08. Reins & Wagons

With the sun just lifting away from the towers of Winterfell castle as it does in the morning, Sansa found herself stepping into a place she always did her best to avoid when she was younger. It was just another way she was so unlike her siblings as none of them minded the stables. Arya and Bran could, on more than one occasion, be spotted running and weaving between the stalls and opened doors. The two older boys loved to challenge each other's riding skills. Rob beat Jon almost every time.

They had all followed more in Ned's footsteps, while Sansa let her mother make her into a lady that couldn't tolerate the smell and the mud of where horses were kept. If Sansa ever went riding, she'd get Hodor to prepare the animal for her, ignoring him completely as he did so. Hodor was no longer here to aid her. There were others she could request do the work for her, but the young lady deemed it time she gathered up her own horse.

Nix was the name of the horse she chose, spending 20 minutes sneaking a peek at the first several horses within the stables. He was of average size, no smaller or larger than any of the others, and his fur was the same shade of brown—chestnut and warm. His timid demeanor was what swayed her instantly. He was calm and proud and reminded Sansa of how Lady behaved. She liked to think that the two would have gotten along rather well had they been given the opportunity to meet, pressing nose to nose.

The young stable hand was more than willing to saddle the steed for her. Sansa was determined to do the task on her own. She's seen it all done before by others for years now. It was from a distance of course, but the general notion wasn't completely lost on her. Or so she thought. About halfway through the many latches and buckles, a voice pointed out that she wasn't doing nearly as nice as she thought.

"With holds like that, you're going to be on your ass before you leave the stable," Sandor Clegane said at the entrance of the stables. His voice suggested that her attempt offended him personally.

She hadn't noticed him there. She was tuning out all the noises and movement that came rushing in from the courtyard. Men were shouting while they worked or trained or walked around with nothing better to do. They weren't important to focus on. But now that his presence was known, there was no ignoring it. Clegane's stature was large and dark in the doorway, the light from the morning sky making him look less man and more shadow. Although she knew the voice, Sansa automatically squinted her eyes to lessen the bright glow. The action helped very little, and she quickly wondered how long he had been watching her struggle.

Unsure of how he wished her to respond, Sansa ignored his comment altogether and continued to work on the saddle. Pride told her she could figure it out on her own. "Did you sleep well, my lord?"

Sandor didn't answer in words but sounded something like a grunt as he marched himself over to the same side of the horse as Sansa, his black boots crunching every pebble and ice stone in his path. As he stepped closer, the sun's light detached itself from him. Sansa could see him clearer. He was no longer a mysterious figure but stood near wearing a grey tunic that one could assume had once been white under his dark fur cloak. He must have still been struggling with the freezing temperatures. The strings of the cloak were pulled and tied together as tightly as possible. His dark hair was windblown, as it was every time Sansa laid eyes on him. Clearly, the man either didn't care enough to own a brush or was reluctant to use one altogether.

All but slapping her hands out of the way, Sandor began adjusting the straps to the saddle. Nix's body tensed each time Sandor's fingers grazed the animal's fur, unsure of how to deal with the sudden change of a gentle touch like Sansa's to one such as Sandor's. The former shield didn't notice or care and continued on fixing the job that Sansa had poorly started. He said nothing as he did, so Sansa placed herself in the horse's line of sight to keep him calm.

Neither of them spoke. The only noises echoing around them were the nickering within other stalls and the muffled voices of those outside. Although not uncomfortable, she didn't approve of the silence.

"Do you miss him," Sansa started as she rubbed her palm against the animal's nose, the skin there soft and smooth. She felt Sandor's eyes flicker toward her in question. "Your horse. Stranger was his name, wasn't it?"

"It was just a horse," Sandor replied, pulling on the last strap so hard Nix fumbled a bit to the side. "Nothing special about the thing to miss."

Sansa wasn't stupid enough to believe that for a moment. Tales were told many times in the King's Landing stables, even in his first visit to Winterfell all those years ago, of Sandor Clegane's large and quick-tempered horse, Stranger. If it was true that animals and their owners could match each other in looks and personalities, a prime example would have been the two of them. Both were angry and judged and found more solace in each other than anything else in the world. Sandor was the only one the horse would calm for, and Stranger was the only one the man was always kind to.

He could act all he wanted. Sandor missed Stranger no less than Sansa missed Lady.

"I would have thought he was the one thing that made King's Landing tolerable."

He certainly didn't wake up anticipating seeing Joffrey's face every day.

Sandor snorted, grabbing the bridle and reigns that hung on a nail post nearby. Nix kicked his head back at the sudden movement of Clegane's hand near his snout, but when Nix realized the burly man meant no harm to his face, he nibbled the bit into his mouth. "Nothing's tolerable about the damn place. Fuck the gods if I ever have to go back."

Arguing with his comment would have been worthless and tiring, mainly because his words were right. While Sandor may not have had the eye for all things expensive and beautiful, Sansa knew just as well as he did that what that city held wasn't as nearly enough to tempt them to take another step inside. She'd never leave Winterfell if she could help it.

Sandor stepped around the horse, the reins still in his grasp, but didn't hand them over to Sansa as he mused, "But seeing that bastard's face as he died would have been close to it."

"You'd have been Joffrey's sworn shield then, sworn to avenge him," Sansa explained as the two took small paces toward the opening of the stables. After the first tug, Nix followed obediently between the pair but lagged behind just enough to allow the two to have a clear view of each other.

"Doesn't mean I wouldn't have applauded the one who did it. Should have killed him myself when I had to chance."

Sansa thought back to those chances, both her and Sandor's, but could only remember the time in which their chances aligned as one. Too bad he decided to squander that chance. They had all been there, Sandor and Sansa and Joffrey, standing by the wall in King's Landing that put the heads of her loved ones on display. So close, Sansa remembered her brief moment of bravery. Was it actually bravery? It could have just been pure stupidity and risk and a part of herself that no longer cared what happened to her. She wanted to push him over the edge, to feel as his body tensed at that realization that he was moving downward. Ser Meryn would have strangled her or Cersei would have called for Sansa's head to be placed next to her father's, but it might have been worth it. It could have been worth it had Sandor not pulled her back. He saved her from being stupid but in return kept the two of them trapped.

The sun was higher and brighter in the sky, wrapping Sansa in a golden glow as she and Sandor exited the stables. Although a beautiful sight, the light did nothing to warm the air. Snow still glided down to the ground, settling lazily on everything that wasn't covered. Sansa lifted her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes at the sudden change in atmosphere. The early breeze began to pick up the smells of the horses and all they left behind. It didn't impact Sansa nearly as much as it used to. Instead, her mind sought out the fragrances that allured her: the spice of the large pines, the crisp freshness of the frozen water, the smoke and earth rising from the man beside her.

"That might have made it better, although still unsatisfactory."

Sansa could practically hear as Sandor rolled his eyes. He shoved the reins over to her as he grumbled, clearly annoyed with her inability to celebrate the young bastard's death. "Again with that shit. The boy's dead, you of all people should be thanking those damn gods you're fond of so much for killing him before he killed you. All you're doing is complaining that his death didn't go as you planned it."

Sansa heard Sandor mumble something under his breath. It sounded like more criticism, which Sansa was easily able to ignore. He still thought of her as some spoiled brat who wanted everything her way. She didn't even know what "her way" was anymore. She didn't know if she had a way that was much more than to get through the next day without worrying about who wanted to tear down the castle walls.

"You're right," Sansa replied, no hint of annoyance or malice in her voice. She wouldn't be able to make Sandor Clegane understand anything she had to say and that was fine. To her, there was little point in relishing the fact that Joffrey was dead, no matter how many of them dreamed of it. Westeros was still a mess, and he got to leave it thinking he ruled it all. "But that fact changes nothing. "

The courtyard wasn't busy this early in the morning, only a few men crossing here and there. They were most likely trying to find a chamber pot or a plate of breakfast. Not all acknowledged Sansa, but no one motioned at Sandor. Anyone outside of the Brotherhood's clan found it best to keep to himself around the large, brooding man. Sandor probably preferred it that way. The fewer around to notice him, the fewer chances one would irritate him enough to require a beating.

Since so few were residing by the gates of Winterfell, it took little time to spot the horse and wagon hooked up nearby. The prospect didn't alarm her at first. Several people traveled outside the walls nowadays, all their belongings tucked tightly inside. She seldom knew them well, if at all, but this was different. The figure standing next to the wagon wasn't some unknown follower deciding to go their separate ways. This was a familiar face. This was a face that she hadn't expected to leave so soon.

"Meera?"

Absentmindedly, Sansa tossed the reins back over to Sandor. He fumbled with the cracked leather strips a moment. Neither of them acknowledged the exchange. Sansa was suddenly preoccupied with someone else, and Sandor was more than capable of being annoyed on his own, after the surprise of an unfazed Sansa throwing something at him wore off. There was no reason to ask him to hold the steed for her. Sansa knew he would, but she didn't think that Sandor would continue to follow her footsteps. He did.

"Meera?" Sansa called again. Her voice held no sense of confusion, but the feeling still grasped onto her bones. What could make her little brother's companion of such a long time decide to depart from them now? Whatever Meera's reasons, Sansa knew they weren't good.

Meera was wrapped in the same fur coat she'd arrived in, but the number of layers she allowed herself increased. Even she knew the winter was getting worse, despite no longer being so far north. Perhaps the prospect of warmer weather was what fueled her journey south. Not that much would be found there. It was still a better thought than whatever the reality was. The girl wore a heavy expression—one of worry and death and exhaustion—an expression that deepened at the sight and sound of Sansa heading her way. Still, Meera turned to greet her nonetheless. "My lady."

The wagon held any and all possessions Meera had with her when she first set foot in Winterfell, but the bulk was added preparation for her leave. There were bundles of black and grey fur blankets; woven food baskets carrying cheese and bread; worn leather sacks bloated with bitter wine. It takes time to prepare, and the time had been taken.

"You're leaving?" It wasn't a question, but Sansa voiced it like one. She didn't want to sound accusing.

Meera nodded. The usually confident young woman began to fiddle with the dark grey fur gloves in her hand, looked down at them more often than necessary. "Yes, I am."

When no further explanation was offered, Sansa pressed on. "Can I ask why?"

Meera hesitated. She either didn't want to say or couldn't find the words to say so. "I need to see my family. I need to tell them about my brother."

Sansa nodded but said nothing right away. Something still wasn't right. There was little doubt that Meera needed to tell her family what happened to her brother, Jojen, but while it wasn't always the ideal way to do so, she could have sent them a raven. The news would reach them quick enough. She wouldn't have to leave Winterfell. No, her departure was for more reason than that.

"You're running from Bran."

For a moment, it seemed as if Meera was going to refute Sansa, but the little fight that flashed across her eyes faded quickly. She was a single leave clinging with all her might to a sturdy tree only for the branch it's on to shake it off. "A lot occurred beyond the wall. We saw things. Bran—he saw things, big things that we could never fully understand. It was all so much, and it changed him. He's not the same person I knew. He's not the same person you knew."

"I've begun to notice."

"I care for Bran, I do, but after everything—he doesn't need me anymore, and I need to go back to my family."

The sorrow that dripped off of Meera's words was disheartening. There was little doubt that she wanted to go home, to see the family members that were still living. But there was little doubt that Meera would have liked to stay by Bran's side if she could. His loss of interest in almost everything made that desire strained.

Sansa nodded her understanding again.

Meera managed to present a small, sad smile before turning back to her wagon, motioning to the driver that she was ready to leave. He waved off some of the men near the gate and then hollered to them. It was a noise rather than a word. It was enough to warrant the Winterfell gate to be opened. Meera started longingly down the King's Road.

"You said 'everything?' What's exactly going on with Bran?"

Facing back to Sansa, Meera shook her head. "He'll have to explain that to you. I know little more than you and understand nothing." She grasped Sansa's hand gently and quickly. Her hands were rough and strong and worthy of protecting the young man both had begun to see as a stranger of what they once knew. "I hope to see you all again."

She stationed herself into the wagon, looking straightforward. Sansa wondered if turning back, even for a second, to peer at the courtyard and balconies and walls would make Meera change her mind. Her mind and heart were being pulled two ways. The will that had gotten her this far only just won out, telling her that going home was the right choice. Second-guessing would make her departure much harder. So she didn't. Sansa watched as Meera's body rocked back and forth as the wagon wheels rolled over snow-covered bumps and holes in the road. The wind blew her dark curls this way and that, but it wasn't strong enough to turn her head back in Winterfell's direction.

Sansa backed up a few paces until Sandor stood at her side. He still held the horse reins in his hands and watched the young girl depart as well. "At least someone's getting the hell out of here."

Instead of responding, Sansa crossed in front of Sandor to take the reins out of his hand. Neither one of them were wearing gloves. His hands were slightly warmer than hers.

The courtyard was in Sansa's site as she moved. A figure sat near the railing of the balcony. Sansa frowned as she watched Bran stare after Meera as she made her retreat. His eyes gave away nothing—no regret, no sadness, no longing for her to turn around. His eyes had nothing to give away.

"Don't remember the kid being so deadpanned all the damn time."

Bran would have to explain Meera said, but Sansa wondered how much that would help. Her thoughts jumped back to the conversation she overheard transpire between Bran and Meera. The young Stark didn't seem interested in clarifying anything to Meera or the family. Something told Sansa that no explanation would give them all the answers they craved. There was no stopping the questions from materializing but dwelling on them was unfounded.

The leather straps were stiffening in Sansa's frigid fingers. Nix dropped his head, letting her know that if any persons wanted to take a ride, they would have to do it quickly. A crack in the kind demeanor showed a fierce stubbornness toward staying in the cold without the mobility of walking to keep warm. If Sansa didn't move soon, she imagined the horse would stroll back to the stable with no remorse. She pulled the horse forward. The saddle creaked slightly, stretching as she lifted herself up. She looked to the side.

"Care to ride with me?"

Leaving without an escort would prompt a frown from Brienne—that should have been the reason Sansa gave out the invite. But she preferred Sandor's presence to none.

"I've spent my time riding a horse through the fucking snow."

She nodded with a half smile. She found it amusing he graced her with a response albeit a harsh one. "Perhaps the next time. I imagine I'll still need assistance with the saddle." Nix galloped forward with the slightest kick of Sansa's heel. The pair headed through the open gate.

Meera's wagon could still be seen in the distance, leaving sallow tracks in the snow that would cease to exist in a matter of minutes.

Now, as time dwindles down to the 8th (agh, and final) season of Game of Thrones, theories are popping up left and right about what's going to happen. Even more than normal. I can't open a new tab on Chrome without getting three articles related to the final season.

What's the craziest thing you guys have heard of? What are your theories?

I've heard Sansa is going to end up with Gendry and become BFFs with Jaime Lannister. Also, Arya will live out the rest of her life in the mind of Nymeria.

P.s. Did you (American) footballers see the Bud Light x Game of Thrones Super Bowl commercial? I might have started freaking out and explaining to my family the anxiety the concept of this show gives me. April is going to be stressful. We'll start a support group. :)