One thing I try to do as a writer is leave hints about where the story is going. The last chapter with Sansa's dream and this chapter have some hints about what's coming next. Now that I think about it, I maybe even started doing this 10 chapters ago. I wonder if anyone suspects what Sansa is up to?

That also brings up why I like writing fanfic. ASOIAF has a very expansive community and people always talk about their theories. But I am happier to share my theories and secret wishes with you as a story so that you can experience them, too.

CHAPTER 33

SANDOR

They were in the last few leagues of their journey and Sandor had effectively buried any feelings of resistance he had about taking Sansa to Winterfell. For him it was as before a battle, when it was too dangerous to entertain any thoughts of defection lest a man break. They were too close to the castle and Sandor had no doubt the Boltons would skin Sansa if they got their hands on her. The weather was finally turning vengeful and grey.

"We better keep an eye out for shelter, and settle in as soon as we can," Sandor said, pointing to dark clouds on the horizon. "Looks like it might be a blizzard."

"A blizzard!" Sansa clambered onto the sled. "We're too close to Winterfell to die in a blizzard. We're at the edge of the grounds my father hunted in."

"We can keep going up this mountain. Or we can go back around the other side, maybe find shelter against the wind on the far side of the mountain."

"We go forward. Better to face the unknown from a high vantage point than to turn back."

Sandor nodded, and took his place on the sled's back runners.

They came to a glacial rise, an enormous sheet of ice rising vertically into the sky and casting a long, cool shadow on the pine trees beneath it. From this height they could see the valley where the forest continued, the river that ran through it, and the sheer side of the mountain that was cut into the cliff by a powerful, roaring waterfall. The frozen snow and black stone backdrop made a powerful contrast, but Sandor noticed darkness on one side of the falls that didn't match the stone.

"There's an opening there," he pointed it out to Sansa. "We might be able to go behind the water."

They left the sled and the dogs tied to a tree and went to explore it. The rock was slippery, so the going was slow and careful, but the shape of the steps made Sandor sure they were not the first to carve out a path to this cave.

Sansa ducked beneath the rock overhang on the side of the waterfall and Sandor followed her inside. Here it was another world. Blue light filtered through the ice and cast its colors on the cave's smooth walls. The chamber was warmer than the outside and large enough that Sandor could stand without ducking his head. They could see deeper into the cave, where stalagmites grew, and icicles dripped to form pools of clean water.

"We could sleep in here," Sansa suggested. "It's cozy."

"Yeah . . ." Sandor was distracted by a rhythmic, persistent rumbling. "Do you hear that?"

Sansa cocked her head. "Yes. What is it?"

"I don't know." They moved deeper into the next chamber. The rumbling got louder.

"Sandor, look!" Sansa grabbed his arm and pointed to a circle of dripstone. It was hard to see, but Sandor could make out an enormous and furry figure, pulsating to the sound.

"We better get out of here."

"It's a bear!"

"I see that."

Sansa observed the beast for a moment longer. It was huge; Sandor thought it must weigh at least a ton. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw two fluffy lumps moving independently at the bottom of the great figure.

"It has cubs!" Sansa whispered.

Sandor crouched down for a better look. "So she has. It's a good sign, isn't it? She wouldn't give birth if she weren't healthy, right?"

"I'm not sure . . . One seems smaller than the other, doesn't it?"

Sandor couldn't make out many features in the darkness, but one of the cubs did look smaller than the other. "She probably doesn't have enough milk for both."

"That's so sad," Sansa pouted, "The little one might die."

"Yeah. But the sooner the little one dies, the better chance the bigger one will have to live and grow strong. Come on, we should go—the mother's not going to like it if we wake her up." He could tell that Sansa turned from the animals with a heavy heart. Life in the North was difficult for all its creatures.

They were still in the dark part of the cave when Sandor thought he heard human voices approaching. He put his arm out and Sansa looked up at him, but a moment later she stiffened—she had heard them, too. He backed them up carefully against the wall and listened with consternation to the approaching footsteps. Sandor didn't want to be trapped between a group of strangers and a bear. He had no weapon on him but a knife—his axe was packed away on the sled. The sounds of people trying and failing to keep quiet got closer.

A figure entered the cave. Sandor could make out the silhouette of a woman clad in light armor and carrying a spear. From her style, she appeared to be a northerner and not a wildling. Four more figures scrambled through the entrance behind her, all carrying weapons. One was a child. They whispered among themselves and Sandor focused on distinguishing the voices.

"Bloody dangerous!"

"Do you think it's in here?"

"It should be."

"I can barely see!"

"We should be quiet."

Definitely a child, Sandor thought, two women, and only two men. With the element of surprise on his side he could kill them all easily. He reached for his knife, but Sansa stayed his hand. She shook her head and crossed in front of him to meet the intruders.

The spear-carrying woman saw her first, but was so surprised to see a figure emerging from the darkness that she took a full step back and knocked into one of the men. That sent him tumbling down the slippery stone steps.

"Aarrgh!"

"Jeor!" the woman closest to the falling man scrambled outside after him while the spear-carrier struggled to regain her footing.

That's two down, Sandor thought. Not bad from Sansa. He drew his knife and followed her out of the shadows.

The remaining man and woman stood protectively in front of the child and the man drew his shortsword. Sansa spoke loudly and clearly to them and Sandor stole a worried glance back at the sleeping bear, but the creature did not stir.

"Who are you?" Sansa demanded. "What are you doing here?"

The child stepped forward. She was no more than a girl—the same age Sansa had been when she left for King's Landing all those years ago. She had a lean face and her thick, dark hair tumbled around her fur-clad shoulders. She carried herself behind the leather armor with the fearless posture of a warrior, but the youthful innocence of her expression betrayed that this was someone still ignorant of the true carnage that could be seen in battle.

"Don't come any closer," Sandor warned them. "Answer her."

The child stared at Sansa with open curiosity and, Sandor surmised, hopefulness, her expression guileless and easy to read from her prominent eyebrows. Her protectors had made room for her between them and while the woman's eyes darted between everyone in the cave, the man kept his eyes on Sandor with his sword ready. It was Sansa who took a step closer, unaware that everyone with a weapon suddenly gripped it tighter at her movement. The two young women were in striking distance of one another.

She spat out her next question as though it tasted like bile in her mouth. "Are you poaching?"

Guilt wrote itself across the child's face like a twisted mask. Sansa raised her hand very slowly and gently pushed the girls' fur mantle away from her chest, revealing the sigil of a bear embossed over her breastplate.

"You are Lyanna Mormont."

The girl gazed up at Sansa, the lips of her open mouth slightly downturned. Her words came out as a whisper, seeming to voice a long-held secret wish. "Your grace . . . Sansa Stark!"

Lyanna threw her arms around Sansa. There was a moment, Sandor knew, when the sudden movement caused them all to tense—but Lyanna's guards did not attack, and Sandor relaxed. Lyanna was openly crying. Sansa held her dutifully for a moment, then knelt down to face her.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace." The child bent the knee.

"It's all right," Sansa said. "We should be quiet. There is a bear here."

"I know," Lyanna sniffed. "That's why we've come."

"To kill it."

Lyanna hung her head. "Forgive me. Please. It's the bastard's cause, not mine. He—he writes me horrible letters . . . things no lord would ever say to a lady. He says the day I don't bring him a bear when he asks for it is the day he comes for me. I—I don't think there are any bears left, on Bear Island . . ."

"So, you've come to Winterfell's lands. To poach."

Lyanna faced Sansa defiantly. "I'll never acknowledge any ruler of the North that isn't a Stark! But, yes the land here's gone wild again. I knew there would be more bears here . . . and now that Ramsay's getting married, he told me to bring him a big one to kill during the festivities, or he . . . he said . . . he would . . ."

"Go on. What did the bastard tell you?"

"He said he would kill me for sport when I come of age, instead." Lyanna gulped. "Oh, please, Your Grace, I don't mean to be craven. I feel so rotten about the bears I sometimes think I should just let him do it. But I know there'd be another thing for him to kill after me, and another after that, again and again."

"Yes. You're right about that. And aren't you afraid to go to him, after what he's said?"

"Of course! But I must. The Boltons say they'll commandeer any northern holding that isn't represented at his wedding. I won't let my family land fall into his clutches."

"I see. Then don't be troubled, Lyanna. You aren't craven."

Lyanna beamed and wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "I'm bringing my best warriors to guard me, and we who are loyal to the Starks still count on each other as friends. Ramsay won't be so brazen as to try something vicious in front of everyone."

"And who is Ramsay getting married to?"

"To your sister. Arya Stark."

"I doubt that," she looked up at Sandor. "What do you think?"

"I don't believe it. Your sister's far away. Must be an imposter."

Sansa turned back to the girl. "When does Ramsay marry?"

"In three days time, at Winterfell."

"Then my timing is fortuitous. Lyanna, come with me."

She took the girl by the hand. Sandor and Lyanna's warriors nodded to one another and sheathed their weapons. They turned to watch Sansa lead the girl to the back of the cave where the bear was huddled in its calcite bed. Its body rose and fell with slow, deep breaths. Lyanna clung to Sansa's hand, peering around the taller girl to get a look at the monstrous animal.

Sansa spoke in a whisper. "So long as there are Starks and Mormonts, neither you nor anyone who hails from Bear Island shall ever poach these lands again. But let our Houses stay friends, as they have been for generations. You, who share the name of my departed Aunt, must know we only have to pluck a string to keep our song of friendship going." Lyanna smiled. Sansa was dangerously close to the bear. "When I was a girl the gods sent me a direwolf pup. I think they wanted us to meet like this. Since you came for a bear, I'll give you one." She bent down and pulled the runt cub out from under the mother. It wiggled its limbs and growled pitifully.

She handed the cub to Lyanna, who cradled it like a baby. It calmed in her arms. Lyanna wiped her eyes on the sleepy cub's fur. "Sansa. Thank you. It is such a gift."

"Yes, yes. Come on, come on, let's go." Everyone hurried out of the cave. Mormont's guards attended their companion, wounded from his fall down the stony steps. There was a flurry of excitement when Lyanna announced Sansa Stark. The parties introduced themselves and Lyanna suggested that they all head back to the Mormont camp.

"There is group of Wildling travelers nearby," Lyanna said, "but they act more civilized than raiders and haven't bothered us."

Sansa's eyes flashed with a devious knowing when she heard this news. "So there is. We will join forces with them and fight the Boltons to decide who rules the North."