A/N: Wow, that took a long time...

Sorry. Hello beautiful readers, Anne-Lilian here, and... we apologise profusely for making you wait so long! Honestly, we really hadn't expected it to take so long, but RL and writer's block kind of got in the way. Grad school is crazy for MaryEv, and I have a new job.

And unfortunately, I have more bad news. MaryEv is going to be really busy this month, and I've decided to give NaNoWriMo another shot, so all my creative juices will have to go to my NaNo story... I'm so sorry guys, but the next update will probably be in early December. We hope you can forgive up, and that you'll enjoy this chapter!
-A&M

Chapter 11:

The sun had finally gone down. Margaery was standing outside the door to the armory, shifting anxiously from foot to foot as she looked around. Jon should be here soon, she thought, glancing around to make sure no one else was approaching…

When she turned around again, she wasn't alone. Ghost's red eyes stared back at her; she couldn't even hear his breathing, he was so quiet. She smiled, reaching out to the wolf. "Hello, friend," she murmured softly to him. Margaery could have sworn that if he were human, he would have been smiling. However, the huge creature simply nuzzled into her arm, her hand resting against the coarse fur that covered his massive rib cage. Her eyes closed as she returned to her usual pattern of absentmindedly petting him. She had grown quite attached to him during her time at the Wall…the same way she had grown attached to his master. It suddenly occurred to Margaery that archery lessons would be the first time she and Jon had been in close contact since…well, since she woke up on top of him in his quarters. Seven hells.

Soon enough, she heard quick footsteps, before the Lord Commander himself appeared. "Sorry I'm late," he said softly; Margaery thought she saw a hint of a smile tugging at his face.

She made herself put on her perfect mask and curtsy. "Lord Commander. It was no trouble to wait. Ghost was just keeping me company before you came around the corner."

A larger hint of a wry grin crossed his face. "He's certainly fond of you, my lady."

Her eyes strayed to the silent wolf again. "And I of him," she said softly. She cleared her throat a little awkwardly. "Uhm, to the armory then?"

Jon nodded. "It's this way; follow me."

The room wasn't exactly what she'd expected, even though Margaery didn't remember having any expectations of the place. It looked to her eyes like a storage space more than anything else, only for weapons. There were fewer than she would have thought, considering the amount of men at the castle. There were racks and tables set around the walls of the room, holding various knives, swords, axes, and shields. There were even a few dummies still holding weapons - she supposed they were for attack simulations.

"Now," Jon said, jerking her from her reverie, "the first thing we need to do is find you the right size bow. Stand tall as you can, arms at your sides," he instructed.

Even as Margaery did as he asked, she could feel his eyes on her. She had the feeling it wasn't just to find the proper size bow for her. Feeling - for the first time in a long time - a little like her old self, she raised a brow and smirked at him. There was a slight seductive edge to it, she knew. Jon immediately blushed and looked down, clearing his throat. She felt a smug satisfaction at having been able to affect him as much with just a look.

"Right, let's, uhm, let's try this one," he said quickly, handing her a recurve bow.

Margaery took it, but didn't quite know how to handle the weapon. "How do I…?" she trailed off.

He grinned, having regained his confidence, and stepped closer to her. "Put your hand right there," he said, indicating roughly the middle of the bow. "And now put your other hand on the bowstring," he said, and then immediately correcting her grip. "No, just two fingers. They'll be on either side of the arrow. Do you know which your dominant eye is?"

"No clue," she admitted, smiling. They hadn't even done much, but so far, it was interesting.

He quickly showed her how to determine which of her eyes was her dominant, and then helped her readjust her grip. "Like this," he said, putting his hand over hers and moving her thumb a little. He stood behind her, his arm reached around her. It was a position reminiscent of a seduction technique Margaery had been instructed in - she remembered briefly when Joffrey had shown her how to work his crossbow. Except now it was working on her. And the Lord Commander's body was quite warm this close to hers. Suppressing a blush - no doubt unsuccessfully - Margaery tried to concentrate on what she was doing.

"Right, now draw back, and touch your thumb to the corner of your mouth," Jon went on, completely oblivious to her internal struggle. "No, keep your elbow up high; let your back do all the heavy lifting."

Obviously, her muscles weren't used to such hard labour. Her arms started to tremble from the effort. Just the tiniest bit, but it was enough to frustrate Margaery. She wanted to prove herself capable to handle a weapon, not so…weak.

Noticing her frustration, Jon stepped back. "It's normal that it's hard at first. You aren't used to anything like this, but it'll get better, slowly at first, but still sooner than you'd think. Fair warning, though, you'll be sore and stiff for a while yet," he said. At least he looked sympathetic.

Margaery shot him a sardonic look. "Have you ever had to sit up like a proper lady for hours on end? Or learn ladylike posture?" she asked rhetorically. "Trust me, I'm no stranger to soreness."

He shot her a grin, to which she couldn't help but smile in response. These archery lessons might prove to be even more interesting than she'd thought.

/*/

Sansa couldn't hold in her grin as she rode past the Bloody Gate. Finally, she was free! Her aunt had only provided her with two guards, but Sansa hardly cared. Soon enough, she would be back in the North, where she belonged.

I wonder how Jon has been doing. Sansa hadn't seen her half-brother since they had each left Winterfell – she for King's Landing, he for the Wall. There will certainly be plenty of stories for the both of us to share.

"How long is the ride to the Wall?" Sansa asked one of the guards.

"About three weeks, my lady. Two and a half, if we ride hard each day."

Sansa nodded. It was a long ride, but definitely one that would be worth it. Finally, finally, she'd get to see her family again. Or whatever was left of it, she amended as she thought of Robb, her mother and father, Arya's uncertain fate… She shook her head. No use thinking such dark thoughts now. She was free of Cersei Lannister's clutches, and even Lord Baelish wouldn't be able to manipulate her anymore. No one would ever manipulate her anymore.

For the rest of the day's ride, she focussed on that. Her guards were hardly conversationalists, so she had been trying to reconstruct Winterfell in her mind. Every battlement, every window and broken stone on the old tower. She remembered what it felt like to run her hand over the heated stones during cold days, to walk through the glass gardens on sunny days…

Hours passed like that, until her guards deemed it time to stop for the night at an inn. Honestly, Sansa was grateful. She hadn't spent all that much time on the back of a horse, and she was sore. One of her guards - neither of them had wanted to talk, so she hadn't learned their names - turned around on his horse to face her. "There's a small village up ahead, there should be a decent place to spend the night there," he said.

By all rights, they should address her as 'my lady', but Sansa wasn't sure how much her aunt had told these men. Probably not much. Who would want to escort a Stark through the hostile northern territory? If the Boltons found her, she'd be dead. If the Lannisters found her, she'd be dead. The only families who might show her mercy were some of the northern lords still loyal to the Stark name. But she was no longer naive enough to believe that her name alone would buy her safety. Even the northern lords' loyalty had been tested. After all, weren't the Boltons northern? Weren't the Karstarks?

Shaking those dispiriting thoughts from her head, Sansa focussed on her surroundings. She wasn't entirely certain where she was in relation to Winterfell, but she trusted that her guards knew their way.

It was already getting dark. It seemed her father was right. Winter was coming. Soon.

Suddenly, Sansa whipped around in her saddle. She'd been certain she'd heard something; the ringing of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. But as she peered past her guard into the twilight, she saw nothing.

"Something wrong?" her guard asked.

"I thought…" she started to say, but then she hesitated. They'd just think she was being a scared, silly little girl. She couldn't show them. "Nothing, I just don't recognise these roads."

The man frowned. "Aren't you Littlef- I mean, Lord Baelish's niece? Why would you know the north?" he asked dismissively. Good, he wasn't suspicious.

"I spent a lot of time here when I was little," she replied. It was the truth, after all.

He grunted, clearly accepting her answer, and she turned back around in her saddle. She'd heard something, she was sure of it. Or… well, she was tired. Perhaps her imagination was playing tricks-

She was interrupted when a man jumped out of the bushes with a yell and swung his sword at her rear guard. Luckily, though, the guard managed to get his own blade up in time to parry the blow. The horses started; Sansa was afraid hers might bolt at any second, but she tried to keep it under control. Her heart raced, her palms were sweaty; she didn't know what to do.

Suddenly, she felt hands pulling at her arm, dragging her off her horse. Sansa screamed, kicked, did everything she could do to break away. In her mind, she was back in King's Landing, except that this time the Hound wasn't there to save her.

"Please! Don't, please!" she shouted, still kicking and pushing at whoever was holding her.

The man laughed, and the sounds sent chills down Sansa's spine. He didn't care. Of course he didn't. But Sansa couldn't believe that this was about to happen. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to drown out everything that was happening. It couldn't be real.

Her eyes sprang open when she felt a warm liquid spray across her face. The man looked surprised as a sword stuck through his open mouth. Sansa just gaped, frozen.

The sword retracted and the man keeled over, revealing a huge blonde woman who looked…familiar? She was certainly the biggest woman Sansa had ever seen, even despite the fact that she was wearing full plate armor. Where have I seen her before?

"Lady Sansa," the woman said, offering a gloved hand to help Sansa up. Her voice was kind, but still strong.

Gingerly, the redheaded girl reached for the hand and let the woman help her up. That's when she noticed that the fighting had died down. One of her guards lay dead a little further away, and Sansa stared at his corpse. So much death…

The woman stepped into her line of vision, probably trying to protect her from the gruesome sight. Didn't she know that after seeing her father's decaying head on a pike, a freshly dead body hardly bothered her anymore?

"You…were you at Joffrey's wedding?" Sansa finally managed to stammer.

The woman nodded. "I am Brienne of Tarth, my lady. Your mother sent me to find you and your sister."

"My mother is dead," Sansa answered automatically. It sounded like a horribly crass thing to say, for a lady, but it was the truth, and Sansa was tired of lying and pretending.

The woman - Brienne - nodded sadly. "I know. But I swore a sacred vow. I'm to keep you safe."

Sansa looked around. The only other people living were a young man she didn't know and her remaining guard. The latter seemed very confused as to what was going on, but remained silent. "I… I don't know what to do…" Sansa admitted, and hated herself for it. Where was the strong woman who had managed to say that she loved Joffrey, even after he'd had her clothes torn off and humiliated her in front of the entire court?

"The oath is quite simple, my lady," the young man said kindly, smiling at her. It was almost jarring, after months of sneers, derision, pity or indifference. It seemed sincere. She wanted to smile back, but she wasn't sure she still knew how to.

Lady Brienne stepped forwards and knelt, offering her sword. Sansa glanced at the young man for guidance. He just nodded at her. "I will shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

"And I shall vow that… that you shall always have a place by my hearth," Sansa said, the words only half-remembered. But what was the rest?

"And meat and mead at my table," the young man prompted. Sansa looked over gratefully and repeated the words.

"And I ask- I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour," Sansa said, more confident, now that she had encouragement from Brienne's companion. "I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Smiling, Brienne rose, sheathing her sword. "Where to, my lady?"

A/N: Please let us know what you think!