Just Before Dawn

Sansa Stark contentedly ate her blood pudding as her companions looked on in disgust. Her hair was now a color not dissimilar to Cersei Lannister's, but shoulder length and curled. The dark green of her gown brought out the blue of her eyes, with the only ostentatious touch a representation of the gates of Qarth she had embroidered on the back in gold thread. The most striking change, though, was in her bearing. She sat tall and looked people in the eye as she engaged them. She was wearing the role of power and privilege.

"She's actually eating it," Podrick stage whispered to Brienne. The warrioress snickered.

"It's good," asserted Sansa.

"You do know you can order anything you want, don't you?" Brienne asked.

"I don't think this place serves lemon cakes. Or how about eel pie? No? Then this is as good as it gets."

Brienne put up her hands in surrender. "All right. I get it. The finest shithole in the village is still a shithole, if you'll excuse my language, my lady. And speaking of, nature calls."

Sansa wrinkled her nose and waved her out of the tavern. Moments after she disappeared, a blonde woman wearing trousers slid into the vacated seat. "I thought that ogress would never leave. She must have a steel bladder."

"Excuse me?" asked Podrick.

"That's right, I haven't introduced myself. Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. Pleased to finally meet you, Lady Stark."

Sansa sat up straighter and glanced at Pod, who looked back nervously. "I'm sorry, you've mistaken me for someone else. My name-"

"I don't know what you're calling yourself these days, but there's no mistake. SANSA. STARK."

"All right! Keep your voice down." She looked around to make sure no one had noticed. "I heard what happened. You refused to support your brother when he took Winterfell. My quarrel is not with you."

"Nor mine with you. My brother was dead long before you got to him. That accursed clan saw to that. Truth be told, you probably did him the biggest favor anyone ever has."

"What does that mean? Roose Bolton killed Re- Theon, not me."

Yara's smile was wistful. "I saw Theon, after what they did to him. After they turned him into Reek." The last word was drawn out disdainfully. "Believe me when I say I know this- that creature could never have lifted a hand against its master. I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. You've become quite the hero in your hometown. There's even a song about you. You know how many men I've killed without ever getting a song?"

Something unidentifiable, something she'd never felt before, bubbled up in Sansa's breast. Yara propped her feet up on a chair and helped herself to Brienne's ale. "Not bad for a shithole."

"What do you want from me?"

"What I want is simple. I want an alliance." Sansa's lips parted in shock as she and Pod exchanged another glance. "My father is dead. It doesn't matter how. What matters is that I'm now leader of the Iron Islands."

"But..."

"But I'm a woman?" Yara rolled her eyes. "With everyone so dutifully reminding me, how could I forget? Regardless, I am my house's only heir. Besides, it was my father's wish. Most of the men I've fought with share that wish, but the people... Well, you can't lead without the confidence of your people." She thrust the mug in Sansa's direction. "That's why I tracked you down, princess."

Sansa didn't chance looking at the inn door, but she kept it in the corner of her eye. If only she could keep the woman talking until Brienne returned. She picked up her fork and took a leisurely bite of pudding. "How did you find me? I took great care to cover my tracks."

"You're full of questions, aren't you? I guess I would be too. You were already gone when I reached Winterfell, but not long. The snow hadn't covered your tracks yet. That only gave me a general direction, though. I'd almost given up when I started hearing about a Qartheen woman in exile. A Qartheen woman who's guard included a large, forbidding female. Sad to say, the Iron Islands aren't the only place where women in armor are rare."

Her only answer was a slight lowering of the eyes and a flutter of lash."Oh," Yara continued, "I have something for you." She bent over and rummaged around near the floor. Sansa's hand inched closer to the knife beside her plate. She had a feeling this woman wouldn't die easily, but she well knew the power of surprise. At the least, she might be able to create an opening for Pod to strike. Yara popped back up with a silver medallion in hand. "It was your brother's," she explained as she slid it across the table. "Robb's."

Sansa's hand now crept toward this new focus and traced the relief of a dire wolf on the face. As it began to shake, she snatched up the medallion and gripped it tightly to still herself, looking up with overbright eyes. "His lord's seal. How do you have it?"

"It was presented by Theon to my father, as a token of your brother's good faith. I'd say it belongs to you now."

"A token of good faith once more?"

The other woman locked her gaze. "It could be."

She calmly turned to look as Brienne reentered, adjusting her belt. Yara turned too, then frowned. "Just don't let her have my head until you've heard me out. Deal?"

Brienne was frozen in place. Sansa gestured her over and she came warily, settling in close by her ward's side. The proud carriage was back as that ward turned the seal over and over in her hands, as if the more of it she could absorb through touch, the more real it would become. "Brienne, Yara Greyjoy. Lady Greyjoy has made a most interesting proposal. I'd like to hear what you both think of it."

Podrick's eyes darted sideways. It always startled him, still, to hear that his opinion was wanted. Brienne's eyes, on the other hand, narrowed suspiciously.

"I don't like this. At all. How did she even find you?"

"Here's a hint," smirked Yara. "You're going to have to start passing as a man. At least in public."

"I'll explain later," Podrick murmured.

Sansa still hadn't looked up from the seal. "Tell us why we should trust a Greyjoy."

Yara's expression abruptly turned serious. She put her feet back on the floor, leaned forward and looked intently into Sansa's face. "Because you have no one else to go to. And frankly, I'm not spoiled for choice either." She shrugged. "It's been a long time since the ironborn were respected. It's been a long time since we could do what we're bred to do. If I could change that, people might even think it's worth having a Woman Lord."

Her supplication finally earned her a look. "And why do you think I can help you with that?"

"You're the last of the Starks, princess!" She lifted her hands. "All right, I won't say it again." A quick glance reassured everyone that the cloaking hubbub of the inn had protected them. "You still have a lot of supporters in the North, support you can use with the right aid, and I think you understand that better than you pretend."

Sansa's voice was calm, level, almost casual. "The last time my family trusted an ironborn, we lost Winterfell. The last time my family trusted someone who claimed to be an ally, my mother and brother lost their lives. For all I know, you could be planning to lead me into an ambush, collect the bounty."

"Bounty? What are you talking about?"

"The bounty on me."

"There's no bounty on you."

This got a reaction. "How can that be?" demanded Sansa, voice rising in pitch.

"How should I know? Maybe Roose Bolton would rather not believe that his golden boy was killed by a woman. You really didn't know?" She reached for Brienne's mug again, only to find it snatched out from under her fingers.

Brienne slammed the mug down on her side of the table and interjected, "If this is true, it does change things significantly."

Sansa looked sideways at Brienne, whose eyes were still fixed hawkishly on Yara. It was true that she'd failed to trust her when she should have. She didn't want to make the same mistake twice. That didn't mean Yara Greyjoy was also trustworthy, though. How had she known she could trust her current companions?

A thought began to spread its tentacles through her mind. Before she even knew what she was going to say, the words were out. "Are you alone? I mean, did you bring any soldiers with you?"

Yara was wary. "I have some men not far from town. Didn't want to spook you."

"Would you be willing to do something to prove your good faith?"

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Sansa reclined on a bench, embroidering the gates of Qarth onto a gown, while Brienne hovered by the window. Nearly a week had passed since their meeting with Yara Greyjoy, and tonight was the night they would know if it had borne fruit. The horses were saddled, ready for a quick escape if need be. That had been Brienne's idea. Sansa hadn't argued, though. Always have a backup plan.

Her embroidery had been a stabilizing force for her, giving her a way to pass the time and occupying her hands even as her mind worked. She wished she could do something more useful, but her septa would have been pleased to know that something she'd taught her had been a benefit. Now, though, she set it aside and occupied her hand with a wine goblet instead.

Brienne said, "You've been planning this for weeks." It wasn't a question, but it wasn't an accusation either.

"Not this exactly," Sansa replied honestly. "But if Lady Greyjoy hadn't found me, I would have found someone else. An old Stark bannerman. Sellswords. Something."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have let me do it if I had?"

Brienne glanced sidelong at her. "Of course not. Moving from town to town asking questions about troops, meeting with moneyed men. It's a dangerous game you're playing."

"I've been playing a dangerous game since the day I left for King's Landing. I just didn't know the rules. Knowledge is power." She lifted her goblet. "At least if you have a good bodyguard."

Out of long habit, the warrior woman let a hand rest on her sword hilt. "Is that the real reason you suggested this whole Qartheen masquerade?"

"Only part of it. I meant it when I said I couldn't run forever." She looks up a bit guiltily. "I just didn't mention that I didn't plan to hide forever either. It's not really a lie, is it?"

Brienne lifted her chin. "It's not my place to know your business, my lady. But if I'm going to keep you safe, there are things I must know."

"Yes. About that. I've been thinking."

"Here we go," said Podrick from his seat by the door. He paused in his knife sharpening task and sat back.

Sansa plunked down her wine and strode over to him. For a moment, he looked like he thought she might hit him. That changed to confusion as she plucked the knife from his hand.

"Don't you think I'd be safer if I knew how to use this?"

"What? You want me to teach you how to fight?"

"No." Her slight smile was sad. "That was always Arya's talent, not mine. What I want you to do is teach me how to escape. To not have to depend on someone else for everything. Yara Greyjoy provided a timely reminder of something I should have learned from my parents: even your most trusted protectors can't protect you always."

Her own most trusted protector leveled an appraising look that hadn't been seen on that face since Sansa had outlined her Qartheen proposal. She suspected Brienne carried a weakness for the independent-minded, particularly if they were women. As the seconds rolled past, Sansa maintained steady eye contact, refusing to back down.

The older woman shifted her weight to the other leg and drew in a cautious breath. "It's a good choice of weapon for your purposes," she admitted. "Small, light, easily concealed, but no less deadly for it when used well."

"And it was the first weapon I ever wielded." Sansa smirked more with her eyes than her mouth. "Seems fitting."

"I suppose that proves you can kill, if need be. It didn't help Renly, but..." Lips pursed. "I can't turn you into a knife fighter overnight..."

"I don't expect you to turn me into one at all."

"...but if your enemy is untrained or surprised or just doesn't know you're armed..."

"Can I assume that means yes?"

"You can."

Pod quietly, matter of factly reached up and reclaimed his knife.

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In the stillness just before dawn, an echoing rhythm swelled. Brienne rubbed bleary eyes and cocked her head. Beyond any doubt, it was the rhythm of a galloping horse. She turned to the bench on which Sansa had fallen asleep, gown and spool tucked to her chest, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "She's here."

They roused Podrick to escort Yara to the room, giving him an excuse to watch the blind side of the inn for an approaching ambush. When a wind-chafed face appeared in the door without incident, Sansa stepped forward. "Lady-"

Yara had no patience for civilized pleasantries. "It's done." She reached into a rawhide bag and, with a self-satisfied air, produced a severed hand. Even in the pale yellow flashes of low-burning candle, the Bolton brand on the back of it stood out. So did the regiment commander's badge attached to it, the brown, desiccated flesh speared by its pin. Sansa took two steps back and swallowed a shuddering breath.

"You said you wanted proof," snapped Yara impatiently.

Sansa said thickly, "And I have it. You can put that away now." She couldn't help averting her eyes as the grotesque appendage disappeared into the bag. "All of them?"

"No, not all. But enough to send them running with their tails between their legs. Are you satisfied? Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal."

Her fingers curled as her new ally stamped dried mud off her boots and pulled the back of her hand across her mouth. "I understand why it would be Bolton men," the far slighter yet more intimidating woman broached. "But why that encampment? It's not even the closest."

"You could say it was in my way."

"I could, huh? In the way of what?"

Another mirthless smile that never reaches the lips. Knowledge is power. Secret knowledge especially. "A very old family friend."