Chapter 11

Leaving Braavos was harder than she could have ever predicted. It had become an unlikely haven away from the plots and intrigue of the Seven Kingdoms and she'd made a surprisingly peaceful life for herself among the silks and courtesans. She knew many of the merchants by name and would miss the easy afternoons shuttling along the canals in her pleasure barge, visiting the merchants for lemon water and figs. When she'd arrived here all those years ago she had been a frightened child, too scared to even venture outside alone in case someone gave her up to the Lannisters. Images of Joffrey and his mother had poisoned her dreams and she'd awoken sobbing and stifled in a sweaty tumble of sheets. But those scars had healed. She no longer thought about the Lannisters, or if she did it was only to picture Joffrey clawing at his neck as he choked to death, and would never again have to hide behind a fake name like Leah or the Veiled Woman. She used to twitch at the smallest of noises and constantly check over her shoulder in case she was being followed, but now she kept her neck straight and her gaze cast forward. She would be returning to the Seven Kingdoms as a woman grown with all the confidence three dragons could give her.

Daenerys often said that if she looked back she was lost. Sansa tried to keep this in mind when she climbed aboard the ship.

She watched the city disappear into the horizon and only then did she go below deck to consult the queen on their next course. They had set sail with a total of fifteen ships but the mix of Unsullied and foreign fighters needed twelve alone...which left the rest of them cramped and uncomfortable, especially when half of the number suffered from sea sickness. Sansa was thankfully spared this time and so spent most of her days on deck watching the sailors work and listening to Tyrion Lannister's talk of dragons. Daenerys was keen to learn everything she could about her "children" and it turned out that Tyrion had read extensively on the subject – and every other subject to hear him chatter on. Sansa was initially uncertain around the little man, who Arya still insisted on calling "Imp", but after a few days of questing him she became fascinated with his stories. He told her tales of the giants and children of the forest and she in turn sang for him. He was in the act of teaching her how to play cyvasse when Sandor approached, scowling. He had yet to warm to the charms of the Golden Queen and her Lannister Imp.

"You are too cautious, my Lady Sansa," Tyrion chuckled when she lost for the third time. "Caution is commendable, but sometimes an aggressive move," he paused to knock her final piece, the King, away, "is wiser."

"Child's play," Sandor commented. He did not take to life at sea and refused to put his heavy armour aside in favour of lighter garb like the rest of the men. Already his poor nose was burnt from the sun, making his face look even rougher, and he looked uncomfortably hot. Sansa rose, thinking that she would get him some water, but he gently took hold of her arm instead, bidding her follow him. He led her to the stern of the boat where it was quieter and she saw that a large shield had been propped up against the mast. She opened her mouth to question him but then caught sight of the weapons he produced; a bow and a quiver of arrows. Sansa stared at it curiously and Sandor let her take the bow to examine it. She had never seen a bow so close. Like all noble lords her brothers had only been interested in swordplay and so weapons like this were usually left to lesser ranking men. She plucked at the string absentmindedly. "I've never seen you shoot an arrow before."

"Men my size favour the longsword but a bow should never be overlooked. It's a long range weapon...perfect for women as it keeps them back at a safe distance."

"Don't let Arya hear you say that. She'll jab you with that little sword of hers."

Sandor chuckled but held up one of the arrows so that she could see the sharp pointed end. "If aimed right an arrow can shoot straight through a neck or even gut a stomach. It's a deadly weapon, no lesser than a sword."

"Dearest Sandor, are you trying to lure me into something?"

"I heard about the waterfront."

Sansa tutted and let go of the bow, instantly annoyed at whoever had told. In her joy at finding Arya she had almost forgotten about being robbed. "It was nothing."

"You were robbed by urchins."

"Arya was one of them. I was perfectly safe."

"That time. We're going back to Winterfell, Sansa, and the Gods only know what we'll find there. Even Deanery's agrees - you need to learn how to protect yourself. Stop being bloody stubborn and think."

"I have you."

"Aye, but it would put my mind at ease if you would at least learn..." He looked so serious that Sansa laughed but she took hold of the bow, relenting. It felt smooth beneath her fingertips and had little intricate carvings wound down the handle in gold. It was unmistakably beautiful. Again she plucked the string and watched Sandor demonstrate how to hold it. "Lower your elbow," he instructed when it came for her to try and she did as he bid. "Relax your grasp on the bow..."

She felt like a fool but he told her she was doing fine. Once her stance was deemed correct he offered her an arrow and she promptly managed to fire it into the sea. She swore but instead of getting angry he laughed; her occasional bursts of profanity always seemed to amuse him. Even one of the sailors supposedly working stopped to chortle. "Try not to lose all of our arrows, little bird. Try and hit the shield."

She tried again but this time dropped the arrow before she could even shoot. Flushing, she looked over her shoulder but when he stepped up behind her she felt something twist in her stomach and found it even harder to concentrate. To her surprise it was not altogether unpleasant. She had always been tall for her age but she still only reached his shoulders. She had to stand on her toes to see his face. As he lined up a new arrow for her she caught his scent and again felt an unfamiliar twist inside. He used to smell like sour wine and blood...She still sometimes dreamt of the night of Blackwater, how could she not? He had reeked of it then. When he stole that song. Confused, she missed what he said and stared up at him stupidly.

"Little bird?"

"Yes?" she roused herself from her thoughts and tried to focus on what he was saying. She was standing in his arms and his rough hands were guiding her grip across the bow. When he spoke she felt his breath on the top of her head. If anyone should see them like this it would look very incriminating but she felt assured that the only people watching were the sailors – who no doubt would find such tidings terribly dull.

"Like this."

He gently pulled her arm back with his and when he let go of her hand the arrow shot forward towards the shield. Sansa heard the crack but didn't even check to see if it made its target as she was busy watching his satisfied expression. He gave her a look that was proud and she felt herself grin. A flush was working its way up her neck to the very roots of her hair but he didn't seem to notice. "Again," he bid.

This time he settled on the steps to watch but it took some time before she was able to hit the shield again. Just concentrate, she thought. She tried again, and again, until she was shooting straight. She wondered vaguely how many arrows she had shot into the sea to gift the Drowned God. She tried again the next day and then the next until she at last got the hang of it. Arya, needless to say, begrudgingly admitted that Sandor's idea was a good one and even went so far as to show Sansa one or two steps with her skinny sword, claiming that if she was to be attacked she should at least be able to hold a sword. Daenerys and her small court chose that moment to come and watch and they laughed to see the two sisters in a giggling heap on the floor. Swordplay was definitely not for Sansa.

"I think the elegant bow suits you fairer," Daenerys claimed, helping her up herself. "While the sword belongs to your sister. She is quite savage with it." Anyone else might've taken it as a slight but Arya looked pleased and for the first time gave the queen something that resembled a smile.

Initially Arya had been reluctant to leave Braavos. Whatever life she had made there seemed to interest her more than the Seven Kingdoms but eventually, after watching Sansa pack and plan their return to Winterfell, she changed her mind. "A Stark must always be in Winterfell", she had said, "So two will be even better." Arya longed for home as much as Sansa did, and, more importantly, did not want to miss out on the chance of paying back the Bolton's for their crimes. She had never been one to sit out on a fight. Because there would be a fight. Even with the Unsullied the risk of losing was still high. They had no idea how many men the Bolton's had nor what state Winterfell was in. Their only hope was that the houses loyal to the Stark name would rise up and bind their men to them.

Winter was coming and if they didn't restore Winterfell before it arrived there would be no chance for any of them...Bolton or Stark alike.

The journey to White Harbour took longer than expected due to unfavourable winds but when the coast finally came into view Sansa felt a flutter of nerves well up in her stomach. She reached out blindly and felt for Sandor's battle scared hand. They were back. She remembered coming here all those years ago and waiting with the horses while Sandor arranged passage. They'd fled under different names. I was Leah then, she recalled, and Sandor was still the Hound. She felt him squeeze her hand and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. The first thing she thought when White Harbour came into view was just how green it was. Braavos had been all marble, sand, and water. The rolling green countryside and mud reminded her of her childhood.

"We're back..." she whispered as they floated closer.

"Say the word and I'll charter another ship," he smirked. "This time we'll head for Volantis. No one'll find us there."

The crowds managed to soothe her worry. Word of Daenerys had already reached the kingdoms and it appeared she had the support of the smallfolk. It seemed that the entire town had turned out to see the last Targaryen and when Daenerys disembarked they raised a cheer. "Daenerys Targeryen!" they shouted. "Queen Daenerys! The Mother of Dragons!" Some of them peered around anxiously to catch a glimpse of her dragons and they were not disappointed. Daenerys whistled and a deadly screech came from the sky, followed by the flapping of wings. Whichever dragon it was didn't come any closer but it served to terrify the crowd, who shrunk back. Her dragons had been well behaved on the voyage and kept themselves away in the skies. Daenerys had a way of communicating with them that was almost magical.

It was then that they received a surprise.

A horn sounded and the crowds parted hesitantly as four men came forward dressed in furs and armour. The tallest was clean shaven, bald, and looked like a man who was used to scowling. Sansa thought she spotted the Baratheon sigil on his chest but he looked nothing like the fat Robert or handsome young Renly. The second man was stooped and caked in a layer of dirt and grime. He had brittle white hair and moved stiffly, as though injured in the leg. There was something about him, however, that jogged Sansa's memory. Like a dream almost. The third man was old with a sea weathered face but there was still a trace of humour left in his eyes.

The forth man...

"Jon!" Arya rushed forward. She scrambled down onto the pier, any fragments of etiquette forgotten, and ran into their stunned half-brother's arms. His giant white direwolf sat beside him on the ground, studying them silently. Ghost.

Sansa followed at a slow pace, her legs feeling more and more like jelly with every step. She had dreamt of this moment, thinking that it would be so sweet to see him again, but would not be surprised if he decided to shun her. She had been cruel to Jon as a child, unceremoniously imitating her mother, and so they'd never really been as brother and sister. Robb, Bran, and Rickon were my brothers, she thought. Jon was theirs. Arya and Jon drew apart when she approached but when Jon caught sight of her the smile froze on his face.

And she knew the exact same thing had happened to her.

Jon was the very image of their father. With his matted black hair, cloudy grey eyes, and serious long face he could be Eddard Stark's twin. The sight of him made her heart ache and she had to swallow the sudden rush of tears that threatened to fall. She could see that he was struggling too – for the sight of her no doubt brought back painful memories of Catelyn Stark's indifference. Their reunion was awkward. Jon pressed a clumsy kiss to the back of her hand and quickly retreated to his companions before Sansa could think of anything to say and she felt like an utter fool.

The four newcomers dropped to their knees before Daenerys, who gestured for them to rise, and introductions were made. The man with the burning stag on his chest did indeed turn out to be Stannis Baratheon who in turn introduced the sea weathered man as Lord Davos. "I hear you crowned yourself a king," Daenerys murmured quietly but Stannis did not even flinch. Intimidation would not work with this one, who looked to be made from iron and stone.

"I was the rightful heir after Robert, aye."

"But Robert Baratheon was a usurper. The Baratheon's are not Targaryen's."

Something flickered across Stannis's face for a second. "I have no qualms in calling you my queen, your highness. The fires might have blinded me for a moment...but no longer. The Iron Throne is yours by right of birth."

Daenerys nodded, seemingly appeased, and then gestured to the white haired man. "And who might this be?"

The white haired man looked up from beneath his cracked hair and gave her an unsteady bow. He was stooped over so much that he could've been any height. When he opened his mouth Sansa saw that several of his teeth were missing or splintered. The nagging feeling of familiarity once again hit her but she was sure that she knew no one who looked like this...or smelt like this. The man gave off a pungent odour. "Reek...My name is Reek..." There was an unsettling look in his eyes. They might have once been brown, she thought, brown flecked with green. "My name is Theon."

The Gods were too cruel...

Her head span but then a steadying hand gripped her shoulder. Her ever loyal Sandor was standing behind her and gently asking if she was alright. Sansa nodded and his face relaxed, though she noticed he had one hand on his sword hilt. "Say the word and I'll cut him from throat to balls," he promised. Sansa took a deep breath and tried to steady her thoughts. She wanted nothing better than to see Theon dead...She had sworn to do it over and over again. For their sweet Bran and little Rickon.

Arya had pushed Theon to the ground and there he still lay, with Ser Barristan's dagger at his throat. He was looking at her. They all were.

"It's your choice, Sansa. I can permit you that," Daenerys offered.

Her choice? Jon was now officially the head of the family...but then he was also a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. It was up to her.

She looked down at the pathetic carcass that was once Theon Greyjoy and felt disgust. And there deep down, to her shame, was a sliver of pity. He is little more than an animal now. Utterly defenceless. What would her parents do?

"Bind him, and keep him out of my sight. If I see him I may well strangle him myself."

Stannis Baratheon, Davis Seaworth, Jon Snow, and (although his very being repulsed her) Theon Greyjoy all swore themselves to Daenerys, and in time more and more houses arrived to pledge their support. Ravens were sent forth to every maester demanding arms and soon enough Daenerys deemed it time to march to Winterfell. To Arya's disappointment, Stannis had already successfully swept out the Bolton's and so they were spared this one battle. As they travelled north along the Kingsroad Sansa was struck by the vast fields of burnt crops, the abandoned Inn's, and the occasional corpse that had been left outside to rot. It was a far cry from the memories of her childhood and for that she might've wept.

But like everything else she stored it away and kept her mind clear. She would have time enough later to think. First she had to rebuild Winterfell.

It was in a desolate state. During the battle with Stannis Ramsey Snow had once again put it to the torch and so when they arrived it was little more than a smoking shell. Sansa held onto Arya's hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white as they viewed the damage to their home. Winter Town was almost completely gone but some of its inhabitants were still squatting in the ruins. My people, Sansa thought grimly, eyeing their rags and skinny bones. Most upsetting of all was the damage to the bedrooms and Great Hall. Her father's mighty chair, the seat of Winterfell and the North, was gone...no doubt chopped for kindling long ago. The carefully stained glass windows were smashed, the tapestries were missing (some, she remembered, had been embroidered by her mother. She had even helped), and Bolton banners still hung behind the raised dais. She tore those down herself and ordered them to be burnt immediately. As for the bedrooms...the furs and velvet hangings were long gone, as were the blankets. Remnants of their old lives were littered among the ruins. She sobbed for a whole hour when she found an old doll.

The only saving grace was that the Godswood and family crypt had been left unaffected. She sent out riders to search for the whereabouts of her father's bones but there was nothing she could do for Robb, Bran and Rickon. Theon insisted that he hadn't harmed the Stark boys but she couldn't believe a word that came out of that broken mouth. When she saw the weirwood with its blood red face she turned to Jon Snow and then did something she had never done before. She gently reached out and took hold of his hand, finding it as cold as her own. "Find them. Bring them back to us...if you can." He knew the North better than anybody. Alive or dead she wanted her brothers back.

He swore that he would.

Daenerys had to attend to matters beyond the Wall, but she left two hundred men and Sansa set them to work at once. She wanted Winterfell to look just as it had but all they had for guidance were their shattered memories. Tyrion Lannister proved vital in sketching out the designs for the architects when improvements were needed. Some of the men were assigned to rebuild the walls and roofs while others were instructed to work on the kitchens, armoury and stables. The people that remained of Winter Town were given food and shelter against the cold in return for their services. They were too weak to do any real labour so Sansa had most of them inside carving new wooden beams and furniture under the supervision of Arya. The women she set working on stitching a new Stark banner. "You here to stay then, m'lady?" one of them questioned haughtily, a sickly babe clinging to her hip. She had lost an ear to frostbite and looked tired and stubborn.

"It's about time the Starks reclaimed Winterfell," Sansa told her, leaning forward to inspect the babe. "And I want a large direwolf banner flying from the tallest tower." They had cause to mistrust her, they had seen only cruelty under the Bolton's, and so Sansa was desperate to gain their allegiance.

For months she worked herself into the ground. It was a life completely different to the one she had lived in Braavos. There were no luxuries here; no fine food, no feather bedding, not even regular baths. The only food they could spare was tough and tasteless. She wore the same grey woollen dress until it unravelled and kept her hair tied up away from her face. Every day was filled with gruelling work, especially when it snowed, and soon her body began to ache. She was so unused to physical labour that she went to bed every night with cold sore limbs, though she never once complained. Her people would thank her constantly for her kindness and with every turn of the moon the once skinny children became fatter. She knew it would be worth it in the end...they just had to get there.

One night she retired early and sat before the fire, gently massaging her bruised ankle. The steps outside were slippery with ice and she had fallen awkwardly on her foot. Sandor arrived unannounced as always and without a word took over. Sansa would've scolded him for the inappropriateness if she had the strength but instead relaxed back into the chair and sighed. "It's coming together, Sandor."

He was kneeling at her feet and his touch was gentler than she could have ever imagined. He always touched her as though she might break. "Still a lot to do."

"We have roofs and thick doors now. The outer wall is almost complete too, thank the Gods. Once that's done I can move the builders inside - it'll really speed up then. Tomorrow I'm to inspect the glass gardens and Daenerys says I can import the glass straight from Myr," she proudly ran a finger along the arm of her chair and pointed out the little engravings. "One of the men from Winter Town has a talent for wood carving, see? I'm hoping he'll help in the Great Hall."

She could see that his mind was elsewhere. "Daenerys sent me raven this morning. By the by, your new maester is as unfit as an old hog. He nearly died after climbing those stairs."

Sansa frowned. "Sam's a nice man, don't tease him. What's this about a letter...?"

"There are some wildlings causing trouble on the Queensroad. I'll need to drive them off."

"Can't someone else do it?" It seemed amazing that she should still need him at her side. She had no problem addressing the men and there were plenty of guards to watch over them. Still, the idea of being without him did not sit well with her.

"Who?" he smiled wryly. "You and your bow? I'm no use here, Sansa, I was made for fighting. Besides, you need someone to scout the surrounding areas. The Wolfswood too. We need to make sure the land is sound before we send out anymore hunting parties."

Sansa deliberately pulled her foot from his grasp and sat up. She hoped that she looked cross but he did have a point. The surrounding areas could be swarming with wildlings and they would have no idea. "Fine," she said, sounding sulkier than she'd intended.

"I won't be too long and then when I get back you can boast about all the new improvements," he chuckled. "It is coming along quickly. Make sure you aren't pushing them too hard. Don't settle quality for speed."

"Winter is coming," she reminded him.

"Always looking forward."

"You know Daenerys used to say that if she looked back she was lost. I thought it was clever at first...but it's wrong. We need to look back. We need to remember. If we forget who we are we'll be lost."

Sandor considered her for a moment and she felt herself blush under his scrutiny. She decided that she was sat too close to the fire – it was making her pulse race uncomfortably. Just as she was about to move Sandor leant forward and he brushed his burnt lips against her forehead. It was hardly a kiss and yet sweeter than she could've ever wished for.

"I'll be back soon."

After he left she spent a long time staring into the fire, nursing the strange twist in her stomach. I'm just lonely, she thought. Under normal circumstances I would be married by now. When the coldness struck people turned to one another for warmth and affection, and it often resulting in infants. She had warned the women to keep their legs crossed over the following months as they had no spare resources for children...but she had come across more than one couple entwined in a shadowy corridor. She couldn't begrudge them the companionship. Some nights she dreamt of waking up beside a lover and feeling the warmth of his embrace...sometimes she ached to be kissed, to be touched, to be held...but she was the notoriously elegant Sansa Stark. Who would dare to touch her?

Even back in Braavos it was the same. The city was a beautiful nest of romance and secret trysts and it was important to learn how to close your ears, as well as your eyes. She knew of some women who took several lovers at once – even at the same time – and had been shocked to learn from Leah that it was not an uncommon practice that side of the Narrow Sea. She knew she had seemed immature to the courtesans of the Palace of Silk and heard some of the sniggers but her sense of being proper was drilled too far into her to change. She would always think about her mother and what she would've said about such things.

She would never take a lover. She no longer believed in princes and knights, but that did not extinguish her respect for marriage. Her mother had loved her father with all her heart. That was proper and as it should be.

Still, it was the first time that she had felt that way about Sandor.

For the first time in years she allowed herself to think about Sandor's feelings. She was not blind. She knew full well about his past love for her. Once, back when they arrived in Braavos, she had been confused as to why their relationship was so unstable but growing up she had realised it was simply because he'd never wanted to be her friend. He had wanted more. His inner struggles, his drinking, his shouting were all ways to punish her and push her away from learning the truth. She had felt his gaze when he thought she was not looking too many times to number. As she grew, as her hips widened and her breasts became full, he had watched with resentful eyes.

She knew all of this and it made her burn to think on it. She had never once taken pleasure from his covert looks or consciously encouraged it, but at the same time it made her feel wicked. Guilty, even.

She was still awake at dawn when a maidservant came rushing into the room.

"M'Lady," she greeted, struggling to catch her breath. "A woman. She's gone into labour an' needs a maester."

Sansa rushed to her feet and permitted her to run and get Sam. No matter what she was feeling life in Winterfell persisted. She numbly set off to do her duty.

A.N/ I hope that was okay and enough Sandor/Sansa to tide you over. I've been quite caught up in the plot and while trying to develop the characters might've accidently ignored them a bit. However, there will be a LOT in the next chapter. Hopefully the wait won't be anywhere near as long as this one was. Excitinnnnngggg :) As always reviews and suggestions are always appreciated.