Author's Notes: Once more, a new character is introduced to the mix…

"Where is this going?" I hear you ask. "When are we going to get more Sansan?" some may ask. Well, I have tried to convey that this is going to be a fic with multiple characters, multiple POVs and multiple plot points. However, modern Sansa and her story are still the central themes all through this… so I hope the readers don't find all the other characters and events distracting. Maybe hopefully even some of you might enjoy the non-Sansan angles of this story?

Do let me know your thoughts regarding characters and plots, should you feel so inclined!

Brienne

Brienne's heart was thumping a thousand beats a stride in her chest, her lungs were burning and the edges of her vision had started to blur – but still, she kept on running. Aimlessly, erratically, with no notion of where she was heading and caring even less.

All she could think of was the sight of Renly lying on the floor motionless, his eyes staring ahead vacantly. She had held him in her arms and tried frantically to shake him awake, to make him open those beautiful eyes, to smirk at her and chastise her how she really had no reason to be so worried – but he never did.

Even when the guards had busted in - alarmed by her cries - her first thought had been that they would help her to find who had done the unthinkable. Instead, they had turned against her, shouted for reinforcements, called her a cold-blooded killer and raised their swords. She had had to drop Renly, and an instinct had driven her to raise her own weapon and defend herself. And all the time she had been shouting shrilly how they were terribly wrong, how they needed to call the others and find the real killer, how she would never…

…they hadn't listened to her.

As shocked and dejected as Brienne had been, a small practical part of her brain had told her to get out of there; leave Renly and the camp and go – just go. And so she had sliced the back wall of the tent open and ducked out, ran towards the woods and continued running ever since.

Eventually, she had to slow down, exhausted. Her armour was not designed for sprints and the knowledge of the hopelessness of her situation made her stumble – that, and the fatigue coursing through her veins. There was no way out. The king's troops were probably already on her tail and without a horse, she simply didn't have a chance. Huffing, she stopped and leaned forward, her hands on her knees, gulping deep lungfuls of airs, despair filling her chest.

Then she heard a horse approaching – not from behind, but from ahead.

She raised her head and peered ahead, detecting one of the scouts that had been sent to examine the planned battle ground returning, not in a hurry but at a steady trot. The rider saw her, recognised her rainbow cloak and pulled the reins, slowing the horse down until when he reached Brienne, he stopped it altogether.

"What is it? Do you have a message for me?"

A broad face frowning in confusion, a surprised gasp – the man didn't have time to register what was happening before Brienne had pulled him down from the saddle. She threw him by the roadside and in one desperate move mounted the horse and turned it around. If the man was still conscious after suffering the fall on his head, he would have seen only the dust raised by the horse's hooves as Brienne galloped away – further and further away from the nightmare she had been plunged into.

After riding too hard and too long, until her borrowed horse started to snort and stumble, Brienne was forced to slow her pace and take to the woods. The air there was rich with the fragrance of leaves and damp ground, the remains of the rain from days ago still slowly releasing its heady vapours. The coolness under the canopy felt soothing, the dappled light through the branches providing an illusion of sanctuary, of protection. The only sounds reaching her ears were the chorus of songbirds and their rustling in the trees. Those, and the sounds of running water finally permeating through her stupor, attracted her attention.

She was disorientated, she had no real plan, only the deep-seated instinct of survival directing her actions. Water was one of those ingrained needs, and she found herself drawn towards it. Whether in the end it was her or the horse's doing, they soon found themselves next to a small creek some distance away from the main road. Next to the stream was a clearing of green grass and small saplings, and there Brienne let the horse loose to graze and drink its fill while she slowly keeled over on the ground.

All her strength left her and only grief and emptiness remained - and the warrior maid broke down, curled on her side on the soft grass and let the tears come.

Brienne didn't know how much time had passed when she woke up, sore and hurting. The horse, looking noticeably better and well rested, nudged her forehead and the warm breath from its nostrils tickled her.

It was dusk, the sun almost below the horizon already. Gingerly Brienne sat up, wiped the dried tears and snot from her face with the back of her hand, and surveyed the little expanse where they were ensconced. It was beautiful - just like the secret places on her home island she had used to hide after escaping the tedious lessons of how to become a lady. Most important of all, it was protected by the dense foliage so that they would be unnoticed by any pursuers.

Having had some time to think during the ride, she had concluded that there was simply no way anyone would believe her to be innocent. Only she had been in the tent with Renly, helping him into his armour. Only she had seen the dark shadow appear out of nowhere and plunge a ghost sword through Renly's chest before disappearing. Even in her dazed state she had seen no wound in her king, noticed no bleeding. It would be understandable for anyone to conclude that she must have strangled him or broken his neck.

Just the thought that someone could think her capable of doing such an abominable deed for someone she loved more than anyone in the world made tears come again. Defiantly, Brienne blinked her eyes to keep them at bay.

Her behind felt cold, moisture from the ground seeping in from wherever hard armour had not protected her; thighs, buttocks, back of her head. Her stomach grumbled and such a mundane mark of living was yet another cruel reminder of how Renly would never need another meal, never need another drink.

Brienne sighed. She really ought to decide what to do next, but her mind was blank. She certainly couldn't go back to Renly's camp, unless she had a death wish. She could go home – but that would be the first place where those bent on revenging the king's death would search for her. That's what she would do, had she found someone else in her position.

Maybe she could seek service in the company of another high lord? Stannis Baratheon she dismissed immediately. Even without a firm proof, she knew the shadow was somehow linked to him. Brienne remembered the red woman by his side the previous day, remembered all the campfire gossip about the strange magic she possessed. And Renly had made it quite clear that he was not going to give up his quest for kingship despite Stannis's protestations - so Stannis must have chosen a coward's way to deal with his brother.

Brienne clenched her jaw. She would deal with Stannis later.

The burst of energy surging through her body, raised by the cold anger towards Stannis and the red woman, however soon dissipated and Brienne was left cold and hungry and tired once again.

She couldn't go to Lannisters, having campaigned against them. Tyrells would be unlikely to receive her either, Loras having lost his constant companion and best friend in Renly. Dorne was an option, but she didn't know the Dornish ways and their exotic life was alien to her.

Her deductions left her really with only one option, House Stark. Houses Arryn and Tully were in alliance with them due to blood relations, and if she turned to either, they would have to consider what the Starks would say about the matter.

Still pondering her options, Brienne got up and searched the saddlebags, and to her satisfaction found some bread and cheese, even a half-full skin of wine. Settling down to eat her meal she tried to recall what she knew about that Northern house.

They were stern, well-respected and honourable, everyone knew that. They were also ready to fight for their rights, as the march of the Young Wolf towards the capital to free his lord father proved. Brienne had heard enough talk around Renly's council to know that most people considered the accusations against the Hand of the King to be unfounded. The current monarch, however, seemed no more inclined to justice than King Aegon had been, the last time the fate of Lord Stark and his heir had been in the king's hands.

Their search for justice appealed to Brienne. She, too, wanted justice; to find out Renly's killers – be it Stannis Baratheon or his witch – and punish them. Brienne pressed her lips into a tight line.

She had a lot to think about.

After a sleepless night during which Brienne was visited by nightmarish visions of the shadow and Renly's body slumped down on the floor, his eyes vacant but still staring at her accusingly, she woke up. Not exactly refreshed, but with a plan and a purpose.

She was going to ride north and find Robb Stark.

Brienne's journey was slow but blessedly uneventful. Slow, because of the need to stay away from the main roads to avoid search parties sent after her. She was also forced to feed herself mostly from the land with small game and fish as she went, having left so unprepared and being under the threat of capture at all times. She was still too close to Renly's power base to show herself openly, so her nights were spent in abandoned barns or hovels, days skirting around settlements and other travellers.

It was a lonely existence, and more than once she lay listlessly all through the night, staring at a starry sky or a cracked ceiling, wondering how her life had turned so upside down in such a short time. If she had been wrong in her pursuit to become a warrior - a knight, even - and if her father and her disapproving septa had been right all along.

The stars had no answers for her.

Things got easier once she left the Kingswood, and the coin she had on her person when she had escaped finally turned out useful. She still didn't dare to visit the inns or trading posts for necessities for her and the horse, knowing how her size and looks would raise unwanted attention anywhere. Instead, she took up the habit of waiting near such place until she saw someone amiable and honest-looking walking by, then asked that person to get her what she needed. She lowered her voice in an attempt to pass as just another masterless hedge knight wandering the countryside in search of employment, and more often than not her transactions proceeded without an incident.

During her slow sojourn, she learned to appreciate the horse the fate had put into her hands. She was a young and spirited mare with white socks and a wide white blaze down the middle of her face. Not knowing her name – or even if she had one – Brienne named her just that, Blaze, and more often than was probably wise she found herself talking to her as if she was a human.

Was she being wise throwing in her lot with a house she hardly knew and had no previous affiliation? What should she have done the day Renly died? What she would do to Stannis and his red woman when she finally got her hand on them! That sort of talk.

Maybe Brienne was crazy, maybe not, but Blaze listened to her patiently and only snorted in return every now and then.

And then, not far from Whispering Woods where the Stark host had last been seen according to talk she had heard along the way, she was accosted on the road by men wearing direwolf sigil of the North in their shields - as she had known she would be. She lay down her arms without a protest and asked to be taken to see Robb Stark.

"My lord, we met… a person on the road, who says she has a need to talk to you." A sideways glance towards Brienne from the soldier who had led the party told her he wasn't quite sure what to call her.

Well, 'person' was better than some other names she had been called, Brienne thought, waiting patiently for the young man thus addressed to shift his attention to her.

She had been taken to a camp bustling with activity, men and horses going this way or that, weaving through a field of tents raised on a high terrain. At one time the clearing might have been covered with grass, but hundreds of boots and hooves had turned it into a hardened ground. Brienne's head swivelled left and right, observing neatly organised rows of carts and supplies and pack animals, the ubiquitous direwolf sigils and banners flying in the breeze.

The men escorting her had been polite but uncommunicative, not answering any of her questions, but Brienne wasn't concerned. At least she was finally going to have a chance to offer her sword to a worthy house. She clutched Blaze's reins tighter in her hand and walked on, head raised high.

The tent she was escorted to was large, with tables and chairs and coffers and parchments strewn around – it was clearly a command centre of the campaign. Several people were milling around, most of them bearing the hard look of the North; shaggy beards and weathered faces, strong and tall. To her surprise, there were women present too; one short and stout with grey hair, another much younger, tall and lanky. Both were wearing chain mail, which made Brienne feel immediately better about her own situation. Maybe she wouldn't be considered such a freak here as in the more genteel South.

The third woman in the room was femininely dressed with auburn hair, blue eyes and regal presence. She must be Lady Stark, Brienne surmised. That she had a place in the command room was also a positive revelation; Queen Margaery would have never ventured into such clearly manly domain.

"Welcome to our camp. What is your name?" The young man – Robb Stark – spoke, his head tilted to the side, his eyes taking in Brienne's appearance from head to toe. He was rather pleasant looking, if somewhat young, with thick auburn hair, blue eyes, and open demeanour – although Brienne couldn't help noticing bags under his eyes and lines of worry on his otherwise smooth forehead. He didn't blink, he didn't sneer – all Brienne could detect was mild curiosity.

"Brienne of Tarth, my lord," she bowed her head.

"And why is it that you want to speak with me?" Everybody's attention in the room was now on Brienne, and she tried to ignore it to the best of her ability.

"I would like to…"

"THAT IS HER! KINGSLAYER! She murdered King Renly in cold blood!" An angry shout interrupted her, and all eyes turned to a man who had called out. Brienne turned too and seeing him her stomach sank. She recognised the man – the bulbous nose, long face and jet black hair. She didn't recall his name, but she remembered seeing him in Renly's tent a few times.

"No, it was not me," she stammered, but nobody paid any attention to her anymore.

The man made his way from the back of the tent to stand in front of Robb Stark.

"It is her. I saw her many times with King Renly – it is impossible to mistake her for anyone else." His lips peeled back in a snarl. "She killed him on the day of the intended battle and ran like a coward she is. Ser Loras sent men after her but she was nowhere to be found. And here she shows up, bold as brass, thinking she can get away with her filthy crime by ingratiating herself with another house!"

People in the room had started to murmur and point at her, and Robb Stark's gaze flickered between Brienne and her accuser. Lady Stark had moved closer to her son, Brienne noticed, staring at her intently.

"Is this true?" she asked, her question addressed to Brienne.

"No, my lady, it is not true at all! King Renly was killed by a shadow, there was magic involved! I saw it with my own eyes, I would have never ever harmed him!" Brienne could have sobbed, except she was not going to show any weakness in front of all these people.

"She would say something like that, of course. Don't believe her! Give her to me and I'll take her back to answer for her crimes!" her accuser protested.

"You would take her back where? The last I heard, Renly's troops have dispersed, most of them joining Stannis Baratheon." Robb Stark frowned. He cast a quick look at his mother and as if an unspoken message had been exchanged between the two, he continued.

"Take her to the prison tent until we get to the bottom of the matter. If she is innocent, as she claims, she is free to go and do as she pleases, but if she is guilty, she has to answer for her crime."

Turning to Brienne he added, "My apologies, but we have to detain you until we know what the truth of the matter is. I promise that every attempt is made to make your stay as comfortable as circumstances allow – but as you can see, we are an army on the march and some comforts are limited."

He gestured for the guards to take her away but as they grabbed Brienne's arms, her weapons having been confiscated already earlier, Lady Stark raised her voice.

"Make sure you treat her well. She is still a lady, of noble House Tarth."

"At least two Kingslayers deserve each other's company," King Renly's man snorted, clearly unhappy about the situation, but powerless to do anything about it.

"Somebody, please take care of my horse!" Brienne shouted as the guards dragged her away.

And so ended her first meeting with House Stark.