Sansa sat in the makeshift throne room in the main tent, taking deep, calming breaths as she waited for the red priestess to be brought to her. This meeting would be critical, and the Sand sisters were standing in the corners of the room, watching, observing, calculating for later acts. Sandor stood at Sansa's side, looking firm and unwavering as usual.

Never before could Sansa recall her heart beating faster, and the only other time it had been this fast was when she was pleading with Joffrey for her father's life. She had been young and foolish then, convinced that she could save her father if she could just make Joffrey understand that it was all a mistake. Sansa shook her head slightly, trying to rid herself of those thoughts. They weren't helpful and could only put her in the wrong frame of mind for this meeting. She was no longer a frightened, confused little girl. She was a high lady.

Footsteps trudging outside the tent alerted her that they were arriving and she sat a little straighter, smiling as the tent flap opened and their guests arrived. She was beautiful, the red priestess, with long, flowing hair and a robe-like red dress that looked warm and soft. Sansa was startled for a moment with how regal and dazzling that dress was, especially compared with the white attire of septas.

"Welcome," Sansa said, smiling warmly as she stood to greet the priestess. "I am afraid my education on protocol for your religious order is limited. How may I address you?"

"You can simply call me Melisandre, my lady," the woman said, her voice rich and melodious. "It is my pleasure to represent King Stannis here in your endeavors."

It was all Sansa could do to keep her face straight when Melisandre called Stannis king. Whatever she believed about Stannis, she knew the man could not really be a king. And what was more, she had promised Prince Doran to support the Dragon, and she would keep that promise. Sansa certainly hoped that once she dealt with the red priestess, Stannis would be more likely to listen to reason.

"We are very pleased to have you here," Sansa said. "It is odd how the world changes, isn't it? Such a short space of time with so many people claiming the same throne. Chaos happens quickly."

"Indeed," Melisandre said, watching Sansa intently, as though trying to read her. "I do hope that we are working to fight chaos together."

"You will receive no arguments from me on that score," Sansa said, smiling warmly. "If your concern is that I will, like my brother, lay claim to the Iron Throne, I hope to put your mind at ease. I have no ambitions, Melisandre, except to go home. I believe my family has lost enough. I don't think it is too much to ask to go home."

Melisandre smiled, and it was oddly sinister, like she was showing too many teeth for it to be kindly. Sansa did feel that they were keeping the conversation on the right track to earn the trust of the red priestess, but she was not ready to let her guard down.

"I am sure you have many arrangements to make for the men who travel with you. Lord Manderly will provide for your needs. When you have settled in, we must take a meal together, talk more intimately. There is much about you that I wish to learn."

"And I about you, Lady Stark," Melisandre said, but she did not incline her head at all. "I shall see to my arrangements."

Sansa watched the woman leave the tent and felt a chill run through her. Although she wanted to turn and discuss the whole thing with Sandor immediately, she said nothing. It would not do to discuss such matters anywhere but the most private and discrete of places, and that certainly depended on whether she would choose to discuss it with him at all. The more he knew about her thoughts and plans, the more at risk he became. Sansa was prepared to lose everything in the world, everything except for Sandor. She would do nothing to put him at risk.

She did glance at the Sand Snakes, taking them in, although their expressions said nothing on their thoughts about the woman. Sansa would have to wait for those thoughts until after Melisandre had been settled in, and the two women had sized each other up on a more personal level. Sansa knew that her father had conducted most of his serious work behind closed doors, in his solar. She had no such space, but dinner privately with the priestess was perhaps as close as she would get. Once the Umbers arrived, due later that day, perhaps she would have a better idea of the Karstark situation.

Sansa returned to her tent, closely followed by Sandor, who simply watched her as she paced the tent, her mind miles away, trying to recall everything she had ever heard her father say about Stannis Baratheon. She knew he was supposed to be the opposite of his brother, sober and bookish, an honorable man. When the evil influence was removed, surely he would see reason. Surely she would not be forced to continue misleading him. There was no honor in such machinations, in spite of heir necessity. Sansa didn't want to continue living such a life.

"How long until the Umber men arrive?" she asked as he moved closer.

"Several hours by last report," he said, his voice a gentle rumble, and she recalled the feeling of his chest under her fingertips while speaking, the way his voice rolled through his ribcage, echoing somehow, and how it seemed to reverberate in every part of her. Sansa closed her eyes and smiled, stopping and letting him catch up to her.

Sandor wrapped his arms around her gently, smelling her hair and keeping her as close to his body as he could with their clothes in the way.

"You looked wonderful in there," he said, his lips grazing the top of her ear. "Held your own, commanded the room, said all the right things. You'll do wonderfully with her later as well."

"I hope so," she sighed.

She wasn't surprised that she had managed to pull off the public audience. She had seen so many of them, had been trained so carefully in how to speak to people, how to address those who were important guests. That had been an important part of her education, a part she had once been so proud of.

"You will," he said firmly. He kissed her ear, and she felt her nose twitching as she smiled at the sensation of his facial hair on the tender skin of her ear. "You will be wonderful."

Sansa turned to look up at him, seeing desire in his eyes. She wished she could indulge, but there was no telling how quickly the red priestess would consider herself ready for a meal.

"Where will you be when I meet with her?" Sansa asked, fighting the urge to run her fingers up his chest, the urge to trace his neck. "Do you have a plan?"

"If it's not too early, I will be observing the Umber camp," he said, tracing his fingers along her clothed arm. "I want to see the troops, get a sense of them, perhaps even discuss the Karstark situation. They would know better than anyone what options might exist to deal with Arnolf."

"Hmm."

Sansa tilted her head, giving Sandor's fingers better access to her neck. She giggled with surprise when he leaned forward to kiss her neck instead, moaning softly against her skin. She let her fingers tangle in his hair as he nibbled on her jawline.

Although she tried to remind herself that it would be pointless to stir each other up knowing that they would have little time alone, Sansa allowed the kisses to continue, and when his lips met her lips she temporarily forgot any hesitations she had about the whole endeavor. It amazed her how a simple kiss could clear her mind, focus it so intently on the physical contact of the sensitive skin of their mouths. Sansa did regain clarity of thought as his hand traced down her neck to her laces, and she pushed him away slightly, batting his hand away from her dress.

He didn't seem to mind, smiling into the kiss, and they enjoyed their time together. Sansa was told that the Umbers were coming before she heard from the red priestess, so she agreed to meet them, bringing Sandor with her before she had to have her meal. It was good to clear her head before she had to see Melisandre. Seeing a few familiar faces would do her a bit of good after all of the strangeness. She adjusted her hair and skirts before going out through the men, wanting to give the best possible impression for a first glimpse to her people.

/-/

Sandor walked through the Umber camp, watching a few young squires put up some tents and see to horses. The red priestess called to have a meal with Sansa barely after greeting Mors Crowfood Umber, who was a joint castellan of the Last Hearth.

"Hother and I will not fight," Mors said softly as he walked with Sandor. "When the time comes, Umber will not fight Umber."

"I understand," Sandor said. "What do you know of the Karstarks?"

"Arnolf is a greedy bastard," Mors growled. "But he can be…persuaded."

"Do you know where your lords are being held?"

"The Greatjon is at the Twins," Mors said, his mouth barely moving as he looked around at his men. "Last I heard, Harrion Karstark is at Maidenpool."

Sandor hummed his understanding. He had asked Mors who was at the Last Heart if he and Hother were both away with half their men, but the man just winked and told him not to worry about it.

"What I'm not sure of," Mors said, stopping to watch a tent go up, "is how much Arnolf knows about Lady Stark returning to the North. It was difficult to get information, located where we are. If not for Lord Stannis coming through on his way to Deepwood Motte, we wouldn't have known."

"What exactly is Karstark up to, then? Not trying to secure it for himself…."

"No, from what we learned from the Lord Commander of the Night Watch," Mors said with a twinkle in his eye at addressing young Jon Snow this way, "his plan was to marry Alys Karstark to his son by force, and then the Lannisters would kill Harrion Karstark in exchange for his loyalty, you see, so Alys would be the heir, and her children with Arnolf's son would be the new line."

Sandor snorted. It shouldn't have amazed him after all his years working with the Lannisters that people could be so desperate and repulsive, but then, most of the people in the North seemed to have stronger moral fiber. Apart from the Boltons, he had come to expect better of the Northern people, so this plan of Arnolf Karstark was surprising, and Mors and Hother planning to thwart Roose Bolton was not surprising at all.

"We'll have to do something about that," Sandor said.

"Well, Lord Commander Snow has Alys Karstark at the Wall, so she's safe from marriage to her cousin," Mors said darkly. "What he plans from there I cannot guess."

"That's something," Sandor said. "The boy seems practical."

"He's Lord Commander."

"He's still a boy."

"Would you say your wife is still a girl?" Mors asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

Sandor's good nostril flared and he thought over this point. Sansa was most certainly a woman, but he said nothing. By the way Mors's lips twitched, it was clear he knew Sandor's thoughts well enough.

"Well, he's practical enough," Sandor continued darkly. "I doubt very much that he would do something foolish with the girl."

Mors nodded, narrowing his eyes at a boy struggling with a tent peg. He swore under his breath and turned to Sandor.

"The North cannot take much more of this, Hound. We've lost too many good men, some at King's Landing with Ned, some at the Red Wedding with Robb, when Greyjoy took Winterfell, in the struggles with the Boltons…. We need a Stark in Winterfell again, and we need it soon."

"No argument from me," Sandor said.

He liked Mors Umber. The man was a little too old to be a quality warrior, and he had a simple air, but he obviously had a good grip on the world around him and a keen eye for strategy. Especially in dealing with Arnolf and the Boltons, who Mors knew intimately from his many years as neighbor to the two.

"One further thing," Sandor said as they continued their trek toward the main section of camp, where Sansa said she would see them as soon as she finished with the red priestess. "The Iron Throne."

Mors raised an eyebrow and said, "Bloody thing isn't something your wife's set her sights on, has she?"

"Fuck, no," Sandor sighed. "She's not ambitious."

"That throne is so far away that no one up north really cares who's stupid enough to sit on it, as long as it's not a Lannister." Mors grinned, then, and said, "I suppose this means we aren't going to be expected to cut down our heart trees and worship fire?"

Sandor took his turn to wink, but said no more. Mors would keep his peace, not being foolish enough to anger the red priestess, but he was also a good gauge of how the rest of the North would react when they more or less betrayed Stannis and put a Dragon back on the throne.

They approached the main part of camp, and both men stopped as they watched Sansa and the red priestess leaving the private meal tent arranged for them, and Sansa was smiling sweetly as she took her leave of the woman. The priestess walked away, and Sansa began to walk to their private tent and Sandor motioned for Mors to follow him. They met with Sansa at the front of the tent, and she smiled at them, surprised and pleased to see them.

"Forgive me for not being more attentive to your arrival," Sansa chirped. "I had other matters that…demanded my attention."

"Think nothing of it, Lady Stark," Mors said with surprising graciousness. "If you are not too fatigued, we could speak now."

"Yes, please," she said, motioning for Sandor and Mors to join her inside the tent. Sandor quickly arranged a chest for Mors to sit on, leaving the chair for Sansa. She did not object, although she looked displeased that all they had to offer her guest was a chest. Mors did not appear to care, sitting on the chest without complaint.

"First, allow me to apologize for not bringing more men," he said, nodding his head slightly in a bow. "I do have an explanation, one I believe you will like very much."

"I certainly would," Sansa said, smiling. "And I would also like to know what you know about Arnolf Karstark."

As requested, Mors Umber explained what he knew about the Karstark situation, Sansa's frown growing by the moment, although she did brighten when she learned that Alys Karstark was at the wall, and that Hother was infiltrating the Boltons.

"Well," she said, smoothing her skirts and smiling, "that is certainly good to hear, Mors."

Sandor leaned forward slightly, waiting for her to say more, but she simply tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair and continued to smile thoughtfully.

"I take it from that look that you have a plan," Mors said, grinning. "I knew your mother. She would get that look as well."

Sansa's smile soften, became more girlish, and she said, "You're very right, I do. Or at least, I am beginning to. Thank you very much for stopping in, Mors. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to seek me out, and I will let you know if you are needed."

Mors bowed his head slightly before thanking her and leaving the tent, and Sandor watched her as he made certain the tent was secure. Sansa was on her feet, pacing the tent twice quickly before sitting down again, pulling a scrap toward her to write on, pursing her lips.

"What is it?" Sandor asked, kneeling at her feet and looking up at her pale, perfect face.

"I believe it is time I sent a Raven to my dear brother," she said, the scheming smile back again. "I do owe him one, you know."

"He won't leave the wall," Sandor said, a little confused. "What could he do for you from there?"

As she scrawled her letter she said casually, "Oh, I don't need much. After all, Alys Karstark is already there, already come to the Wall for protection. All he needs is some… advice on how best to protect her."

Sandor still did not understand what his wife was trying to say, but he patiently waited for her to finish her letter, writing more rapidly than she had ever seen. When she finished, she looked up with that same smile and passed the letter to Sandor, who read her instructions.

His lips twisted into a half-smile as he began to understand the purpose of her letter, the decisions she was going to make. If Jon Snow agreed – and Sandor thought he would – then they just might be able to make this work.

"I'll have to send a raven to Stannis as well," Sansa said, "once Jon tells me he's done it. But what do you think?"

"I think," Sandor said, setting aside the letter and pulling his wife out of her seat, onto his lap, "that I have the cleverest, most beautiful wife in Westeros."