I do not own ASOIAF. I do not profit from this story, nor would I ever seek to do so. All credit for characters and setting to the wonder GRRM.

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Lord Stokeworth—Ser Bronn had insisted that they stay night and break their fast with him. He had spoken to her when he had separated her from Sandor the day before. He had seemed to feel some sort of responsibility for her because of her husband. He mentioned what the queen did to him at length and why. He also laughed and said that in a twist of events, she had made him Lord of Stokeworth. But he would not forgive her for trying to have him killed.

The Queen truly was a fool—just as Petyr said. Sansa had never believed it more than after she heard that story, sending someone to kill a man—for no more than his choice of a name for a bastard child. It was nothing but insolence on his part; she had watched Ser Bronn take uneaten food off Tyrion's plate on more than one occasion.

She shifted, scratching behind the mare's ear when she lowered her head. She glanced around at their new companions. There was no easy way to escape the four of them without killing them. Surely, Harwin would not lead her into a trap. There had been true sincerity in Gendry's story. Jeyne was a young woman doing her best to help care for all those orphans. The only man she was unsure of was Lem, but with Gendry, Harwin, and Sandor, any threat potential from him was more than neutralized.

Ser Gendry had kept his eyes on her the entire morning. He looked at her as if she was some kind of salvation. He had a vested interest. His interest in her was about more than simply the two of them being mutual enemies. She shifted, thinking on his actions when he was brought before them in the great hall of Stokeworth Castle. He had been angry or pained deeply when he spoke of Sandor taking her sister, whatever those emotions might mean.

She hovered close to Sandor, keeping quieter than usual. She did not doubt the bastard boy's desire to keep her safe, though his story had seemed somewhat incomplete, and only more incomplete the more that she thought about it. He surely had reasons for that—reasons she would winkle out of him in time.

She still disliked the way he looked at Sandor. He looked as if he would like to harm Sandor. She was certain that he would die in the attempt. She wanted no more death. She was tired of death. Lady, her father and his men, her sister, her little brothers, the Hound, her mother and older brother. Her whole family had died—because of Lannisters and Greyjoys and Freys. Some were slowly coming back to her. Some were unknown. She would not allow harm to come to those she cared for, not if she could stop it.

A few flakes of snow were spiraling in the soft wind. Her breath created tiny foggy clouds. They stood between their two horses, her mare and his enormous courser. She would not be able to ride in his arms at all. Their companions would not view that well, but to his credit, Lord Stokeworth had not said a word about how he had originally found them riding.

She had heard the story of the finding of her mother the evening before. Gendry has insisted upon speaking to her in her chamber. She remembered the hostility in his eyes when she said that Sandor was not leaving her side, but he had deferred to her. She had offered him some wine and listened to his story. It had seemed completely insane, and it still did. But she wanted her mother.

Gendry had said nothing about Arya, and it was torture. Arya was her sister, and she had mostly been unkind to her. She remembered how angry she had been when her sister stained a stupid dress the queen gave her. He had mentioned knowing that Sandor had taken her. How long had he been with her? What had her baby sister been through? Arya was so strong; she just had to be alive.

She reached for Sandor's arm as soon as he finished securing a girth strap on Stranger. She drew it close to her chest for a minute.

"You think they are telling the truth?" She slid her hand up and down the inside of his arm.

"I saw Dondarrion spring back to life after I nearly cleaved him in two. From the look of it, he should have been dead several times over, but that red priest kept bringing him back to life."

Sansa linked her fingers through his and stroked his forearm. She might have her mother, in some way, or it might be some monster had taken over her mother the same as in the stories Old Nan used to tell about Wights and White Walkers that her brother Bran had so loved. She would have to wait and see.

"I won't leave you, Little Bird. I'll keep you safe. I'm your dog now."

Sansa felt hurt as she remembered how Joffrey would call him dog or hound, isntead of by his name. He had been treated like an animal, even when he was given a white cloak after poor Ser Barristan Selmy had been the first knight ever dismissed from the Kingsguard. She wondered if Ser Barristan would have stood by while Joffrey tortured her—everyone knew the tales of Barristan the Bold. But he had served King Aerys when her grandfather and Uncle Brandon had been killed. She shook her head to remove the thoughts. He had known the Lannisters when he was dismissed. He had not even tried to take her. She shook her head to remove the thoughts. She had Sandor, and Sandor was worth any ten knights.

"I would rather have you as the Captain of my Guard and personal protector, than my dog." Sansa said, wondering if she should have said such. A dog was welcome to sleep at the side of his mistress. She blushed a little at the memory of waking her first day in his arms on the horses. A mistress might hug her dog, pet him, kiss his head, and feed him from her hand. But a Captain of the Guard was a place of honor. It showed the depth of her respect for him. It made him the man that she always wanted by her side, keeping her safe and offering her counsel.

Sandor removed his arm gently from her hold. He did not look at her for a moment. He placed his hands gently on her waist and lifted her up to her saddle.

She let her hands linger on his shoulders, feeling the loss of physical hold keenly when he moved away. It was comforting to feel such strength and know that it would never and had never harmed her.

"Clegane, we should talk," Bronn said, stepping forward.

Sandor shifted, giving the other man a glare for a moment. He unsheathed a dagger and handed it to her.

"I'll be right back, Little Bird," he said, arranging her cloak over her legs so the dagger was concealed.

He stepped back till her hand fell from his shoulder.

"Yes," she chirped softly, watching him as he walked away. She hoped he understood what she had meant. He was more than a dog. He was a good man. He was always physically gentle with her as if he was worried she would break.

She looked around the courtyard at the others in their group, Harwin, whose father had been Master-of-horse at Winterfell since before she was born, a man with a repellent yellow cloak and a foul stench about him called Lem, Ser Gendry Waters, and Jeyne Heddle.

They were a small group. Their extra numbers might be favorable in terms of protection or bring down a larger group on them.

Sandor had mentioned wanting to try to slip away in the night, but if her mother was alive in some form—she had to see her. She had wanted her mother since she lost Lady, and the ache had only become greater after her sister disappeared and Joffrey killed her father. She felt the tears rise in her eyes, remembering how her father had looked at her right before he was beheaded. He looked so powerless.

She shifted, trying to think of a better memory of her father, one of him with Ice at his side while he sat on the ancient Stark seat, listening to the petitions of the lords who gave him their fealty. How she had tripped playing with Robb that day, hurting her ankle. She had cried for her father. He had come and allowed her to sit his lap quietly. He kissed her tiny brow. That had been the day that word of the Greyjoy rebellion had arrived. She begged him to stay with her the rest of the day. She remembered how she cried the next morning to wake and find he was gone. He had left a little note on her pillow that she made Maester Luwin read to her every day until he came home. He had scooped her up in his arms and allowed her to pepper his cheeks with kisses.

Sansa shook her thoughts away. She could not stand to think on such memories too long, or else she was reminded of other memories of the last months of her father's life and how horrible and ungrateful she had been to him.

Sansa shifted, watching Sandor and Bronn. They were deep in conversation. She wondered what they could be talking about so in depth. She strained her ears but could make out none of the conversation, nor could she see either of their faces well enough to determine what it might be about.

"Milady."

"Yes, Ser Gendry." She tightened her hold around the hilt of the dagger Sandor had given her.

"I was hoping to speak with you, milady."

She cast a glance over at Sandor. She looked back at the boy, the boy who could tell her a little something of what her sister had been through. Sandor said he had seen them together. He had known her sister.

"Of course," she said, reaching down to pet the mare's neck. Would he talk about Arya?

He was quiet for a moment, gazing up at her.

"I'm so sorry—"

"Time to get on the road," Sandor said, moving quickly toward them. He gave Gendry a rough shove. "Hurry, Boy."

Sandor was tense. She could see his irritation and also an air of confidence and perhaps even amusement.

She felt a twinge, wishing she could be seated behind him. She was not much of a rider, never had been. She did not like the tension in his muscles or the set of his jaw.

"Stay close to me, Pretty Bird."

Sansa looked into his eyes. What was going on?

"What is it, Sandor? Please tell me." Sansa did not think she could take any more secrets, any more lies. She touched his wrist after he mounted Stranger.

"Lord Sellsword thinks Jaime Lannister is in the area and looking for you."

Sansa felt a shiver of dread go through her at the thought of that particular knight being close. He nearly unhorsed Sandor. He was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He was the reason that her father had been lamed. She bit back her nerves, remembering how Sandor had unseated the Kingsguard knight in his second tilt at her first tourney. She had known he would win as she told everyone.

"I'll kill him if he tries to hurt you," Sandor said, moving the horse closer to hers. He reached out as if he would bury his fingers in her hair at the back.

Sansa felt her breath hitch, wondering if he would be more gentle with his kiss this time. She did not close his eyes. He preferred her to look at him. She tilted her chin softly to the side as his fingers moved past her face. She moved a hand to his wrist, moving her cheek to his palm for a moment. She moved her other hand and placed it below her first.

Sandor paused and brushed his thumb over the top of her cheek just under her eye.

She smiled, pressing closer into his hand for a moment. She tilted her face up and rubbed her lips together. There was a strange heat in her stomach as she looked into his gray eyes. He moved his face closer until the sound of a clearing throat interrupted the moment. She smiled sadly at Sandor.

He slid his hand to her hood and lifted it.

"Thank you, Sandor."

He grunted softly to acknowledge her. He was looking any direction but at her again. She thought he was going to kiss her. What had she done to make him kiss her the last time?

"Enough talking for now, Little Bird. We must ride."

She nodded as his hand moved to his own hood, fixing it on top of his head and wrapping a scarf around his face.

They rode for the trees at a soft canter though the powdery snow. As soon as they were under cover, they would have to slow.

Sansa could not help thinking what value Jaime Lannister was worth as a hostage. She knew he had been hostage to her brother for nearly a year. She had been glad to learn that the Kingslayer had been captured. But she did not know if she dared test the queen. Robb had an army of twenty thousand to protect him, and it had not been enough to survive the Lannisters. She did not know if they would be able to hold the Kingslayer if they found him. It might send a better message to kill him. It would be a start to avenging her father and brother.

Guilt pooled in her heart and stomach making her feel ill. She breathed a little harder. She did not really know Ser Jaime, and she had wished him dead. Had Littlefinger influenced her more than she had realized? When did the killing end? Was one undeserved death solved by another? There were some who should die for their crimes, but killing someone who never hurt her just because of what their sibling had done would make her no better than Joffrey. She remembered the throne room where she was often punished for her brother's victories.

She remembered her question to Septa Mordane about her grandfather and uncle, one of the few that the woman had known the answer to and been unwilling to answer. Why were they killed?

They rode silently for several hours alongside a frozen stream.

She glanced over at Gendry from time to time. The point of spiking his head was obvious, but no less wrong. He had not known his father was King Robert. He only wanted to be an armorer. He would cause no trouble, but someone with a brain would easily be able to point out his resemblance. She would keep him close to her side so long as he proved himself true to her. He was valuable.

Wondering about Gendry's loyalty made her remember the stories her father had told to Robb and Jon and Theon when she was not supposed to have been listening.

He had been telling of the strength Robert had had with his war hammer and how he had caved in Rhaegar's chest, among others during battles. She had been terrified for days, until her father came and held her and kissed her brow. He asked her why she had been having nightmares. She told him, clutching his neck and kissing his cheek. He had smiled comfortingly at her, petting her hair. He told her of Robert's loyalty and friendship, how they had been fostered together by Lord Jon Arryn in the Eyrie. He told her that the only thing greater than Robert's anger was the strength of the bonds of his friendships, and Robert was his dear friend.

Ser Gendry was a blacksmith by trade. He had an enormous right arm. He was assuredly strong and tall just as his sire had been in his prime. If he proved as loyal to her as her father claimed Robert had been to him, then she had secured a valuable ally. She did not dare question Gendry or make unnecessary noise with the potential of the kingslayer being so close.

She tucked her cloak about her more tightly as a northern wind whistled through the trees. She wished she could focus more on what was going on around her, but her mind kept wandering to the new companions and the people she had left behind and those who left her. Sandor had found his way back like a good dog, and Harwin was with her now, though he was an outlaw. She did not know Lem, but she knew Harwin and Sandor. Ser Gendry had sworn his sword to her. She wondered when he would prove his word, if his words meant anything. The words of most men she had known had proven less true than the wind that made them.

CRACK.

A spooked red fox burst from the trees, dashing across the path in front of them and leaping across the stream. Sansa's mare reared, breaking from the formation and plunging into the trees, screaming as she jumped a fallen log. Sansa was thrown forward across the horse's neck. She clutched tightly and as best she could as the horse careened through the white woods. She could hear other horses and some cursing. She looked to her left and saw Sandor riding close.

She got a small burst of courage at seeing he had come after her and managed to reach her hand forward to get a grip on reins and pulled the horse to a stop. She closed her eyes and whimpered, remaining spread across the neck of the horse. A few tears leaked out. She was not a horse rider. Arya would have loved a run like that through the woods.

"You're alright, Little Bird."

"Milady, are you injured?" Harwin asked, taking the reins of her horse.

Sansa shook her head. She pushed her hands down on the horse's whithers, trying to regain her seat. Her hand slipped and she fell on the horse's neck again. Opening her eyes, she saw Sandor.

Sandor reached over, gathering her close as he lifted her from her horse to sit in front of him. He brushed some snow off her cloak. He kept her close, resting his cheek on her head gently for a moment.

She leaned into him with a loud sigh, sliding her arms around his chest. She whimpered softly.

"Do you want to ride with me for a little while?" he asked. His voice rumbled and vibrated against her cheek. His hand cupped her cheek as she trembled.

Sansa nodded, opening her eyes to gaze up at him.

"You're alright now, Little Bird."

Sansa ignored the grunt from Harwin as Sandor helped her arrange herself comfortably in the saddle.

"I'd be lost without you," she whispered against his chest. He had saved her from Alayne. A warm blackbear fur was draped around her shoulders. She could hear his heart and shifted. She wondered if he heard what she had said.

A loud snort cut through the relative silence that fell along with a number of heavy foot falls of horses.

"Milady, are you well?"

Sansa looked into the bright Baratheon eyes and nodded as she tightened her arms around Sandor. It was safer to be close to him. She was warmer in his arms.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" his voice was soft as he directed his gelding close.

Stranger lunged out and snapped at the other horse.

"Keep your horse away from Stranger. He'll take a good chunk out of the poor beast."

"I'm fine," Sansa said. "I just want to get moving and see my mother. I will ride with Sandor." She was going to see her mother. Her mother would help with everything that had happened. Her mother would know what to do. She missed her. She would not hurt her protector.

She jerked in Sandor's arms and stared into the forest. She could have sworn that she saw movement. She thought she saw—green eyes watching her. But then it was gone.

"Let's go, please, Sandor. Please." She looked where she thought she saw the eyes, but she did not see them again. She had probably imagined it. Green eyes watching her was on her mind with the thought that a knight of the Kingsguard was so near and looking for her. He would give her to his sister who would enjoy beheading her.

Sandor looked around at the rest of the group.

"Let's move. I do not like to keep her out in this cold. There is a small cave some hours ahead where we can stay the night."

She saw dirty looks being directed at Sandor from Harwin and Gendry. Lem did not look disgusted and distrustful as the others did, but his look was equally unsettling. Jeyne simply averted her eyes.

Sansa leaned closer to Sandor, enjoying the warm cocoon that was being created by his arms. She had imagined the eyes. No one was there, and even if someone was, she had Sandor to protect her and he had her.