ravenclaws66: I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the story so far! Always happy to hear from someone who has been reading for a while. And fear not, I have not forsaken it, either. I expect my updates will grow more frequent until I've finished.

Speaking of which, here's Chapter 9.

Chapter Nine

When Sansa had first laid eyes upon the tent city of the assembled armies of the North and the Riverlands, she had thought it to be perhaps the grandest thing she had ever seen. However, the sight of the Lannisters' nearly 60,000 men supplemented with levies from the Crownlands was enough to bring her jaw crashing down. Red and gold banners fluttered everywhere, and a lone Baratheon stag marking the royal pavilion stood in the center of the camp. And so I will return to the lion's den, thought Sansa. Kevan Lannister, Lord Tywin's rather unnoticed brother and Sansa's erstwhile captor, leaned in to murmur in her ear, "My Lady. You should know that, whilst your brother's armies were away, Riverrun had fallen."

Sansa's face turned pale. "I…I see." She did not trust herself to speak.

Kevan continued, "It seems that your great-uncle the Blackfish and your brother's young bride were not among those captured. His Grace expressed a very great interest to meet the Young Wolf's queen." He paused, as if considering something before he added, "I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Ser Jaime was liberated from his own imprisonment. It seems the Tullys were keeping him locked in a dungeon fit for common criminals!"

Sansa struggled to contain herself. She wasn't sure if to shout for joy that Ser Brynden and Jeyne had escaped, or be terrified that the Kingslayer was now loose. She decided that she should be grateful for the little blessings. Sansa was under no illusions of what a twisted little bastard like Joff would do to a sweet girl like Jeyne. However, that did not help her much, as she was being taken in that direction very quickly.

As Sansa and her forcibly imposed escort made their way through the shallow ruts serving as a road, Lannister men stopped to stare. When one called out something about "Northern Whore", the jeers kept flying. At one point, Ser Kevan himself had to reprimand one soldier who reached out for the reins and demanded to know how much he would have to pay for an hour with her.

After enduring torrents of this verbal abuse, Sansa was almost glad to have reached the pavilion, despite the fact that once inside, Joff would surely want to pass judgment upon her. The party paused at the wide flaps serving as the entrance. Ser Kevan, as formal as ever, offered a tiny bow from his saddle and held the sturdy cloth aside for her. Sansa dismounted smoothly, curtsied in return, and ducked inside. She would be brave.

As she entered, she heard Lord Tywin's very distinctive voice state, "Your Grace. I've received word that Robb Stark and his bannermen have turned south from the Twins and are marching to meet us. I doubt they will appreciate the fact that Riverrun has been taken. With your permission, I shall lead your armies to meet them in the field."

"I should expect nothing less, Grandfather," came a familiar, drawling sound. Joffrey. "And when you do, please do try to avoid being captured like Uncle Jaime was last time." At that, a gentle tittering came from the gathered lords and ladies of the court. Sansa was more than a little surprised at the number, but then again, Joffrey certainly loved the attention.

The Kingslayer, it seemed, was also in attendance. He stood to the boy-king's right as the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard should. A rather depleted Kingsguard since Corlen last visited, Sansa thought with mild amusement.

A number of minor lords and hedge knights came forward with pleas, to ask a boon or to swear themselves to the service of the Crown: a very routine practice in open court. At that, Ser Kevan left her side. Sansa hardly noticed-at least, until she saw Ser Kevan approach Joffrey's side and murmur something in his ear. This something caused Joffrey to perk up considerably, and a hideous smirk grew upon his face, despite his obvious discomfort at resting upon only one arm. Finally, he pushed himself up with one hand and declared, "I will be hearing no more pleas today. However, I am prepared to hold a trial." He turned his head slightly to fix her with a glare of pure hate. "Sansa Stark. Come forward."

Sansa clenched her hands tightly into her skirts, and approached the dais upon which he was seated. She met his gaze, letting him feel her icy contempt.

Lord Tywin, as Hand of the King, rose too and said, "Lady Stark. You are accused of conspiring to murder His Grace, and of committing high treason." There was a quiet disturbance among the men crowding the back of the pavilion, near the entrance. Lord Tywin paid this no mind, however. "How do you respond to your accusations?"

Sansa, her back rigid as a washboard, began to answer him, "I-"

A shouted, "Seven hells!" cut her off. As she turned to the source of the commotion, she saw nine slits in the wall of the pavilion open, and enormous men step through them. She saw the sigil of House Umber upon each of their chests, every warrior wielding a greatsword. Many Lannister men-at-arms drew swords and moved to intercept the northern warriors, but as many or more fled or remained still at the risk of being cut down out of hand. However, a sort of giddiness came over her. Clearly, the camp had not been attacked en masse, and she knew of only one man brave or mad enough to chase after her into the lion's den. She turned her gaze to the actual entrance to the pavilion, and her cheeks turned a rosy pink when she saw him striding purposefully towards her. He only carried his war axe at his hip, and was oddly enough armored only by a thick boiled leather vest. A tabard with the sigil of House Austriman upon a field of the White Harbor teal was draped over his chest and back. The moment he saw her, that boding, austere face of his lit up and broke into a broad grin. He trotted towards her, seemingly heedless of those in red and gold livery about him.

When he reached her, he bent on one knee and murmured, "Highness. I believe that you might be in need of my services."

Sansa could not help but giggle at that. She smacked him playfully upon the shoulder, and carried on as though they were alone and not surrounded by their enemies. "You're late."

Corlen nodded. "Aye. I was slowed some by procuring these fine gentlemen with me." His voice turned serious once more, and he whispered, "Sansa. I'm sorry. I…"

She cut him off, pressing one finger to his lips. She mouthed one word. "Don't."

A shy smile crept across Corlen's face. Sansa thought she'd never seen anything quite so lovely as that.

But then Joffrey, as he had so many other times, decided to ruin the moment. He called down from his seat, "Men! Arrest these Northerner savages! And bring me the ugly one!"

Corlen rose immediately, hand whipping his axe out from behind his belt. "Your Grace. It's been a little while. I trust your wounds have healed well?"

Joffrey's face turned purple with rage, and he began screaming, "Kill him! A Lordship for whoever brings me his head!"

The Umber men, following this exchange, flanked Corlen and formed a protective wedge around Sansa. Corlen called out gaily, "What? No trial?"

Things were getting out of hand, and quickly. Tywin was on his feet again in a flash and commanded his men to stand down in a thunderous voice. Then, he turned to the Northmen. "Indeed. We were trying Lady Stark for her role in the attempt of the King's life. And I believe His Grace was going to pass sentence."

Joffrey's rage abruptly turned into a twisted pleasure as he realized what his grandfather was doing. His toadlike smile was sickening. "Yes. And as for sentencing…"

Corlen stepped forward, raising a hand to silence him. "Lady Stark demands a trial by combat. I will be her champion." This brought a roar of approval from the Umber men-at-arms, and a general interest among the assembled nobility.

Tywin's jaw twitched, but just slightly. "That is Lady Stark's right."

"Will His Grace elect to fight me himself? Or will the Crown name a champion as well?" Inquired Corlen, winking at Joffrey impudently. Joff simply huffed, too indignant to answer, and attempted to cross his arms like a petulant child before he realized he did not, in fact, have two arms to cross.

Lord Tywin once again intervened. "Ser Gregor Clegane will champion His Grace."

Corlen frowned, and Sansa could not help but agonize, now. She knew her Northman was good with a blade, and remarkably so, but to face the Mountain That Rides…

Corlen folded arms thick with muscle across his chest. "I am prepared to meet Ser Gregor whenever he has readied himself to see his ancestors once more." A number of the assembled ladies tittered at such brazen confidence, and not a few of the Lannister men spat contemptuously on the ground in the wake of this Northern upstart.

Lord Tywin blinked at this, but ultimately let it go. Instead he stated, "Ser Gregor will be waiting for you in the practice yard. Lady Stark will be escorted there as well, so there will be no ill-fated escape attempt."

Ser Mandon Moore and Preston Greenfield stepped forward to retrieve her, but Corlen waved them away for a moment. He smiled down at his little Princess, and she returned it warmly. Sansa's head leaned forward against the hard plane of his chest, and her hands clutched at his thick upper arms. She looked up at him, unshed tears in her eyes. "Corlen, please. Whatever you do, just…be careful. I could not stand it if you were to die, especially at the hands of a monster like Clegane."

Corlen chuckled at that. "If I die, you won't have to bear it for much longer, little wolf." He tapped the end of her nose lightly. "Don't worry, Sansa. I will put an end to that wretched beast of a man, and I shall take you home once again." He made as if to step away, but she jerked him closer and stood upon the tips of her toes to plant a firm kiss upon his lips. They stood there for a long while, mouths locked. She thought he tasted of something vaguely like cinnamon. She was sure every person in the pavilion was watching them, but she didn't care. She knew she had wanted this for a long, long time. But then it was over, and he leaned over to whisper almost inaudibly, "If I do fall, you must promise me you will go with Lord Umber's men. They will ensure you get out of this place if they must fight to the last man."

She shook her head and said fiercely, "No! I won't leave you!"

Corlen gripped her by the shoulders and growled, "Promise me!"

Sansa sighed, but could not meet his eyes. "Very well. I promise."

He too sighed, though his was of relief. "Good. Now, if I'm not mistaken, you have an execution to watch me perform."

A short while later, she was standing between her two Kingsguard gaolers who were in turn surrounded by the Northmen. She was watching The Mountain ready himself. He was a virtual giant, 30 stone of muscle and nearly eight feet tall, and clad from head to toe in steel. Sansa had thought Corlen to be an enormous man, but he seemed a child beside Clegane. She prayed to any god that would listen that her champion might prevail. Somehow.

Before Lord Tywin announced the beginning of the duel, Joffrey swept up behind her and murmured in her ear, "Don't worry, wolf bitch. Your pet might have wounded me, but I'll still take your virtue. I might even let you live to service me in King's Landing. Would you like that?" He sniffed pointedly. "Of course, I suppose it's also possible you've already rutted with every dog between here and the Twins. Oh, well. Perhaps your head would look nice beside your father's." He departed just as quickly as he had come, and Sansa felt an unnatural rage swelling beneath her breast. I can't believe I didn't just let him kill that bastard.

But, Ser Kevan called for silence, and Lord Tywin spoke. "Lords and Ladies. We are gathered to witness in the sight of the gods the judgment of the guilt of Sansa Stark. She has been accused of the most heinous crimes of attempted regicide and high treason. Should her champion be victorious, she will have been declared innocent of these crimes. Elsewise, she will die."

The Mountain approached Corlen, and eyed him disdainfully. He was near a foot and a half shorter, and weighed at least five stone less. The Northman was still clad in his leather vest and breeches, but held a long handled poniard in addition to his axe. Clegane grunted, "Ready to die, traitorous cunt?"

Corlen replied, "Ready to watch you die, murderer."

Lord Tywin shouted, "Let the trial commence!"

The Mountain immediately rushed at Corlen, swinging a greatsword with one hand at him. It was a brutal slash, designed to maim a normal opponent. But, Corlen had decided that brute strength would not win this battle for him. Incredibly light on his feet, Corlen sprang forward, rolling into a ball and beyond Clegane's reach, placed in the man's blind spot created by his greathelm. Corlen drove the dagger into the unarmored flesh at the back of the knee, and was satisfied to hear a howl of enraged pain from Ser Gregor. Sansa's hands remained clenched like vice grips about her skirts, and she jumped at every swing from the Mountain. The gathered crowd was absolutely silent. Corlen leapt to his feet, and hammered his axe down upon the back of the Mountain's helm. The loud clang seemed to do nothing but snag his attention. He slashed behind him with a brutal back-handed attack that struck…nothing. Corlen danced about the Mountain as he made wild and hacking attacks for his far too quick foe. Once, when Clegane over-extended himself, Corlen jumped forward, slicing downwards upon his gauntleted hand with his war-axe and attempted to wrench the Mountain's sword away, only to find himself falling backwards as the other of those same hands struck him fully upon the chest. Clegane dove after him, seeking to press his advantage, but Corlen rolled out from underneath him and pinned him upon his face, knees driving Clegane's own into the ground. He wrenched out his dagger, still buried in Ser Gregor's knee, and drove it to the hilt into the other. He sprang backwards, and the Mountain pushed himself wearily to both feet, limping heavily.

That's when Sansa saw it. She knew Corlen would win, because he had decided he would win. A slow smile crept onto her face.

As the Mountain stepped to embattle Corlen again, long trails of blood trickled out of his clothing. Corlen, seeing this, waited for Clegane to strike. When he did, he lowered his shoulder and charged at him, throwing his weight into the Mountain's own over-extended mass. Ser Gregor slipped in the accumulating blood, causing him to crash on his back, Corlen atop him. He straddled Clegane's chest, and pushed back his visor. Corlen gripped the haft of his axe in one hand and with the other tried to hold the Mountain's head still. Meanwhile, the Mountain flailed huge, steel-plated hands about, striking him in the chest, stomach, and face. One particular punch snapped his nose with an audible crunch. But Corlen would have none of it. He hacked down into Clegane's exposed face and neck, brutally releasing his lifeblood's spray to mist upon his own face. He felt the life go out of Ser Gregor beneath him, and finally chopped through the neck of his opponent. Breathlessly, he pushed himself to his feet. Straightening slowly, Corlen lifted the Mountain's head by his hair and showed it to the assembled crowd. The Umbers went mad. They began hooting and shouting and smacking one another on the back, roaring of how the North had brought down the Mountain. Corlen took a step and hurled it into the audience to land at Lord Tywin's feet. This brought gales of laughter even from among the lords of West, of a Northman butchering the Lannisters' mad killer. Corlen focused his gaze upon Tywin. "My Lord? Is she not innocent?"

Tywin openly seethed. To be insulted in such a manner, and by a hedge knight…

Corlen called out, "Shall I kill another, then?" An even more intense wave of laughter from the spectators.

Ser Kevan, sensing his brother's rising fury, stood and proclaimed, "The gods have spoken. Lady Stark is innocent. Now go." Joffrey stood, as if to object, but a sharp look from his great-uncle got him to sit right back down.

Corlen, weary and blood-spattered, staggered over to where Sansa stood. He dropped to his knees, and she cupped his face in her hands. "Shall I escort you home, Highness?"

Sansa didn't answer. Inside, she felt like singing. A knight of honor had triumphed over one who was evil, and she knew he was hers.