The bloodhound stood more than two and a half feet at its crown and weighed a full hundred pounds. Every one of those pounds was currently cowering away from Myranda as she twisted its ear, a shrill, pleading whine rolling around in its throat. Her general halted the process of sopping up tomato sauce with a chunk of bread.

She kept twisting even after its jaws opened and dropped the bacon pilfered from her plate. Only when the whine stuttered out in a series of whimpers was it allowed to scamper off into a corner. "You adopted Ramsay's method for disciplining the hounds," said Wyldewych.

"He adopted mine. Shouldn't you be prepping the march?"

"No need to rush. We won't get there today, no matter how early we set out. Why? Is Cerwyn's hospitality not to your liking, ma'am?"

"We're not here for the hospitality. Though I did have a moment's worry. Judging by his face, Lord Cerwyn has obviously met you before."

"You could say that."

"Wasn't it his parents that Ramsay disciplined for rebellion?"

"Indeed it was."

"Mmm." She popped a morsel of bacon into her mouth with studied nonchalance and stared him down. When he refused to take the bait, she added, "I'm surprised he never mentioned you."

"Lord Cerwyn?"

"Ramsay."

"It's my philosophy that a lord's servant should never be more worthy of mention than his lord. Positive or negative mention."

"So you're without ambition?"

"I didn't say that."

Myranda smiled, a not entirely reassuring sight. "I can see how you survived in this company. You must get on famously with nearly everyone who matters."

"I can get on as well as I need to with most people, once I've come to know them."

The blaze behind the massive hearth in the rear wall had been built high and roaring, leaving one side of their bodies roasting and the other chilled. Myranda doubted this was a coincidence. She angled away in search of relief. "And what have you come to know about me? Don't think I haven't noticed you watching."

"You knew the girl wasn't here as soon as they opened the gate without a chirp. I could see it."

"Penetrating."

"But you went through with the search anyway."

"We traveled all this way. We might as well do what we came to do."

"I'm sure you were right, as always."

She regarded him through suspiciously narrowed eyes as he stoically gazed back. "All these long expeditions must be difficult for your wife and children. Are they in Winterfell or did you leave them back home?"

"I've not chosen to burden myself with a family."

"On that, at least, we can agree. One of my half-sisters was so, so proud of snaring a hot springs farmer." With a gesture, she summoned the hound still cowering obediently in the corner. As it padded toward her, she continued, "Her belly'll always be full, even in deepest, darkest winter. I never did think it was worth her freedom." She tilted her chair back on its hind legs and let the hound lap a tab of gristle from her cupped palm. Her chest pulsed pleasantly as it gnashed and worried at the fibers, an image of those teeth tearing open Tansy's little pink throat flitting across her mind's eye. "Do you think that makes me an unnatural woman?"

"That? No, ma'am."

Tansy's face morphed into Sansa's as glistening red strings stretched from the throat to a darkly beading muzzle. "I never quite could make Ramsay understand this part." The chair legs clacked back to the floor. "Pain as punishment for disobedience was easy. He was good at that. But a trainer must also give a creature pleasure to strive for. It must want to please you. Dangling the carrot was was always hard for him."

"I never noticed. Lord Ramsay certainly dangled marriage promises in front of enough bedazzled eyes." At her expression, a whiff of smugness wafted off of Wyldewych. "You didn't think you were the only one, did you?"

Myranda chewed lazily on her toast, providing ample excuse to take her time forming a reply. When it almost seemed as if there wouldn't be one, she abruptly said, "He was going to let me have her."

Wyldewych cocked his head.

"Sansa Stark. Ramsay was going to give her to me, once he had what he needed from her. Some of my favorite dreams have been about the fun she and I could have together."

"After he'd had his."

"I'm not stupid. I know what everyone thinks of me. But sharing her was his way of apologizing, for marrying her in the first place. She's a gift with my name on it and I still mean to collect."

He took in this speech with a mix of bemusement and awe. "Well, damn, it's true. You're almost as crazy as he was. Almost, but not quite. Even in that-" He caught his breath and stood. "Good luck, Myranda Snow. You'll need it."

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Sansa Stark pushed the last bite of blood pudding around on her trencher. A powder blue wrap at her hairline concealed her natural roots, but being here still made her tense. She had been at the Inn at the Crossroads before, as herself, a fact of which she had been reminded incessantly when she'd first announced her intention to visit. How could she explain that she doesn't trust anyone else to do it? Most people talk much more than they listen. That was the little girl who made her fateful plea to go to the capital city and be a queen. Inward-looking and oblivious. Now she was the kind of little girl who heard everything, even private things. In the company she kept, one never knew which morsel might be the difference between life and death. And what better place to eavesdrop on the right morsels than the crossroads of the world? Or of Westeros, at any rate. She could hardly pass so close without taking advantage.

It was just a shame she was starting to think the entire adventure was a mistake. Uncle Brynden had hatched a plan to reduce her risk with a coordinated series of mini-raids that drew every soldier in the area away from the inn, and as a result, it was all anyone could talk about. The general consensus seemed to be that some group called 'The Brotherhood', which she had never heard of before, was responsible. She had tucked away that name for future reference. Perhaps something could still be salvaged from this otherwise wasted evening.

Sansa popped that last bite into her mouth with a chime of clenched teeth on tin. There was no point in delaying any longer than she already had.

As if on cue, she sensed, rather than saw, Brienne stiffen at her side. Her personal guard was arrayed shoulder to shoulder along the side of her corner nook, obstructing others' view of her, but also her own view of the room. "What is it?" she asked softly.

Brienne casually turned her head and whispered something unintelligible through her helmet.

"What?"

This time, she half-turned and leaned in. "Stannis Baratheon just walked in."

Sansa's heart stopped beating for a moment. Any gossip about Bolton or Frey activities that she might have picked up could have proved useful, but this was why she had really insisted on showing her face here. After crossing at the Twins, Stannis's fragmentary forces would likely be following the Kingsroad home, and that would take them right through the Inn at the Crossroads. She had hoped to confirm that, and maybe even learn something of their numbers, but an opportunity to speak to the man himself was an undreamt-of windfall.

The next time she felt her heart thump in her chest, she was finally able to talk. "Where?"

"Behind you. At the end of the counter."

Sansa hooked blistered fingers over the high back of the bench and painfully pulled herself up for a peek. There was a man at the end of the counter, all right, but he looked nothing like her mental image of King Robert's brother. This was a shriveled, disheveled wreck of a beached battleship, sparse hair uncombed, clothes wrinkled and stained. His slump over his stool, one leg only half-mounted, was a bleak contrast to the aloof arrogance she was used to seeing in noblemen of his stature. She sank back down into safe, blister-free sanctuary. "Are you sure?"

"Do you think I could ever forget that man's face?"

She sat motionless, fumbling for the rudiments of a plan. "If he's just arrived, he's not likely to leave soon."

"He already looks sloshed, though," Podrick observed.

Her foot danced an invisible jig under the table as she searched for inspiration. At last, Podrick whispered, "I think I can get him to meet with you, in private. But I'll need some onepieces."

"Why?"

"He doesn't look like he'd turn down a free pitcher."

Lacking any better ideas, she reached out and slipped a few coins into the palm proffered behind his back. Brienne shifted to take his place as he left, leaving her charge literally shielded with her own body. Every second Sansa couldn't see what was happening made her wish she had a pitcher of her own, but when Pod returned with a smug set to his face, she didn't even need to hear the words that came next.

"He'll meet you in his room."

Feeling suddenly timid, Sansa drew her hood forward and followed a man who was a contender for the Iron Throne less than a month ago up the stairs and down the hall to his tiny hired room at a crossroads both isolated and vital. Just before her hand touched the door, she heard another soft warning from Brienne. "Be careful with that one. Don't get too close."

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

"Hmm. Frankly, I'd assumed you were a whore looking to separate an easy mark from his gold, but whores don't normally travel with guards." Lord Stannis Baratheon sat at a table made from a crudely hewn stump. "Who are you?"

Sansa poured two servings from the pitcher of ale her silver had bought, making him wait for the answer. "I am Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, daughter of the True Warden of the North."

His eyes flicked briefly up and down the length of her. "All right."

She blinked. "That was easy."

"Why would you lie about being one of the most hunted people in the Seven Kingdoms?"

"You must be in the same company, after trying more than once to seize the throne." There wasn't a second chair, so she perched on the edge of the bed and cradled her mug with both hands. She couldn't even remember when she'd picked up the trick, but if she was holding something, she always had something to do with her hands. And if it was food or drink, she had a way to occupy her mouth when she didn't know what to say.

"I couldn't care less if I am. Look, I appreciate the gift, but what does Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and daughter of the True Warden of the North want from me?"

"Just to ask a few questions."

"Then you're lucky I'm drunk enough to be honest."

"With us or with yourself?" retorted Brienne. When he cast her a puzzled look, she removed her helmet and tucked it under her arm. "Do you remember me?"

"How could I forget you, Lady Brienne? Or is it Ser now?"

"I certainly never forgot your face, even given its rather altered form the last time I saw it. Who would believe your brother was murdered by a monster made of smoke if they hadn't seen it with their own eyes? Not the rest of his guard, I can promise you that."

"So are you here to kill me then?"

Brienne, almost against her will, looked to Sansa, whose eyes widened in warning. "Not today."

"That's a shame."

Sansa broke in. "No one's killing anybody. This isn't even about you. It's about your army."

Brienne stared stonily at the wall.

"The force you assaulted Winterfell with. I'd like to find them."

"You won't find them here."

"Yes, but they're- they're your men."

"Not anymore. Half of them deserted before they even saw battle, and the few remaining that survived scattered to the four winds."

Sansa made use of her emergency ale, rolling it around in her mouth as she absorbed this new information.

"You look a lot more disappointed than I'd expected."

When she once again chose to be able to speak, she only said, "They didn't scatter. At least not all of them. A group crossed the Twins not long ago."

"How does that concern me?"

"It concerns you because you can still do what you set out to do. Take Winterfell."

"You mean take it for you." Epiphany slowly began to filter into his face through an alcoholic fog. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Her blankness asked the question for her.

"At the Third Battle of Riverrun. They couldn't have done it by themselves. Somehow, it was you."

In this cramped space, Sansa didn't even need peripheral vision to see Pod's nervous glance. Brienne continued studying the texture of the wall. "It's the third? I didn't know that."

"I wonder if you have the stomach for this game you want so much to be a part of." A hint of what must have been his old shrewdness peeked out at her. "They're saying you took two thousand Frey lives, more or less, at Riverrun. Is that true?"

Another lift of the mug to her lips. "I didn't kill them."

"Not with your own hands. That doesn't mean you didn't kill them. Is it true? Two thousand?"

"So I'm told."

"And how many of your own men did you lose?"

"Eight."

"Sounds more like a massacre than a battle to me. How do you feel about that?"

"Not as bad as I probably should," she admitted. Sansa steadily met his eyes, ankles still demurely crossed, relaxed spine still a contrast to his ramrod stiffness. He seemed mildly entertained.

"Then maybe you're harder than you look. If I'd had a daughter-" His eyelids drooped and his expression cryptically softened. "I can't help you, child. I don't know where the remnants of my army are, and if I did, I'd be the last person they'd want to see. I knew everything was lost the moment she abandoned me."

"She?"

"The Red Woman. The false prophet. The witch."

Brienne filled in the gaps. "The Red Woman is a priestess of the Red God. She told him he was the rebirth of some great chosen one in her faith and the Iron Throne was destined to be his." The second sentence carried a certain amount of malicious satisfaction.

Stannis turned his full attention on her. "Sometimes I think she did bewitch me. If I'm to believe you, she had some real power after all. It would be easy to make it all her fault, and tomorrow I'll probably think it was... but I didn't have to listen to her. I didn't have to let her burn them." His eyes watered, inflaming the broken capillaries along the lids. "Even Shireen."

Everyone in the room felt the weight of a stunned silence press down on them. What happened next was even more discomfiting. For the first time Sansa could remember, Pod spoke up in front of a third party. "Your own daughter? Why?" The corners of his mouth were turned down, exposing teeth.

"Blood sacrifice, to be consumed by His holy flame."

"Power," scoffed Brienne.

But Pod wasn't finished with him yet. "How could her mother let you do that?" As much violence as he had seen in his few years, he couldn't seem to comprehend the existence of something like this.

"She didn't. She hanged herself. But she believed it was the Lord of Light's will, up until she didn't. Just like me." He gave Sansa a hollow look. "Do you see what you're putting on those dainty shoulders?"

Her face had paled to an impression of translucence, but her voice towered. "My cause doesn't include killing children!"

"Give it time."

Sansa rose shakily and replaced her half-full mug on the table. "Thank you for your time, Lord Stannis. Maybe you were able to help me after all." She maneuvered around Brienne. Stannis's voice stopped her as she reached the door.

"Your men aren't still at Riverrun?"

She took a step back and leaned until she could see him.

"If they are, they're about to be trapped. Jaime Lannister is marching an army of his own there."

In the subtle slackening of his face when he was finished with this pronouncement, she read I don't like to accept charity. "How far are they from here?" she asked.

"Hard to say. They're on a good road and I heard they keep marching after the sun sets. Armies can make their own suns. But based on how long I've been hearing about them," he paused to perform some quick calculations, "they could be here in as little as a day, maybe a bit less."

She lowered her eyes, watching a map of this new situation invisibly trace itself against a trunk-wide floorboard. "I see. I'll keep that in mind."

His business with her mistress clearly concluded, Brienne stepped toward Stannis. "I've dreamed of killing you every day since the day you took Renly's life. I devised dozens of ways I could do it. Now I wonder why I bothered. This is a far better justice than anything I could do to you. Live long, my lord."

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

They were almost invisible, riding down the Kingsroad in the dark, hoof falls muffled by dirt still pliable from an afternoon thaw. A lantern was affixed to Sansa's saddlebag strap in case it was needed, but for now, they were content to trust their mounts' superior night vision. Thus, it took Brienne some time to notice Sansa watching her.

"You said Jaime Lannister was kind to you. That he lost his hand protecting you from the depravity of Roose Bolton's men."

"He did."

"I know his reputation, but would you describe him as a man who keeps his word?"

"With confidence." The answer came without hesitation, but an inquisitive note has crept into Brienne's voice.

"And would you say you would be in any danger if you walked into his camp tomorrow?"

"SANSA!" The "my ladies" and "my lieges" were gone now. A shrring noise quieted her. "No. I would be safe, but if you're thinking you can stop this siege-"

Sansa interrupted her, a rare display of ill manners. "He gave my mother his oath as a lord and a knight to do everything in his power to protect her daughters, and you say he fulfilled it. The job isn't finished yet."

The jingle of metal signaled her vigorous head shake. "That's even more impossible. He won't defy his family, certainly not his sister."

"Because they're twins?"

"Yes. Because of that." A tightness had replaced the disbelief in Brienne's voice.

"Well, I'm no threat to Cersei. He was generous with that famous Lannister gold once, in the belief that it would help you protect me. Perhaps you can persuade him to be even more generous this time. That's why it has to be you. Your rapport."

"I don't have a rapport with Jaime Lannister."

"Of course you do. Even I could see that."

"You did used to talk about him an awful lot," Pod interjected.

"Thank. You. Podrick." Brienne's outline seemed to grow a bit taller. "You're asking me to leave you without protection."

"I have the protection of an entire army now."

"So did Lady Catelyn, when I left her."

Sansa was extraordinarily quiet for a moment. "I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. That's how this works."

Pod laboriously coughed.

"But I do have one favor to ask of you both. Don't mention any of this to anyone. Especially my uncle."