This is a shameless snippet from my new long AU fic, a cross between asoi&f and "Whistle down the wind" – set in an alternate timeline where the Starks never left Winterfell.
2.
They cornered the creature in the den they had made in the small trees. There was a spot they had found two winters back, where two fallen trees had twisted together to make the perfect little cave. It had seemed like a wonderland then, but now Sansa had to duck her head to get in the door the tree trunks had formed. The little ones fell in after her, but knowing they had come to the end of the chase they stopped still, staring and silent.
The creature had hunched itself into a corner, hugging the branches that seemed to hug it back. In the gathering gloom Sansa could see the whites of its eyes, and in the silence its ragged breathing was louder by far than any of theirs and it sounded pained. It stared at them, drifting out of focus; then its head rolled back and the eyes closed.
"It's gone to sleep," Bran said.
"Fainted," Arya supplied.
"Dead!" Rickon yelled, almost hopefully.
"Shut up, all of you!" Sansa whispered loudly, not really knowing why she was whispering – "It's not dead and it's not an it –"
As they moved in closer they could make out the shape well enough;
"It's just a man!" Rickon announced. He sounded disappointed.
"A big man!" Arya added, almost impressed.
"However did he get here?" Sansa wondered aloud – "Look, he's hurt."
Arya was scrabbling in one of their tins of treasures and got out a candle and match; in its dim light they could see that the man's hands were bloodstained, his garments strange and rough spun, mixed here and there with a mishmash of armour. He wore a hood which had slipped down, so that as the candle was moved further up they could see his face. Arya gasped gleefully and Sansa stifled a cry of horror. Bran said nothing but his eyes grew wide in the dark.
In the shadow and the firelight the man seemed to have only half a face.
Sansa stared and stared, her insides swirling with revulsion and fascination. The firelight painted what was left a scarred, ragged red, and the shadow made the ruin more grotesque. Half of the man's face was burned away, lower down almost to the bone and it glistened wetly with dried blood making it all the more gruesome.
"It is a monster!" Rickon positively perked up.
"He's just hurt," Bran said.
"He's like the Stranger," Sansa whispered in awe. "Remember – ever since mother died we've been praying for the gods to come help us out – I never thought they'd send the Stranger."
It did not sound like madness to any of the others; and to Sansa, as soon as the words were out they settled in her heart as an unshakeable truth.
"We prayed so long for an answer," she whispered reverentially – "We mustn't deny it when it comes."
"He's wearing armour – like a knight," Arya pointed out.
"And the hood of the Stranger," Bran pointed out. They all suddenly took a step back as the bulk of the Man moved.
"The fuck …." he groaned out, eyes opening slowly. "Get that fucking fire away from me –"
"Please Ser –" Sansa began, shooing Arya and her candle back, her eyes widening as she thought of the Stranger's aversion to light, how much he was a thing of shadow and darkness. He blinked, looking at her, just at her, Sansa thought, as though really seeing her, for a long time. He stared for what seemed like forever, his look becoming fixed, more focused. She started to feel strange herself beneath that stare.
"Not a Ser," he rasped, scowling.
"I told you he was the Stranger," Bran whispered to Arya behind them, as though this proved it. Arya took a gentle swipe at him.
"How is it that you come to be in our Godswood?" Sansa pressed. The Man looked around him, scowling harder –
"Fucked if I know –" he started to cough, spat on the ground – "You got any wine? Food maybe? It's hard work being this close to death so long."
Sansa's eyes widened –
"Isn't it – isn't it what you do?"
"What? Death? Aye girl, it's the business I'm in and that's for sure – but I didn't do what they said, and you can tell them to piss on that."
In truth Sansa only heard the first part of all he said and, with her suspicions confirmed, she did not feel a need to understand the last part. She reached out impulsively and touched the filthy hand that rested against the ground –
"We're glad you're here," she said – "We've prayed for you –"
"Girl, your mouth is open but all I hear is chirping. Like a bloody little bird aren't you? Get me some fucking wine."
"We don't have wine – but there's water in the pools – Arya, go on!" Sansa waved her away.
"Why me?"
"Take Rickon and Bran too then!"
The little ones went off grumbling. Sansa wondered at her boldness to stay alone with the Strangest Man of all but somehow, despite the frightening otherworldliness of him, she felt curiously safe.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"You're safe now," she nodded – "That's all that matters. We'll look after you – we'll make you well again, truly, you're safe with us."
"Will you –" he looked at her more carefully now. "Will you not tell the adults – there are adults, am I right?"
"They've gone out for the day," she said – "But I won't tell, I swear. I'll make the others swear as well. We won't let anyone know you're here – and we'll come back later with food and – things."
The Man stared at her, at the brightness in her eyes and the smile playing round her lips. He felt her soft hands, two of them clasping one of his and had to turn his face away. The noise of the children coming back suddenly seemed terribly loud.
"We brought water!" Bran said.
"We heard horses," Arya added – "Father and the others are back".
"We have to go," Sansa said, all but ignoring all of them, patting The Man's hands as she rose from her knees – "I'll come back after supper with the rest."
The little ones whispering excitedly, she ushered them out of the den, Arya pushing the water bowl into The Man's hands that seemed to grasp for something the moment Sansa pulled away. Arya could only assume it was the water.
The Man watched the children leave, trying to let these new events settle in his head. Now that he was awake and conscious, he felt near dead with thirst. But he watched the bushes move in their wake for a long time before he drank. He thought of the older girl, the pretty one with the sweet voice, the little bird; he thought of how soft her hands had been, how tenderly the had held his and a wetness that was not water cut down his face, a feeling running with it that he had not known in a long time. Nor did he know, at all, what to do with such a feeling.
When the Godswood was still, he drank the water fast. Then when he choked on it he drank slowly until, for the first time since he could remember, he felt almost human again. But more refreshing still was that girl's voice, the sweet softness of her being and the way she had looked at him with those innocent eyes. When he closed his eyes and took a deep breath her image still did not go away, nor long after the last of the night's dark had fallen.
_x_
I'm curious who knows the plot of Whistle Down The Wind and can guess where this is going! I'm not sure what's worse – knowing or not knowing! Either way, you can find the whole of this story, it's called "Nature of the Beast".
