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Note: It's been a bit but here's the next chapter. Looking forward to your thoughts and comments!

Chapter 9: On the Backs of Northern Lords

This morning did not start out like the one before. Sansa was roused from sleep before the sun had risen and the bed was empty; she could only see the silhouette of Sandor's naked body lighting a candle and walking over to the wash basin. It was odd to her how he had no modesty when it came to such things; she wondered if that was just the way men were brought up-as if it were their right to take what they wanted when they wanted it, to not fear the eyes and desires of others. Mulling this over, Sansa wiped the sleep out of her eyes as he splashed his with the water, his body shaking from the biting cold.

'Southerners.' She smirked, knowing they could not take the cold well. They didn't belong here, not in Winterfell, not in the were occupiers in a foreign land, that was something Sansa dare not forget. Even as Sandor Clegane had begun to possess her body, seize her senses and encroach on her heart, she could not allow him to pull her from her singular purpose: To liberate her people and to reclaim what was the rightful domaine of the Starks.

'I will avenge you dear mother, dear father, dearest siblings.' She repeated her oath silently to herself not wanting to disturb her captor, lest she rouse his seemingly insatiable lust.

Sansa sat up in the bed, took the hairbrush from the nightstand, and began to brush her long hair. It was certainly a fright, as she had not had time to brush it properly the last few a page out of his book, Sansa did not make a move to pull the furs up to cover her breasts, more intent on ridding her hair of the knots that had accumulated in it during the night.

Wrapping her long hair over her right shoulder, Sansa began to tame her riotious copper mane. Sensing eyes on her, she turned her head to investigate. Sandor was sitting on a chair, his armor on, pulling up his boots. He'd stopped everything and was looking at her with a stare so intense, she felt like a small rabbit in the eyes of a wolf. She must have been quite a sight to take in, topless, her red hair spilling wildly over her back and shoulders. He exhaled, clearing his throat then broke their eye contact to continue putting on his boots.

'He's smitten.' That was the first thought that entered her mind upon seeing the expression on his face. It made her feel vulnerable yet valued, being able to stir such feelings in a man not given by nature to love or affection. The sight of his grey eyes devouring her form whilst performing one of the more mundane tasks of the day, was thrilling- even arousing.

Sandor took his sword and walked to the door, looking back at her as he moved to open it. He said not a word, but there was something in his eyes that spoke to her-as if he were memorizing her on the chance he didn't come back from his patrol. Sansa made a point to keep her face expressionless, not wanting to give away any more of her feelings for him than she already had the night before. He held her gaze a moment longer, then exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Sansa exhaled, surprised she was even holding her breath. Something about him put her on edge. It wasn't the fear of him hurting her, or the threat of physical violence. It was this feeling he made well up inside her. She could not name it, but it felt like anticipation mixed with desire somehow wrapped in a deep seeded respect for her opponent. It had often been told to her that love and hate were two sides of the same coin, but she had never really believed it until now.

Pushing these thoughts from her mind, Sansa dressed quickly and made up the room. She would have not time to rifle through his papers quite yet as she needed to get down into the courtyard of the castle as soon as possible. It was Thursday and Gendry was sure to be smithing for the soldiers. Depending on the work they had for him, he might stay until mid-day or leave earlier. So she would have to forego his diary entries in favor of stopping by the kitchens briefly and then heading over to visit to her second in command.

There was work to do on the resistance front, and the more Sansa thought about it, the more she felt it was time to try to win the Northern Lords to her side. It would be a political chess game to make them believe there was a Stark ready to retake the North. Titles would have to be promised, lands redivided, offers made that were more attractive than those of the Hound and the Baratheons. This window that would open up in six weeks would be an opportunity to turn up the heat on the Southern Occupiers, a way to make them feel on edge-tip the game in her favor. But a war was not won on guerrilla tactics alone, they would eventually need the armies of the Northern Lords. Gendry knew a man, Baron the Bard, who claimed to have connections to all the courts in the North. If she wanted to get the word out, if she wanted to test the waters for the chance of overthrowing the occupying forces, she would have to see if they were willing to support her. This would take time, but given she had not heard from Jon in a while, she was not willing to wait longer.

'I won't wait for my brother to ride in and save the day. If we move now we have a better chance than later.' This was the only clear thought in her mind. The only sure reference point in this storm of emotions she was weathering.

Bolting the door from the inside, Sansa then made her way to the hidden passage across the room. There was a latch at the juncture of the wall and the floor, rubbing her fingers under the wall softly she felt it, then pressed heavy stone door pushed out and she opened it slowly. It was heavy and dragged across the floor a bit. She knew that right inside the door there was a small box, and in this box there was a seal. It was the official seal of the Starks, a piece that nobody other than a Stark would own. She opened the little box and pulled it out. It was silver and heavy, on the bottom the etching of her house. Gendry would need to pass this to the bard and the bard would need to show it to the Northern Lords, proof that the Starks still lived. It was a gamble, but she had to try.

She swept up the floor around the hidden door, trying to make it look as though she had not just moved a thick stone door across it. Satisfied with her work, Sansa put the seal in her pocket and went down to the kitchens.

The rain was pouring down and it made even crossing the courtyard a difficult and muddy task. Sansa grabbed a thick black cloak she found hanging in the hall and put it on. It was a bit short but it was enough to shield her body from the rain and cold, the hood large enough to cover her hair. There was no need for any of the soldiers to recognize her, particularly talking to the blacksmith. That would be the best way to get Gendry beaten or hung - or both. She sighed solemnly at that thought.

Gendry had been her rock over the last couple of years. An orphan of the war similar to her, they had taken up residence together in a small farm house. He had taught her what he knew about animals and farming, she had done her best to help things run as smoothly as possible. When it came time to build the resistance, he had been her first recruit. Strong, capable and a natural leader, he had been instrumental in spreading the word about their fight. He had also been the only person she could turn to with questions, or with wicked ideas. Their patriotism was born of war, and personal loss. They thought alike and this was extremely useful. Sansa counted on his continued support to win against the Southerners. She counted on his friendship to help her see this war to its end.

Lifting her skirts, Sansa made her way across the courtyard, doing her best to dodge the huge puddles of water and mud that were forming. Rounding the stables she walked back to where the blacksmith was to do his work. She was thankful that it was warm and dry in the little hut where he worked, much different from other parts of the castle at the moment. It was difficult to miss Gendry, his muscular arms bare, sweat on his noble looking brow. He was shoeing a horse, banging the shoe on an anvil with a hammer in order to fit it properly.

"Gendry." She whispered loudly over the banging of the hammer.

He stopped and looked in her direction, a relieved look suddenly on his face. "Magda!" He dropped what he was doing and embraced her. "Is he hurting you?"

His blue eyes were searching hers with proper concern. He had seen Sandor take her from the barn only two days earlier, knew what that meant. It almost made her blush, Gendry knowing what she was doing with the Hound. It made the demure 'Lady' in bubble to the surface.

"I'm surviving." It felt like a lie coming out of her mouth, knowing that she was not being treated poorly given the situation. Knowing that she was slowly growing fond of her enemy's touch, despite his unforgivable crimes against her people.

Gendry simply looked her over once again and nodded, going back to his work.

"I saw some of the boys hanging." She said, turning back to the subject that mattered and away from her thoughts.

He simply nodded, striking the heated horseshoe again, "Yeah, but we killed ten of those bastards, so it's worth it."

There was a brief pause, as if a moment of silence to remember the dead was appropriate now. Then she continued, "I do have some news though."

This peaked Gendry's interest, he put another shoe in the fire to heat it up. Sansa continued, "I heard that they are not getting reinforcements."

At this her friend's eyebrow raised, a devilish grin crossed his face. "Oh really?"

"Yes, it would seem there is war with Highgarden, they not only won't reinforce the Hound's troops, but they are asking him to send some to aid them."

"A war on two fronts is difficult to win." Gendry mused as he pulled out the horseshoe and began to hit it.

"Indeed." She said. "In six weeks they will send troops; they will be weakened. It will be a good time to make some trouble."

Gendry nodded, his mind clearly racing with possibilities.

"Are you still friends with Baron the Bard?" She asked, almost tentatively.

"Ha." Gendry laughed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "That bastard stole my girl, but she wasn't worth winning her back."

At this Sansa shook her head, 'Men.' She mused.

"But yeah, we still keep in contact. Why?" He asked.

"There has been news from the North." She lied, though she suspected Gendry either knew or was highly skeptical of her peasant ancestry. "Give this to him, tell him that the Starks are ready to take Winterfell. He needs to get their support and report back to us. We have to know if there is enough willingness amongst the Northern Lords to rise against the Baratheons."

Gendry took the seal and looked it over, as if he could discern its authenticity. He had a concerned look on his face.

"What?" She probed, concerned as to what he might say.

"Well I just hope he can do it. You know bards are all talk, talk, talk, sing, sing, sing. We can't be sure he knows all the lords in the territory."

"But what else can we do?" She questioned. "If we don't attack when they are weakened here, there might never be a chance. The Starks are ready, but we need to lay the final groundwork."

She wasn't sure if he was onboard with her suggestions, but she could see he was mulling it over. "I'll talk to him." Gendry said finally.

"Good." She answered, almost relieved. "How long do you think it will take him?"

Gendry shook his head, "If he's not drunk half the time? Two months, two and a half."

Sansa nodded, it fit the timeframe. They could continue to demoralize the troops and launch an offensive when they were weak. It would fit.

"Otherwise, I'll try to come by when you are here. I'll keep my eyes and ears open for anything of value." She looked around to make sure nobody had come in during the time they had been speaking.

Gendry nodded, understanding the need for both of them to be as discreet as possible.

They looked at each other one last time, and then she ducked out of the small hut, pulling her hood back over her head. As she hurried away, her eyes looked around to make sure that nobody was paying too close attention to her. It seemed fine, but her mind was awash of the possibilities.

'Will the lords agree? Or will they even take it seriously?' She hoped so. There was no way she could wait any longer. If Jon would not come, she would take the North.

Rounding the stables Sansa was so lost in thought that she almost did not notice the sound of scuffling from within. It wasn't an animal, it was far too small of a sound for that. There there was a muffled cry, human. Something was going on, and it didn't sound like the ordinary work of a stable boy.

Entering the stable Sansa tiptoed to the back, past some horses in their stalls and into an emptier part of the building. What she saw as she zeroed in on the sound, made her stomach turn violently.

It was the Hound's lieutenant, Trant; Sansa could tell by his hair and armor. His britches were down around his knees as he struggled on the floor with a girl. He was having difficulty muffling her cries while trying to navigate her skirts. It was a milk maid; she couldn't have been more than ten years old.

Rage hit Sansa quickly as she looked around for the first weapon she could find. It didn't take long for her eyes to rest upon a bull whip hanging arm's length away on the wall.. She silently thanked Gendry for teaching her how to use any farm implement available to defend herself. The whip had been something she had always been able to use well. She smirked as she took it from the wall.

'I might even enjoy this.' Were her only thoughts as she swung the whip over her head, a large crack filling the air-a thin line of blood forming on Trant's hip and ass.

The man screamed in pain and rolled off the girl, in an attempt to understand what was going on. As his stiff manhood came into view it was clear to Sansa why he tried to rape ten year olds. She laughed at the sight of him outright and cracked the whip again across his upper thigh.

"I'd take off your manhood with this whip, but I don't think I can hit something so small from here." She taunted as she advanced on the man.

"You bitch!" He yelled his face red with anger as he reached for his sword.

Sansa cracked the whip again, hitting his hand away from his sword, cracking it again and giving him a lash across his cheek. "Silence!" She yelled anger flooding through her veins.

Sansa took only a brief moment to look over at the girl-to see if she was badly injured. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned her attention back to Trant, still sitting on the ground his arms up trying to defend himself.

"Take off your armor girly, and put your hands on the wall." Her saccharine voice dripped with the sweet feeling of revenge.

When Trant began to protest she cracked the whip next to her, the pop screaming through the stable. "Hurry! Or I'll take an eye."

Shaking Trant did as he was told, all the while glaring at her hatefully. If he could have murdered her right then and there he would have done it, but he was too craven to pull his sword under these circumstances.

He did as he was told, his pants around his ankles, his hands on the wall. There was no way to contain her feelings, no way to go back now. He was disgusting, a pitiful excuse for a human being. She flicked her wrist twice in quick succession, two lines of blood forming on his back. It felt so good to hear him scream in pain, to hear the way his voice choked up.

Her eyes narrowing, Sansa raised the whip over her head once again, but felt it catch on her attempted downswing-irritation and frustration building as she turned to find herself face to face with the Hound. His left hand had caught the whip end, wrapping it around his palm twice. He was wet, drenched from the rain, only his white tunic and his trousers were covering his body. He'd clearly relieved himself of his armor before he put his horse in the stable. There was a glint in his grey eyes as he assessed the situation.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Hound's voice boomed through the stables, turning all eyes to him. .

Trant turned around immediately and pointed straight at Sansa whining like a petulant child. "My Lord, this bitch is attacking me. You see what she has done?"

His pants were still around his ankles-his naked body visible for all to see.

Pulling the whip out of Sansa's hand effortlessly, Sandor cast his lieutenant a disparaging look, as if he couldn't have ever imagined the man was so poorly endowed. "Stuff that pecker back in your trousers before you embarrass yourself further, Trant." He said, then shifted his eyes to the young milk maid.

Her blue dress was ripped and she had pushed herself deep into a corner, shaking. She was clearly disturbed, and the smell of urine wafted from her direction. The poor thing was so scared of everything, Trant, the Hound. Sansa didn't blame her, she had done nothing wrong yet she could be punished all the same. Sansa's heart raced as Sandor approached the girl, knowing all too well how imposing his form felt as it loomed over you, and she was a woman grown, not young girl filled with fear. Sandor's face held the same expression it often did, unreadable and Sansa could not discern what his true intentions were.

'Will he punish this poor girl?' Sansa asked herself, 'He wouldn't give her to Trant, would he?' The mere thought of this made Sansa's mouth dry. If he did anything dishonorable she would attack him, she would not hold back. She readied herself.

Then, Sansa watched Sandor's eyes soften at the sight of the girl, knowing instinctively what had happened or was about to happen before Sansa had intervened. He reached into his coin purse and pulled out a golden dragon. Squatting down in front of the girl he handed it to her, her eyes full of tears, her little body trembling. Sansa's body was also trembling, but from relief.

"Take this and get out of here. Don't come back ok?" There was a firmness to his voice, but a gentleness as well. It seemed to shake the girl from her trauma.

She nodded only a little, looked at the coin briefly, and ran out of the stables keen to put as much distance between herself and the situation as possible.

"Now, Trant…" Sandor's deep voice resonated through the air, bringing with it a darkness that permeated the stables. "...we're supposed to be ruling these people, not giving them more reason to rise up against us." His eyes were on his lieutenant, standing between him and Sansa.

"My Lord." Trant began, "That girl wanted it, I offered her some silver stags and she was happy to spread her legs for…"

"You lie!" Sansa screamed lunging toward Trant with murder on her mind.

Sandor quickly scooped an arm around her waist, pulling her in close to him, his lips close to her ear. "Calm down." He whispered to her.

"Your whore," Trant started, pointing a finger at Sansa, "deserves as many lashings as she gave me. She deserves to be beaten and thrown naked in the barracks for what she's done. How dare she even raise a hand to me!"

She was still in Sandor's grasp and Sansa could feel the way his muscles tightened at Trant's words, she could feel the anger rolling off of him. But he clenched his teeth, took a moment to breathe then continued, "I will deal with my woman, Trant. And I will deal with you."

There was a heavy silence.

"Go to the Maester, get something put on those wounds. Then you are out on countryside patrol for the next two weeks."

"But that's out in the middle of fuck all!" Trant protested, clearly angered by this new assignment.

"Yeah, exactly." Sandor said, his eyes burning a hole through his lieutenant.

Trant made a move like he might argue, but then rightfully thought better of it. He glared at Sansa, grabbed his armor and, limped out of the stables with his wounds starting to swell.

Sandor watched the man leave the barn, clutching Sansa protectively to him. Only when Trant was no longer visible did he let her go, keeping the whip in his hand and taking a few steps back. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and finally turned to face her. The Hound's whole demeanor changed, relaxing he leaned against a stall door and crossed his arms. Sansa noticed his arousal right away, it was difficult to miss how it strained against his leather trousers, aching for her.

"You did good." He said simply, frustrated by the situation.

"The only good thing would have been if I had killed him." She spat back, her blue eyes darkening.

He chuckled and shook his head, "You can't kill Trant, Magda. He's a relation of the Queen who wanted to play soldier...so here we are. It would be more trouble for me than it's worth."

The shock was obvious on her face. The Hound continued, "Trust me, or I would have beat you to it if I could have."

"He forces himself on little girls." Sansa hissed.

"And boys, women...you think I don't know that?" Sandor's voice strained in frustration. "But I can't keep an eye on him all the time. And I can't protect you from him all the time either."

Their eyes met and there was something between them, something that made Sansa's heart beat faster, that pulled her in. She knew he felt it too, the fire of the forge that was building their relationship growing hotter, despite her best efforts.

There was a bit of a swagger in his walk as he came to her, stopping mere inches from her body. Sandor handed the coiled whip over to her, "Tell me you don't only use this when you're angry."

She knew that voice, this graveling deep sound his voice had when he was deeply aroused. She could feel his lust rolling off of him, found it difficult to ignore.

"My Lord wishes to add more scars to his collection?" She whispered more teasingly than she had wanted, taking the whip from his hand, then running the weapon over the giant bulge in his pants.

A feral growl escaped his lips at her words, and he leaned down to smell her hair possessively. "I'm still on duty." He whispered into her hair, "But you're going to take care of this later." He was clearly referring to his erection as he reluctantly took a step back and made his way to exit the stables.

Sansa smiled despite herself.

The chatter in the kitchens that evening made it clear that the Hound was again out on patrol. There had been some trouble on the outskirts of Winterfell, some reports of Ironborn raiding smaller settlements. Sansa finished her work quietly and efficiently, then made her way upstairs to the room she shared with the Hound. It was much like she had left it this morning, except for the fact that the bed had been slept in and not made. It seemed as though he had only had a chance to get a small amount of rest before heading back out. Peering quickly out the window, she saw the red flag signaling the commander was in residence was down, so he still had not returned.

Slipping over to the large oak desk, Sansa opened the second drawer and found his diary exactly where she had found it two days earlier. A sheepish grin crossed her face as she took it out of the desk and opened it, unbuckling the leather strap. Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she opened it up toward the end and started to thumb through the very small selection of new entries.

He had added to the diary since she read it. Most of it was mundane, numbers of soldiers and thoughts on how to improve security. Then she saw it, right at the end. 'And then there's Magda. It's as if the gods made her for me, though it's not like I deserve her. She loves to hate me, or she hates to love me … well love might be a strong word, but I'm working on it." Sansa smirked slightly at his assessment.

'She reminds me of when I tamed a wild mare in Dorne. This mare was the most beautiful horse I had ever seen, strong, smart and extremely distrustful of man. Those Dornish pricks said it would be best to use the whip with her, break her spirit though torment and pain. But there was just something about this method that never settled well with me. There was a vibrance to her character that I didn't have the heart to break. I looked her in the eye and somehow knew it would be different with her, that I had to be different to have her. So instead I taught her what an apple was, started leaving them on the fence post for her. Then got her to eat them of my hand while I put a bridle on her. Slowly but surely, I won her over. She trusted only me enough to ride her, and I taught her how to be a good war horse. In the end she probably killed just as many Dornishmen as I did in that war. It's no different with Magda. I looked her in the eye and I knew it would be different with her. Knew that I would have to be a better man to have her. She's weary of me, distrusts my intentions. She hates me for ruling her homeland, for interrupting her life here. I have no doubt I've killed friends and family of this girl, that's why she's learned to defend herself. Despite this when she lies with me, there's so much passion between us it's like nothing I've ever experienced.' Sansa could feel her woman's place respond to his words, as if he were writing her a love letter, one she was never supposed to read.

'She came to me as a maiden and yet when I make love to her she can't help but feel what I feel. With time her protests against my advances will become less and less, and her submission to her true desires will only increase. How can I tell her that the more I make love to her, the more human she makes me? How can I make her understand that her womb holds my future? I can't-my mouth can't form the words. So I will show her through persistence and patience.'

Sansa pressed the diary against her chest a moment and took a breath, her heart pounding. 'When she finally accepts me as her man, I'll marry her under that big white tree the Northerns hold so sacred. Marry her proper, the way my mother would have wanted.' A tear slipped down Sansa's cheek, there was something so poetic about his thoughts, about what he wanted to do. Somehow he wanted to be a good man, but all of the circumstances in his life had not allowed him to be.

She looked down at the diary again, reading the final lines. It was peculiar, they were just kind of tacked on the end as if he had an idea and left it kind of in the middle. As if he had a quick thought and he wanted to record it before he forgot. 'Perhaps I have been going about things wrong. If the North is to be ruled, we should stop bringing soldiers from outside and start bringing troops from within. The war against the resistance will be won on the backs of the Northern Lords. I'll appeal to them for support.'

Sansa snorted at this and almost laughed. Now it made sense why he was doing so much to maintain the peace outside of Winterfell, the reason he was gone this very evening. The more he helped the North out, the more likely it would be for the Lords to support the claim that was given to him. They were both racing for the same goal, she would have to do everything she could to press her advantage. They had both made their move, now only time would tell who would win their strategic game of chess-Sansa had a sinking feeling that both she and Sandor would not relent until one of them had the other in the perfect position for a checkmate.