through the nausea. She feels through the pockets in her cloak, wondering if she has any small foods stored away. Her hand clasps around something rough and round, and her heart leaps into her throat.
She pulls out a small black fruit, the same one that had been produced from Joffrey's blood in her deam. How did it get here? Perhaps it was a gift from the gods, but her stomach turns unpleasantly at the memory of watching Joffrey's body melt into the earth. Still, she's hungry. She tentatively bites into the fruit, pulling off a small piece only to taste. Her nose scrunches up. It tastes like the medicine Maester Luwin used to give her and her siblings when they were sick.
When she swallows, a sharp pain pierces her shoulder as though someone were pressing a thumb into her wound. She cries out, dropping the fruit and clutching her shoulder.
Sandor is immediately at her side, grasping her upper arms in his hands when she hunches over on her hands and knees. "What's happening to you?!"
She can't answer him, can't form the words to describe the pain that she's in. It feels like her shoulder is being ripped apart only to be put back together again. White speckles overtake her vision, and bile rises in her throat as she screams in agony. Then the pain is gone as quickly as it came, tears escaping from Sansa's eyes at the memory of it. And her shoulder doesn't ache anymore. She rolls the bone languidly, experimentally, and feels no pain.
Allayi kneels at her side, directing her to sit up. "Let me check wound." She pulls Sansa's dress down and undoes the bandage around her shoulder. She gently moves the moss aside, her eyes widening in astonishment. "It…It's healed…"
Sure enough, when Sansa looks, a jagged pink scar has taken its place on her porcelain skin. She tilts her head to the side. "Isn't it because of your healing?"
"Of- of course, but…" Allayi stumbles over her words, perplexed. "It should have taken weeks, months even, before the healing was done." She glances around, wide eyes spotting the fruit in the dirt. She picks it up, turning it around and examining it. "What is this?"
"I don't know, but I think it's some type of fruit," Sansa answers honestly.
"Where did you get it?"
Sansa's cheeks color remembering the hell she was stuck in with Joffrey. She can't possibly tell them all of that, or they would think she is as mad as King Aerys. "I…I don't remember," she says. She notices Sandor narrow his eyes at her from the corner of her vision, clearly detecting her lie. I will explain everything to him later, she thinks. She knows that she can tell him anything, and he'll never think her insane for it.
"Amazing…" Gared gasps, peering over Allayi's shoulder. "This thing healed you completely in seconds…"
They don't even have time to rest before Nymeria becomes restless, and they are forced to go on the move again. Sandor grasps her by the waist and lifts her onto Stranger before mounting up behind her. She can just barely make out the shapes of other smaller wolves following them within the shadows of the trees and huddles closer against Sandor's chest. He tightens his hold around her, sending pleasant shivers through her body. It feels like only moments ago when she thought she'd never see him again, and yet here she is in his loving embrace.
It isn't long before she smells something familiar in the air, and the trees become much larger than they were before. Lush moss covers the path they walk, and the wolves start to howl their return. When she sees the spring with the heart tree island in the center, she knows exactly where they are.
"I was here," she whispers to herself.
Though, Sandor hears. "What do you mean?"
"While I was sleeping, I came here," she explains, "But I wasn't in my body. When I looked in the water, I was a direwolf."
Sansa scans her surroundings as they continue forward, and sure enough there is a red direwolf larger than a horse lying near the waters edge, a huge gash across her shoulder. At first, she thinks the wolf is dead, but upon further inspection see can see a subtle rise and fall from its stomach. The wound oozes a disgusting pus, and her fur is matted with blood. Nymeria approaches the smaller direwolf, licking the little one's cheek with her large tongue.
Sansa feels something strange and primal overtake her, as if she is no longer the host of her own body. She pushes herself off Stranger's back, stumble running to the dying wolf. She falls to her knees at the wolf's head, reaching her hand to its large muzzle. The direwolf's golden eyes instantly focus on her, clasping her wrist within its jaws, growling low. Sansa flinches, though feels no pain biting into her flesh. The wolf is far too weak to get a tight hold on her.
She hears her companions go for their weapons, and she snaps her head towards them, nostrils flaring. "No!" she snarls, "You will not hurt her further!" Nymeria at her side also glares at them, her sharp teeth bared menacingly. Allayi and Gared immediately release their weapons, but she sees Sandor's hand still clasped around the pommel of his sword.
Sansa turns her attention back to the red wolf, her eyes full of sympathy as she gazes down at the open laceration across the direwolf's shoulder. She grazes her fingers across her own shoulder, a phantom sting resonating from where the arrow had pierced her flesh. Nymeria nuzzles the young wolf's neck with her nose. Trust her, Sansa hears, She is like me and you, daughter.
The direwolf's demeanor seems to calm from that, slowly releasing Sansa from her jaws. She sniffs Sansa's hand before lightly licking the skin of her wrist as if to ease a non-existent hurt. The wolf's head lulls to the side, eyes dulling as she stares blankly ahead. Sansa tenderly brushes her hand underneath the direwolf's wound, carefully so as not to hurt her.
Sansa turns to Allayi. "Isn't there something we can do for her?" she asks.
Allayi's brow creases, mouth opening and closing as if she's unsure of what to say. Finally, she holds her hands out in front of her, palms up, looking at Sansa sadly. "Her wound is many days old, Queen. She will be dead in hour. There is nothing we can do."
"It would be kinder to put her down, Your Grace," Gared says.
No, Sansa thinks, panicking as she looks back at the wolf. There must be something, anything! Then she remembers. She digs through her pockets, finding the round black fruit in seconds. She examines it within her palm. It had worked on her, but her wound was significantly smaller and had been properly taken care of. Would this even do anything for the wolf? Sansa is willing to try, at least.
"Here, eat this," Sansa commands, moving the wolf's lips aside and trying to push the fruit past its teeth. "It's medicine. It will heal you." But the direwolf's jaws are clamped shut. Sansa hooks her finger's underneath the wolf's front teeth, sharp fangs tearing into her skin. She can't tell if the wetness forming on her hand is blood or saliva. She forces the wolf's mouth open, and swiftly shoves her fruit filled fist down the wolf's throat. The direwolf's eyes widen, completely alert. She releases the wolf's mouth, enclosing her arms around the wolf's muzzle tightly.
The wolf struggles against her, thrashing its head about wildly as she stands on shaky legs. Sansa holds on firmly through the wolf's erratic tossing, her hair whipping around her face. Sansa's jaw tightens, screwing her eyes shut. She can't keep her grip forever, though, and slips away from the wolf after a particularly harsh heave. She rolls across the grass, head throbbing from the impact. Sandor's strong arms wrap around her, lifting her into his embrace. She offers him the briefest of thankful glances before looking back to the direwolf.
The wolf screams in anguish, a sound so terrifying and unnatural that it sends cold shivers through Sansa's body. She has never heard a sound so distressing. What did you do to me?! Sansa watches in amazement as the gash in the direwolf's shoulder slowly closes, muscle and skin forming in mere seconds. When the healing is done, the wolf is silent, the gash on her shoulder nothing but a rough bald scar. The wolf experimentally takes a few steps in a circle, head tilting in confusion.
The wolf's eyes widen like saucers when it notices the water, rushing over to lap as much of it as she can. As Sansa looks over the wolf's form she sees how skinny she is, guessing that the direwolf hasn't eaten in many days. Sansa quickly pushes herself up and approaches Allayi's palomino, withdrawing the remaining rabbit meat from the saddlebag. She moves towards the wolf cautiously while it is distracted by the water. The direwolf eyes her warily once her thirst has been sated, but Sansa meets her gaze unflinchingly. She kneels, placing the rabbit in the grass.
An offering.
The wolf stalks towards her, slaver dripping from its jowls. Sansa can feel it too, how the direwolf hungers, craves to devour every living thing in sight. This measly rabbit cannot satisfy her, but it will be good enough. The wolf sniffs at the meat, the gamey smell filling Sansa's senses, before ripping savagely into its flesh. She does not even bother with chewing, and Sansa can almost taste the juice from the meal. In seconds, the rabbit is consumed.
The wolf's gaze is on her then, her expression unreadable. Sansa feels a slight bit of apprehension but stands tall and proud before the direwolf. I am a direwolf too, she silently declares. Perhaps the wolf hears her, because the moment she thinks it the direwolf's fur bristles and face twists into a hateful scowl.
Her low growling sets Sansa on edge. Farlen, the kennel master at Winterfell, had shown her how to establish dominance when she'd received Lady. However, Lady had been a puppy and the smallest of the litter on top of that. She had been easy to control and train. This direwolf is grown and wild, tamed by no man. And did Farlen truly know anything about pacifying wolves, or was it only dogs?
Sansa's heart skips a beat when she feels Lady howl within her, and all of her fear disappears. She steels herself, meeting the direwolf's fearsome glare with her own. She hears the sound of steel being unsheathed behind her and turns to Sandor. "No," she says, resting her hand against the flat of his blade and gently pushing the point away from the wolf. He seems put off by her command, but does as he's bid.
She turns her attention back to the wolf. "Sit," she orders.
No! The wolf bounds closer to her, teeth barred as she growls and barks. Her snapping jaws are mere inches away from Sansa's face, but she will not submit. Sansa will establish herself as the alpha in this pack. She points her finger boldly and says again, "Sit. Now." The wolf continues to growl, though softer this time. Sansa can practically feel the power shift as the direwolf slowly seats herself. Sansa's heart sings in triumph, but she is not done yet. "Lie down." The wolf's golden eyes seem to burn her from the inside out, but she remains strong and firm. The wolf lowers her front paws, lying down on her tummy but keeping her head perked up while she looks at Sansa.
Sansa can tell that the wolf's patience is being spread thin, and she kneels so that she is level with the wolf's gaze. The direwolf still glowers at her, and the low growling rumbles through her. She can feel the wolf's anger pulse in her veins and the connection she has with this creature fascinates her. She encloses her arms gently around the direwolf's neck, placing a soft kiss to the wolf's cheek. She nuzzles her head into the fur on the wolf's neck.
"Good girl," she praises, carding her fingers through the wolf's soft pelt. "Yes, you're a good girl."
The anger is gone then, replaced by a serene contentment. The wolf pulls back from Sansa's embrace, sniffing at her face before licking her cheek. Sansa laughs at the sensation, lightly scratching the wolf between her ears.
However, the wolf isn't completely obedient yet. All four of them struggle dragging her to the pool so that Sansa can get her cleaned. They even have to hold her back so that she won't run off into the mud and dirty herself up again. By the time the sun sets, the wolf's fur is glistening in the light of their campfire.
Allayi wants to leave the forest as soon as possible, insisting that they continue their journey at the break of dawn. Sansa thinks of Arya and how she'd told her where she was. She's able to convince Allayi to let them remain there in the grove for a few days, saying that she still feels too weak to travel.
That night as Allayi and Gared sleep, Sansa cuddles up against Nymeria while the red wolf lays across Sansa's lap. Sansa lightly strokes her fingertips along the scarring on the wolf's shoulder, thankful that it doesn't seem to hurt her. She hums a soft tune while she brainstorms names for her new wolf.
She looks to Sandor, standing away from the fire and looking out into the woods. "Come sleep, Sandor," she calls, beckoning him towards her with a finger.
"Someone needs to keep watch, little bird," he says, though he still obliges her by approaching her and kneeling in front of her.
"We're surrounded by wolves," she answers, Lady perking up inside her and making her heart flutter. "They'll protect us."
A smirk plays at his lips. "I don't trust a pack of wild animals with your life, Sansa."
"Will you at least sit with me a while?"
"Yes, little bird. I'll sit with you." And he joins her next to the fire.
She sits there for a moment, simply staring at him. She can feel the words she wants to say to him tickling the back of her throat, begging to be released. Fear holds her back, though. She's never been in this situation before. It's not as easy as the songs make it out to be, confessing your love for someone. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and she can feel a blush heating up her cheeks.
"Where did you get that fruit?" he asks, pulling her from her thoughts. "I know that you were lying to Allayi."
Her mouth becomes dry from that. She doesn't even know where to begin. All of her dream had felt so surreal, and yet it had been as tangible as the world around her. She decides to start from the beginning, and he listens. She tells him every detail, though she leaves out her choice at the end. She wants to keep that moment for herself. When she's finished her tale, he is surprisingly silent, just staring into her eyes. Her hands fidget against the rough skin of her wolf's scar, heart sinking from his reaction.
He thinks I'm mad. "What are you thinking, Sandor?"
He sighs. "I'm not sure what to think, little bird."
"What about Joffrey?" she asks, "You were his sworn shield. Do you feel anything from his death?"
"It was just a dream, Sansa. We don't even know if he is dead."
"And if he is?"
"Then good riddance," he rasps, "That's one less person in this world who would hurt you. I only wish I could've been there to see you drive your sword through him." He reaches out, taking her small hand within his large one. "I'm so proud of you, little bird."
Tears sting her eyes as she meets his eyes, drowning in the abyss of his silver gaze. "I love you, Sandor."
His eyes widen, and she feels his pulse quicken against the palm of her hand. "What?"
"I love you," she says again, the tears falling and dripping down her cheeks and soaking the fur of her wolf. "That's all I could think about while I was stuck in that darkness. I just wanted to see you again so that I could tell you all that I feel for you." She laughs through a sob. "I love you so much. I'm sorry for the way I treated you when we first met, for anything I may have done or said that hurt you."
Again, he is silent, and it only makes her cry more. Why isn't he saying anything?
"Sandor?" Does he not believe me? How do I make him believe me? He leans towards her, hands coming up to cup her cheeks. "Sandor, I love you."
Then his lips are on hers, so soft and sweet and setting her blood on fire. Her hand lifts to his face, fingertips gently stroking against the rough surface of his scars. She opens her mouth to deepen their kiss, desperate for him to feel how much she loves him. She whines when he pulls away from her, the kiss over far too soon for her liking.
"Shh, it's all right, little bird," he whispers, thumbs stroking her tears away, "I believe you." His hands leave her face, and he takes ahold of her hand to press tender kisses to her fingertips. "You need to get some sleep now."
"Please, don't leave me," she whimpers.
"I won't leave," he says, lightly squeezing her hand. "I'll stay here until you sleep."
Sleep comes to her easy that night, and when she dreams it is from the eyes of her wolf.