Chapter 21

The battle host pushes on towards Winterfell.

Almost as if sensing that they are close to home, the horses discover a new burst of energy, making better time than they have in any of the months previous.

Sansa is not certain whether to be glad of it or not, every day closer to Winterfell is a day closer to when Sandor must leave with the Tallharts, and she does not know how long it will take him to return. While it may have been days since she has spoken to him, right now at least she can see him occasionally, now at least she knows where he is and how he is.

Arya insists on going for walks in the evening once they've made camp and their tent is being set up and it affords Sansa the opportunity to see him, however briefly. She waits impatiently for those moments, counts down the hours until they occur. Her sister still goes to see Sandor and his men train in the evening, occasionally being allowed to participate in their exercises. There is little that might be said at the moment and so Arya does not always pass messages, apart from telling each how the other is faring. Through Arya, each knows what was said to the other by Robb. Each knows exactly how things stand and how they must proceed now.

Yesterday however, Sansa had sent Arya with a specific message for him. She knows that he is to depart with the Tallhart men sometime within the next day or so and she wishes desperately to see him properly before he does. As her old sworn shield it is only appropriate that he would come to take his leave of her before departing, and such a move should not bring too much untoward attention upon them. If it should confirm Robb's suspicions then… then perhaps that is for the best. Perhaps it will make it easier for him when they finally leave.

Sansa cannot blame her brother for his wishes, not really. Kingship sits heavily on Robb's shoulders and he is trying his best to fulfill his responsibilities and make up for his past mistakes. He wants to be a good king, a strong king, a just king, and Sansa knows that he will be. No, she cannot blame him for wanting her marriage to help accomplish this, it is the way that they were both brought up to think. Sansa does not blame her brother for his expectations, but she is disappointed by his refusal to consider allowing her to decide her own future. She does not blame him but neither will she set aside her happiness in order to bend to his wishes. She hopes… no, it is better if she no longer allows herself to hope.

Robb has his own burdens to bear and his own journey to take, just as she has hers. Things have remained strained between them ever since their conversation and Sansa wishes that it could be otherwise, that if she is to leave then she can at least do so on good terms. Yet whatever she might say to mend the breach between them would be a lie and proved false in the end. She would rather leave her brother honestly than with deception between them.

Dawn has just broken and the camp beginning to stir when Sandor comes to her, calling out at the entrance of the tent to announce his arrival and ask for admittance. They are so very careful to observe the proprieties now when it seems as if one wrong move could ruin everything.

Sansa is only half ready for the day's ride ahead, already dressed but with her hair still bound loosely with the night's ribbon rather than in the simple plait she usually keeps it in while they travel. She calls out for him to come in, already rising from the pallet to make her way forward even as she does so.

And then there he is, closer than he's been for more than two weeks, and every line on his face, every scar and jagged fissure precious to her and something to be memorized anew.

He checks that the tent flap is securely fastened before crossing to meet her, his long legs covering the distance in only two strides. Then she is lifted up, crushed to him, his face buried in her hair and his arms wound tightly around her back as she lifts her own hands to encircle his shoulders, burying them in the hair at the nape of his neck.

They both know that they don't have long, within half an hour someone will come to pack up the girls' tent in preparation for the day's journey, perhaps half an hour after that they will be expected to be on their horses and ready to go. Sansa turns her head to kiss his scarred temple where it lies close to her face. Sandor raises his own head finally and sets her back down upon the ground, moving his hands to cup her cheeks instead.

"Let me look at you 'til I've had my fill," He tells her, gazing down upon her with such an expression that it is all she can do to simply stand there and let him rather than trying to raise herself to kiss him upon the lips. Instead she gazes back at him, trying to memorise features that she may not see for a month or more, should it take some time to drive the Ironborn out. By the time he reaches Torrhen's Square they should be almost back to Winterfell, where she shall wait until he returns. She has longed for it, and yet it cannot be home while he is not there.

"I shall miss you," she tells him as they look at each other, "I will look for your return daily. You must be careful."

"I'll miss you too, little bird." He tells her with a crook of a smile, his scars twisting as he gives it to her. "Not to worry, the squids are no match to me. I'll throw the buggers back into the ocean and return before you know it." He gives her a long, searching look then. "Your brother will not try to marry you off before I return, will he? If you think it a risk then I would take you away from here now."

Sansa shakes her head, trying to reassure him. "Robb will not do that, he will not force a marriage upon me. He believes that I need time and shall give me until after all the Greyjoy forces have been expelled from the North before asking me to reconsider. That gives us time enough and if he should change his mind then we may leave once you return from Torrhen's Square instead of after Deepwood Motte is retaken."

He nods, satisfied with the plan and moves his hand to caress her cheek lightly. "I'm sorry that it did not happen as you wanted, little bird." He tells her sincerely, "If you wish to delay in the hopes of winning them over…"

"No." Sansa shakes her head firmly, "I should like to give Robb the option of consenting before we leave but I do not wish to delay while we wait for something that might never occur." She glances towards the back of the tent where Arya is getting ready for the day, studiously avoiding looking towards them; then takes a step forward so that she is pressed against him, the hardness of his body in sharp contrast to hers. She raises her hands to place them on his chest and looks up at him. "I am yours, you have only to take me. I wish to be yours, completely. I wish that nobody should be able to set us asunder."

Looking up at him, she can see the movement of his neck as he gulps, sees him wet his lips as he gazes down at her with unconcealed desire. Placing his hand on the small of her back he presses her even closer to him and oh gods, she can feel him, the hardness of him, and she suddenly knows exactly what it means when he looks upon her in that way. He swoops down to kiss her, his lips hard and demanding upon hers, his teeth briefly clashing with hers before she opens her mouth to him, gasping when she first feels his tongue, when he nips lightly upon her bottom lip.

By the time he lets her go she is weak kneed and giddy with wanting, with needing, her stomach churning with it and an almost ache building in the region beneath. Sandor looks down at her with a wolfish grin that is entirely too proud.

"And will you give me a favour to carry with me into battle this time, little bird, as you once did?" He asks, reaching forward to tuck some of her hair behind one ear, his other hand leisurely stroking her arm.

Sansa reaches up and unties the ribbon from her hair, then takes his right arm and pushes his sleeve up his arm, fastening her ribbon tightly around his forearm, high enough up that it will not be able to be easily seen. He touches it when she is done, his fingers stroking the satin.

"I have something else for you too," She tells him, and leaves him for a moment to go to her trunk and retrieve a parcel wrapped in plain black cloth. She returns to him and holds it out, placing it in his arms.

"It is your cloak," She tells him, almost shyly, "The cloak with your sigil. I finished it two days ago and thought that I should give it to you before you leave. We will be at Winterfell soon and should anybody see it among my things while unpacking it would be hard to explain. You must keep it safely until the time comes to set it upon my shoulders."

"Sansa," He murmurs, and leans down to kiss her almost chastely this time, his nose brushing against hers as he does so.

"I will keep it safely," He tells her, "And drape it over your shoulders just as soon as may be. I'll say goodbye now, and leave before anybody thinks to check on you."

Looking over Sansa's shoulder he makes eye contact with Arya and nods at her in a gesture for her to come forward. She does so, giving him a quick grin.

"At least I'll have a new set of walls to look at once we're at Winterfell." Arya comments, causing Sandor to give a harsh bark of laughter.

"Look after your sister and after yourself as well, brat." He tells her almost fondly and reaches out to muss her hair. "And keep up your sword practice, remember your drills."

Arya nods seriously and then moves away to give them some privacy for a final farewell.

"I'll arrive back soon enough," Sandor tells Sansa, reaching out a hand to squeeze her shoulder. "And when I do, Patrek fucking Mallister had better not be there courting you or I'll shove his own fucking sword up his arse."

Sansa wants to laugh, knowing that he's trying to distract her from the parting but only manages a nod instead.

"Be careful." She tells him, standing on her toes to kiss him goodbye.

"And you." He replies, caresses her cheek once more and is gone.

/

Sansa does not see him leave for Torrhen's Square; they are too far back in the host when the separation takes place and all she manages to glimpse is his banner flying from a distance. She watches it disappear further into the distance with a heavy heart, knowing that from the time they reach Winterfell she will begin a vigil until it once again reappears.

It is difficult without him, knowing that he has gone to fight, and yet she does not fall apart. It is not the same as the time that he had gone to kill his brother when she had genuinely feared for his life. There can be no one within the Ironborn who is a match for him and she is confident that he will return safely to her. The worry does not wear upon her as badly this time, though there is a sorrow at what must come that cannot be dismissed. During the day she rides with Arya and Talisa, attempting to make light conversation, while at night she sews her Maiden's Cloak, stitching carefully to while away the hours until she is able to sleep.

They are two days away from Winterfell now and every step her horse takes seems like one step closer to a final farewell. Any joy to be had in seeing her childhood home must be tempered by a grief of losing it, of losing the family that she had been so happy to regain. Arya will go with them if they allow it and Sansa feels an added guilt at that. Is it fair to take away yet another of her mother's remaining children, even if it is what Arya wants?

Yet she cannot deny Arya, it would be a comfort to have her with them and Sansa knows that the life of a lady would stifle her sister. Arya is now too old to be allowed to run around in breeches and practice her swordplay for too much longer and she would be miserable in the role of a proper lady. Every decision that Sansa makes will end up hurting somebody and she is struggling to cope with the feelings that this inspires in her.

Robb has estimated that they should reach Winterfell on the morrow but is proceeding cautiously in case there are still Ironborn there, and it is with conflicted feelings that Sansa looks forward to it. The last time she saw it, Father was still alive, and Bran and Rickon as well. Now their pack is diminished, and their home damaged. There will be bodies to be buried when they arrive, of beloved old friends such as Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick, perhaps of her brothers as well. Winterfell has seen bloodshed and tragedy and while it may be rebuilt and bodies removed, the shadow of those events shall continue to hang over it.

Sansa's musings are interrupted by the light touch of her goodsister's hand upon her arm as they ride side by side.

"You have not been yourself lately," Talisa comments, a note of concern in her voice. "Are you feeling alright?"

Sansa gives her a wan smile and shakes her head slightly. "It is nothing, really. I am just preoccupied, there is nothing wrong with me."

"It's because your husband is an idiot." Arya comments, addressing Talisa. "I have no idea whatsoever why you wanted to marry someone so thick headed."

"Arya…" Sansa chides, partly in an effort to remind Arya to be careful what she says, and partly because she really should not be speaking of their brother in that way.

Talisa seems more amused by Arya's description of her husband than annoyed though, attempting to hide a small smile. "He told me that you had argued, though not what it was about." She admits, "Is there anything that I might do to help matters?"

Sansa is shaking her head in the negative but Arya is already replying, ignoring a warning look shot her way. "Tell Robb that he should let Sansa choose her own husband rather than trying to pick one for her."

"Arya…" Sansa shoots her a much sharper look this time before turning back to Talisa. "We argued over his desire for me to marry soon, and to a man chosen by him. I do not wish… I asked him to allow me the same freedom to choose my fate that he exercised himself."

"When he married me." Talisa comments, seemingly undisturbed by the revelation. "I have thought about it often since our marriage, about what was lost due to his decision."

"Please do not think that we are disappointed with his decision," Sansa tells her hastily, "We could not ask for a better goodsister. I am glad that Robb married for love and for happiness, I would only wish…"

"That he would allow you the same." Talisa finishes for her, a look of empathy upon her face. "I know how it is with marriages among high houses, even among my people it is the same. I could speak with him if you wish?"

Sansa shakes her head, "I do not wish to the cause of an argument between the two of you, I shall approach the topic with Robb again when the time is right. There is no need for now, until… until the North has been properly retaken and our position is once again secure."

As Sansa looks at her goodsister, there is a dawning of understanding upon Talisa's face. Too late, she realizes that perhaps she should have guarded her words and admitted to nothing at all.

"Is there somebody that you love, Sansa?" Talisa asks her in a low voice, "Somebody who you wish to marry that Robb might not approve of?"

Sansa freezes, stuck between an urge to lie and a wish not to do so. She does not know Talisa well enough to be able to trust her with such a large secret, to be able to trust that she will not speak of it to Robb.

"I…" Sansa begins to say, only to cut herself off. "Does it matter?"

"To me it does," Talisa continues, "And perhaps to Robb as well if he knew of it. He wants you to be happy, he would not force you to marry where that is not possible."

"And yet he would not willingly give me to whom I would choose either." Sansa comments sadly. "I cannot speak of it to you, I would not ask you to lie to Robb if he wished to know, and he cannot know it for now, not until…"

"Until the man you wish to marry might come back?" Talisa suggests somewhat shrewdly, her eyes firmly upon Sansa's face.

Sansa cannot help the blush that rises to her cheeks, "I… I cannot…" she struggles to say something, anything, and fails, suddenly afraid.

Talisa reaches out a hand once more, this time grasping Sansa's where it tightly grips her horse's reins. "I will not betray you," Talisa reassures her, "You need not say his name to me, but I have wondered… You have both shown such a strong dedication to each other since the first time I saw you that I could not help but wonder."

"And you won't tell Robb?" Arya cuts in, looking as concerned as Sansa feels.

"No, I won't." Talisa confirms, "It is not my secret to tell and when I made my own marriage for love I would not stop you from doing the same, even if it is against my husband's wishes. I know Robb, he will come around to it in time."

"Do you really think so?" Sansa asks her, trying to suppress a brief glimmer of hope. "My mother though… I do not think he will ever be good enough for her."

"I'm still not certain that your mother considers me good enough for Robb," Talisa replies with a twinkle in her eye, "Though I have somewhat redeemed myself by conceiving his heir. Your mother loves you though, and while it may take some time… perhaps years, when she sees that you are happy then she will reconcile to it."

"Thank you, for giving me some small amount of hope." Sansa says sincerely, "I do mean to tell the truth to Robb when the time is right, and then we shall see what he says."

"Well, you shall have one more person to speak on your behalf when you do." Talisa comments, "After all, if it were not for him then neither I nor my child would be alive today. I shall never forget the relief I felt when I saw him riding down the road towards me, as if the Stranger himself was after him. He cut those Freys down like they were nothing and didn't even pause, he was so desperate to get to you." She stops and gives a knowing smile, "When I thought on it later I suspected… but thought it best not to interfere."

"Well I'm glad that Robb had sense enough to marry you," Arya says with a grin, "It shows that there is hope for him yet."

There is hope for all of them, Sansa realizes, she should not have given up so soon. One lost battle does not signify the end of a war. Even if the worst scenario occurs and they are estranged from her family, she may still hope for an eventual reconciliation.

Sansa allows herself to laugh along with Arya and Talisa, her heart now slightly lighter.

She shall take things one step at a time from now on, and for now every step takes her closer to Winterfell.

A/N: Well we've now passed 200 Followers and 100 Favourites for this story which is pretty damn cool and makes me grin like anything. I've tried to leave it on a slightly hopeful note since the story shall now go on a very short hiatus for a couple of weeks. I'm headed overseas on a well deserved holiday and won't have my laptop with me, though I do intend to do some writing while I'm gone and hopefully have a chapter prepared for when I return. So look for the next chapter sometime after the 22nd November! I'll try to still respond to reviews and PMs while I'm gone even if I'm a bit slow to do so!

Toive: Italy, fantastic! Ciao Toive :) I occasionally look at the country list of where people are reading from and wonder who they all are! I will definitely keep on writing and hope you enjoy the rest as well. Grazie Tanto!

Guest 1: Well, we've still got a few chapters to go and anything is possible before the end :) Hopefully you'll enjoy the conclusion when it comes!

Grumpirah: Ah he needs a bit of guilt tripping, really he does. He does love his sisters but he needs to realize that sometimes being a good brother should come ahead of being a good king!

Guest 2: He might need a bit more convincing :)

CSS: I'm glad to hear you don't blame him, he is in a tough position! Certainly doesn't make it any easier for our main pair though…

Tres Orleans: I know! Means I've been writing this for about 5 months which seems fairly unreal! Stupid knight should've been grateful to Sandor for saving his bacon rather than tattling on him to Robb. Ah Robb, he doesn't really understand just how much his sister has changed and so he's tried to select a suitor that the old Sansa would've been happy to marry. Unfortunately marrying her to Sandor would have no strategic value to Robb since he expects Sandor's loyalty in return for the lands and title. I've heard similar things from one of my professors about the differences between the researchers and faculty ;) Sounds like a brilliant position, will be very jealous of your new beachside location!

Dewlily: That was a fantastic understanding of the events, in the end it's a difficult situation for them all to be in and one that is not easy to resolve. If anything will get Sansa through this, especially while she waits for Sandor's return, it will be that bond with Arya. There will be a few more changes before the end which I hope will resonate just as well!