A/N: So, this is sad. I saw the first four episodes of the season that were leaked, but I probably won't be able to see new ones for long time. Which is bummer, because even while I'm off in my AU, I still like bringing quotes back from things that happened. Once again, thank you for your continued encouragement. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts.
Sansa
"The Mountain, Dunsen, Ilyn Payne, Meryn Trant, Cersei."
"What's that?" Sansa asked.
"Nothing. Go to sleep."
Sansa leaned back against the rough, cold stone. The curve of the wall forced her to bend her neck, and she longed to stretch out. She was sore all over. From hanging from the ledge, being dragged to safety, from trying to keep Clegane in the saddle... But how could she possibly complain? She removed the cloth from his forehead, soaked it in the dish of cool water at her side, wrung it out. But before she replaced it, she smoothed back his damp hair, allowed her fingers to soothe across his scarred skin. While most of him was drenched in fever sweat, the burned side of his head was curiously dry and odd to the touch. She had never allowed herself to admit that she had always wondered what it felt like. In the dark, with him too deep in sleep to know, she explored his face and tried not to explore the feeling that had punched through her chest when she first saw him again.
The lean-to they'd built around the front of the cave seemed to be keeping Arya and Podrick dry enough. Brienne was out keeping watch, and there was room enough for Sansa. Before she'd left, Brienne had given Sansa a look. The long, worried look of a septa that spoke volumes about impropriety. Which was kind of amusing, coming from a woman who spent her time in camps full of soldiers, and traveled the countryside in the company of Podrick Payne. Even Sansa had heard the rumors about Podrick Payne.
Sansa shifted again on the uneven ground, and drew her blanket close around her shoulders. Her head felt heavy, but she was loathe to move outside where she could lay it down.
Just for a moment.
She leaned forward, feeling the heat from his body, then the brush of hair, then her cheek settled against his skin and his heart beat beneath her ear. It was wrong to touch him like this. She knew it was. Were he awake, she could never have gotten so close to him. Were there any light the others could see them by, she would never have dared. But just now she was alone, and she could think of all the times in the past months she'd been so alone, so afraid, and so filled with remorse that she had refused him the night of the Blackwater.
Such a stupid girl, she thought, as her eyes drifted closed.
xxxxxxx
Sansa
Hands clamped down on her. It had become instinct to stifle her cries upon waking in the night, and she did so now. But the hands were real, as was the body she was pressed against, and she began to panic, putting her hands against the broad expanse of skin beneath her and pushing hard. But the hands held her, unrelenting. Her fingers brushed across a bandage and her mind recalled.
Clegane.
He won't hurt me.
He grasped her shoulders and dragged upward, draping her more fully across his body. Almost unconsciously, she straightened her cramped legs and stretched alongside him as he settled her, her head beneath his chin. One arm wrapped across her back, locking her in place. His other hand dove into her hair, fingers kneading her scalp in a rough caress. Feelings swirled within her, a churning mix of heat, embarrassment, and fear that brought tears of confusion to her eyes. But then, something in the quality of his movements, of his breathing, told her he wasn't awake. He wasn't really aware of what he was doing. Part of the tension in her broke like a sob, but still her heart pounded against her ribs like an animal in a trap, and she couldn't force herself to relax in his embrace. Nor could she make herself break free.
It was a long time before his grip slackened and his arms fell to his sides once more. She slid away and dragged herself outside, curling herself into a ball within her blanket, and willing sleep to claim her once again.
xxxxxx
Brienne
She had never hated rain so much as she did that night, after the storm had passed. The dripping water from the trees sounded so much like the snapping of branches, and in her mind every one was Locke and his men, come to reclaim their prisoner. There was no point in waking Pod for watch. She would get no sleep tonight.
Brienne lowered her hood and shook the rain from her cloak before drawing it more tightly about her, and tipping her gaze to the sky. Now that the storm had passed, she could glimpse a few of the constellations peeking out from behind the clouds. It was The Mother's Hand that she sought.
Mother, I thank you for your protection of Sansa and Arya Stark, and for allowing my path to cross theirs. I pray for your continued blessings and guidance in the fulfillment of my vow.
She rolled her neck, trying to dispel the tensions of the day, the moments when Sansa had almost been lost, still so vivid they chilled her. The calm tone of Clegane's gravelly voice as he spoke to Sansa, and then the wild intensity of his eyes as he looked back up to Brienne. She recognized that look, that thing that in the moment felt like the purest determination, but would have been stark terror if only time allowed.
As Arya had held her, as she'd held Clegane, she relived those moments when she'd dragged Jaime from the bear pit.
"I found her," she whispered, "for Lady Catelyn, and for you."
A noise jerked her from her thoughts, short and sharp, but too far away to identify. When more sounds followed, she rose to her feet. When she recognized what she was hearing, she ran.
Dogs.
Her long strides took her quickly away from the camp, in the direction where the horses were hidden and hobbled, some distance away. The Bastard's Girls, Pod had called them when he talked about what he knew of the area during their journey to find Sansa. The hunting dogs of the traitor Bolton's son, Ramsay. Clegane was an invalid, Sansa a proper lady, Arya a child. Podrick was a good and loyal squire, but still an untrained, untried lad. They would be no match for a vicious pack of dogs. The only hope was for Brienne to cross their path and lead the pack away from the camp.
She readied her horse as quickly as she could, now able to hear the shouts of men as well. Not many, perhaps, but too many for Podrick and Arya.
There was little light for riding, and the voices of the dogs seemed to echo all about her. Her mind was a chaotic whirl, frantic to make the right choices. Choices that seemed to take her in a confusing circling path, but ever farther from her charges.
A tree branch struck her, scraping hard against her face, the unexpected blow nearly knocking her from the saddle like a green boy. She righted herself, and leaned down over the horse's neck, feeling the heat of its exertion rise up to meet her.
"There!"
Her mount halted under her instinctive demand, and she turned back at the first recognizable words she had heard, the first that were close enough. Four men on horses, three of them armored, one of them pointing at her, and then a streak of dull color below them, and the frenetic barking and baying of dogs keen on a scent.
Brienne kicked her horse to action.
They flew through the night, unwary of direction or the uneven ground, Brienne's only sense that they were moving deeper into the forest, the trees becoming denser, the undergrowth deeper around them. The ground felt softer beneath them, Brienne's heart sinking at the thought that they were heading into marshland.
The horse shrilled, pulling up before an obstacle it couldn't jump. She reined in hard and forced her mount around, choosing a new direction. The men were far behind, traveling more carefully and trusting the dogs to see to her, but the first of the pack had reached her. Running full out beside the horse, it leapt and snapped its teeth at the horse's flank. Her horse screamed and faltered as it tried to sidestep at speed, brushing up against a tree on the other side as Brienne drew her sword and slashed down at the threat.
The dog yelped and rolled away into the night. but the others came on, closer now, two more on each side to snap and bite at her horse as she tried to maneuver. They splashed into shallow, murky water, mud that dragged at the feet of her mount as she pressed on. The dogs fell back a bit, struggling to stay above the surface, and she had put some distance between them when she reached the other side. Brienne veered her mount toward the first incline she could find, intent on finding drier ground for her horse that was breathing too hard now with exhaustion and fear.
Slowed by the climb, the dogs caught them up again, more of them now, and though she swung her sword from the saddle, she didn't think she caught any of them, now wary of the swing of metal. The horse screamed, halting and rearing dangerously, and she looked back to see that one of the dogs had caught its leg, its head swinging savagely as it clung. When the horse reared again, she held on to the pommel and leaned far back, a weak swing, but one that caught the beast, Oathkeeper's Valerian steel slicing into its flesh.
She yanked herself upright again, and drove the horse forward savagely. It stumbled a few steps, then took uneven flight once again.
The next she knew, Brienne was flying through the night alone. She hit the ground with stunning force, rolling and rolling, feeling the break and stabs of trees and plants beneath her. When her back cracked against a thick trunk was when she finally came to a stop. Hearing the screams of the dying horse and the savagery of the dogs above her, she didn't waste a moment taking stock, but scrambled to her feet and charged forward, running into the dark.
