Now that the "Roose" chapter has been posted, I wanted to say some things about it and ASOIAF theories/narrative structure.

I think for most people, the Red Wedding is a nearly unparalleled traumatic scene in literature. I know many people take a break from reading ASOS after it, when they would otherwise keep reading. The story and characters are compelling enough not to give up on the book despite that disturbing scene, and we finish ASOS believing (or at least, wanting to believe) that there's some promise hidden in the books that there will be justice for the Starks.

But it doesn't come for two books, until Wyman Manderly feeds the Frey boys to the guests at Ramsay's wedding. (I believe Arya does this in the show.) For me, this wasn't enough. I hope GRRM has something worse planned for the Boltons. I wanted my scene to have more finality to the revenge and to parallel the Red Wedding, hopefully coming close to that sense of horror.

The second thing has to do with warging and the Starks—it's not clear to me in the books if all the Stark children are wargs, but I've always felt it an odd choice that Sansa seems devoid of the ability unique among her POV siblings. I feel like this is an unexplored aspect of her character I wanted to give her access to.

There are ways I've taken liberty with this fic but there are other ways I've tried to remain strictly true to the narrative. There are so many theories online written about ASOIAF but I have really enjoyed exploring mine through fiction! Let me know about your favorite theories and if I'm doing any of them justice in the comments :)

CHAPTER 35

BRIENNE

The girl missed the neck by a hand's width or better. The blade came down across Roose Bolton's back, cutting a slice into him like a kitchen knife opening a ham. Sansa didn't have the arm strength to get deep. Blood squirted, and Bolton's legs kicked out like a grasshopper's would as it leapt through tall summer grass. The thought called up an almost-forgotten memory for Brienne; she wondered dimly if she would ever see such a creature again.

Sansa screamed and dropped the sword. Several of the Northmen burst into laughter along with most of the Wildlings, although some booed, and the smallfolk uttered excited gasps and exclaimed over the botched execution. Sansa picked up her skirts and ran back to the Great Keep. The Hound picked up the sword and handed it to Pod.

"Finish it!" he barked at him.

"Me? Ser, I—"

"Do it!" He shoved the sword at him again.

Pod gulped, but took the sword. Taking a wide stance, he beheaded Bolton in one clean cut.

The crowd cheered. Brandon Norrey of the mountain clans held up Roose Bolton's head while Pod sheepishly accepted the men's raucous pats on his back. Brienne knew that Pod was not disposed to violence, but she imagined that being congratulated for cutting off a Lord's head inspired something different. Brienne did not begrudge Pod for these new feelings—being a knight meant being deadly; but it did not have to mean being cruel.

Like the Hound. While the men jostled around Pod and the body, Brienne turned in time to see him following Sansa. Brienne headed after them. Her armor clanked as she hurried to catch up at a jog beneath the shade of the building, but when she rounded the corner of the Great Keep they were gone.

Brienne pursed her lips in consternation. She needed to speak to Sansa. She had sworn an oath to her mother to protect the girl, and she meant to keep it. But after their last interaction, Brienne did not know if Sansa would believe her. Having come up to Winterfell with the Bolton, Lannister, and Frey hosts, the Northern lords certainly didn't trust her. Brienne had not been present at the wedding, but she knew what had happened. Animals of all kinds, including two direwolves, had torn those families apart. It was the Gods' revenge, people were saying, for the Red Wedding and the guilty parties' violation of guest right. The Northmen wondered openly why some had been spared.

Brienne could not pretend to know whims of the Gods, but she meant to do all she could in this life to protect Sansa. She had no doubt that some strange magic had been at play last night—whether it was of divine or supernatural origin Brienne didn't know, but she did know that such things existed in the world—she felt ill and melancholy, remembering Renly and the shadow that had killed him. But if the Stark girl had noticed Brienne among the throng of onlookers, she didn't show it. Brienne knew that to convince her that she had come all this way with honest intentions, she would have to speak with Sansa alone.

Her chance came at twilight, when Sansa retreated to the godswood to pray. The denizens of the castle settled in for the night, but Brienne headed to the walled forest inside Winterfell. She expected to run into Clegane at the entrance, but the loyal guard posted there was Pod.

"I need to speak with Sansa." Brienne spoke at normal volume, but her voice sounded loud compared to Pod's considerate whispers.

"Ser! Her Grace rests inside. I . . . I am not sure she would welcome the interruption."

Brienne smiled questioningly. "You name her as your Queen? I seem to remember you as a squire for the Lannister House."

Pod couldn't hide the blush climbing up his cheeks. "Ser—my lady, I know I must look like a traitor in the eyes of the Lannisters. But you and I both know the Boltons had no legal claim to the North over the Starks. I name her as my Queen. I can't deny it, and somehow the Gods know what's in my heart—otherwise I would not have survived last night."

Brienne nodded. That, and Sansa inspires loyalty easily. She is beautiful. Pod had known the girl from when they were both in King's Landing. It was not unwarranted that he would choose to serve her in the face of such divine intervention. "We both have the mercy of the Gods on our side, it would seem. It's something to be thankful for. But I must speak with Sansa. I must explain the oath I swore to her mother and the position we are in from the Lannisters."

Pod still did not want to let her inside. "She will hold court tomorrow. You can tell her then."

"No," Brienne shook her head. "Sansa may know and trust you, but me she does not. Her lords will vouch against me for being associated with the Boltons. I am afraid that in a public court I will be drowned out."

"But I know your intentions are good, my lady," Pod stammered. "We have traveled together all this way."

"With help from the Lannisters."

"And what about her Uncle Brynden? He will vouch for you."

"They have never met."

Pod looked grave, understanding the position Brienne was in. "I'm not one to disobey orders . . ." but he shifted his weight into the door and pushed it open. "Go ahead, my lady. Good luck."

Brienne went inside. The godswood was an eerie, ethereal place filled with pale-barked trees that stretched their bare winter branches up to the starry heavens. A few red leaves still clung stubbornly despite the cold. White mist obscured her vision and snowdrifts piled on the soft, mulch-covered ground that muffled Brienne's footsteps. The air was strangely warm, the breezes crisp. Brienne knew the godswood was surrounded on all sides by walls, but the atmosphere felt more like she was in an endless forest.

She walked deeper into the godswood, her footsteps quiet on the red mulch as the mists parted around her. She came to a place where the salty smell of sulfur tinged the air and steam rose from pools of water. A natural hot spring. That's where she found Sansa; the girl in the black pool a picture of femininity.

Her dewy skin flushed a healthy red color and her rich auburn hair hung like it was painted wet on her head. When she saw Brienne, her lips formed a slight "o" and her shocked movement disturbed the water resting still at the top curve of her breasts. It was hard to believe such a picturesque, naïve-looking girl had so recently murdered her enemies with wild animals. Harder still, for Brienne to accept, was that this same gorgeous creature was naked in the bath with Sandor Clegane.

His muscular, naked back was stretched across the length of the pool; his wide, broad shoulders and scarred, spread-out arms passed the width of the pool and left his large hands touching the red mulch on each side. Seeing Sansa' little gasp of surprise, the Hound turned to see Brienne with a sneer on his face.

Brienne did not like seeing the Hound again, for at their last interaction he had outsmarted her and taken Sansa for himself. He said that Sansa went with him willingly, and that was hard for Brienne to accept. But seeing them as they were now confirmed it. She knew she was intruding on an intimate moment, and the impropriety of it struck her heavy. Brienne grew hot and red-faced at this indecent revelation.

Clegane looked like he might get up and fight her with his bare hands, but Sansa crossed the pool to touch his shoulder gently. "Sandor, stay. She won't hurt us" Sansa said. Like he is her dog, Brienne thought. An animal. "Brienne," Sansa addressed her. "I'm glad to see you." Sansa motioned to the water. "You must be so tired. Please, come in and relax."

Brienne was tired, and the luxury of a steaming hot bath was priceless in winter. But Sansa's straightforward courtesy was unthinkable considering the position she was in. Brienne and Clegane shot daggers at each other. Sansa noticed, and protested as though she hadn't been caught naked with a man. "A bath is not too intimate a moment to share with friends!"

The Hound scoffed, but he backed down first. "No. I'll go."

"You don't have to!" Sansa protested, a little too quickly. "There's room for all of us."

"I'll leave you ladies to it. The water's too hot for me, anyway. Besides, I want to have a word with that squire."

He stood up unashamedly and Brienne blushed, abashed that he went nude. His skin flushed red like meat boiled in a pot, his hands and feet were long and floppy, his body was scarred and bruised everywhere, and his wrinkled member hung out. That's the kind of man I should be with, Brienne rued. Big and ugly, like me. He curled his lips up at her, like a dog snarling, and Brienne thought of Jaime Lannister's perfect white teeth.

Although Jaime would never find himself frozen in the North trying to fulfill a vow, Brienne lamented. The Hound passed her on his way to dry himself and put on his clothes, and Brienne avoided his gaze awkwardly. Finally, he left.

"It seems I am holding court in the bath," Sansa said. For the first time, Brienne noticed that she looked so exhausted that she might faint. It was no wonder—the girl had traveled over the whole North and just reached here yesterday. "Please, take off your garb and join me. I know you have travelled a long way to get here."

At Sansa's insistence Brienne stripped down and stepped into the water. It was heat like she never imagined she would feel again—so hot it was almost boiling, numbing her skin as she sunk into the water. Her tired, long-frozen muscles prickled as they were engulfed by the heat and finally relaxed. Brienne could not suppress a small intonation of pleasure as the warmth reached all the way to her bones.

It made her think of her bath with Jaime. In truth, a lot of things reminded her of Jaime. Their bath hadn't meant that anything physical went on between them, so maybe finding Sansa with the Hound didn't mean anything like that, either. Nothing between us meant anything, Brienne lamented. But she doubted it was so for Sansa. Lost in her thoughts and the pleasure of the bath, Brienne didn't realize how much time had passed until the girl spoke.

"From the look you gave Sandor Clegane, I guess either you are jealous of him or insulted."

"It was not you and him together," Brienne began to protest. She caught her words. "It's because of what happened before. He tricked me. He turned me at a crossroads, to give himself leave with you."

Sansa nodded. "I remember. It was not fair of him to trick you, especially after you came to his aid. But he does not trust easily. And, I don't think Sandor is the only one who tricked you."

Brienne hoped the blush that rose on her could be at least somewhat attributed to the heat. "No, Your Grace."

"It is easy to be tricked, and therefore hard to trust a person, when we do not know their motivations. Only when we know their intention towards us can we be honest with ourselves about whether or not they are using or manipulating us."

Brienne nodded. Sansa's statement made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't say why.

"I made many mistakes to get to Winterfell. But now I am here . . ." Sansa sank back into the water, her hair floating on its surface like the tendrils of a lily. "Do you know what I learned? That the strongest, most pure intention is love. A person driven by love will not yield. They cannot be bribed, they will not be swayed, they will not give up. You risked a lot to come to Winterfell. You made the journey and came here not knowing how I would receive you, and you were actively thwarted. Your determination is commendable."

"My sword is yours, Your Grace," Brienne explained.

"Your sword. Oathkeeper. It was forged from my family's sword, Ice. Ice, used to behead my own father on the steps of the Sept in King's Landing."

"My condolences," Brienne stammered. "I cannot imagine your pain."

"The Lannisters did that."

Brienne's heart sank.

"I see in you a just and loyal heart, Brienne. But determination is not love. Tell me. Truthfully. Who do you love?"

A thousand thoughts on how to answer ran through Brienne's mind, but her throat closed around them all. Chivalry. Justice. Knights. Battle. These were ideas. Abstract and unreciprocal as they were, she could not love them. Jaime, her mind offered weakly, but what would Sansa say to that? The Lannisters were her enemies. She bowed her head, unsure of what to say. The godswood was quiet, the only sounds made by the shifting movements of the women in the water.

"How can you ask me that?" Brienne finally whispered. "When you consort with the Hound! You must know what kind of man he is! He's done horrible things. And he worked for the Lannisters—a shield to the boy king when he was but a prince."

"Joffrey," Sansa nodded bitterly. "My betrothed. True, Sandor guarded him—and then he came to guard me, when no one else did. To help me when I had nothing. When everyone, even you, thought I should turn myself in to the Lannisters. When I was encouraged to leave my people to my most merciless enemies. To let them starve the winter. To forsake my family's claim to lands they have held for thousands of years."

"I did not seek to harm you," Brienne defended herself. "I was sent to protect you, and that's what I meant to do. You cannot blame me for believing you would be safer in captivity under my guard than alone in the wilderness with the Hound."

"The wilderness, to you, but to me the North. My home. I would not abandon my land and my people. I would rather die. Sandor brought me here. He fought for me. He would die for me. But . . . would you?"

Brienne was struck by Sansa's boldness. "I—Of course, Your Grace."

Sansa gave her half a smile, looking beautiful but somehow deadly, like a sardonic nymph of legend. Then she relaxed, exposing her white throat as she leaned her head back to dip her hair in the water. "Brienne, you are beautiful, strong, and gallant. You are like a star that fell to earth that grant me a wish in a dire hour of need."

She forgives me because I saved Clegane, Brienne realized. Oddly, it gave her hope that Jaime might love her . . . if one big, ugly, oafish thing, and one delicate, beautiful thing could go together.

"You would serve me, but it is not me you love. So tell me, Brienne . . . What is it in your heart that troubles you so?"

Despite the scalding temperature, Brienne felt a wave of nervous coldness overcome her. The truth was she ached for Jaime. She missed his confidence, his resourcefulness, even his cockiness. She missed his teasing banter, his flaxen hair, his ruined hand. The ache was all the more painful from the certainty that he never ached for her. She thought of Sansa's earlier words about trust. She thought she loved Jaime, but that was totally at odds with the fact that she didn't fully trust him. And yet she felt she could put her head in the lion's jaws and let it snap shut if it wanted. How could she tell Sansa that? The helpless stupidity of it—that she would risk her life on the chance of Jaime's honor—hurt her heart, and she started to cry.

It all came pouring out of her. The shadow creature, serving Catelyn after Renly's death, escorting Jaime across Westeros, how he lost his sword hand, how he saved her in the bear pit. Brienne hoped the perspiration hid her tears, but it became obvious in parts of her story when she could hear her own voice waver. "Lady Catelyn sent me to exchange Jaime for her daughters, but you were both lost. He gave me Oathkeeper—forged from your father's sword—and told me to finish the quest and find you. I went with Podrick looking all over the country, but we failed. You found me at Winterfell, with the false Arya. And Jaime, who promised to never take up arms against the Starks or Tullys, sieged Riverrun and now holds Moat Cailin. How can I trust him? How can I feel this for him?"

Sansa had been a quiet and sympathetic listener, but now she shook her head ominously. "Do not follow his path, Brienne. Not even for one moment, because if you do, I can never forgive you. But perhaps . . . if Jaime turns, and follows your path, you will know that he loves you."

Brienne scoffed. "He doesn't love me."

"Then make him love you."

"I—it's not possible."

"It is," Sansa affirmed, "I know it, or I would have been murdered long ago. And I think there is some good left in him, even if only for you to know."

"You make people love you," Brienne sniffled, almost accusing. "That is something I could never do."

"You promised allegiance to me, Brienne. You must protect me from physical danger, and I, too, will protect you as best as I can. I will keep you safe from the treachery that cannot be fought in battle. I will serve you, and you must in turn serve me. That is the agreement between knights and rulers. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I think so," Brienne said, but she wasn't sure what Sansa was getting at.

"I need time, Brienne," Sansa beseeched her. "I need the winter. The Lannisters must not come North, nor any other army. We are too weak here. We will not survive the assault. You must hold them at the gate, and that gate is Moat Cailin. Jaime holds it, but you must hold it—for me."

Brienne considered this. Serving Sansa would mean fighting the Lannisters. If her sword was truly pledged to Sansa, and she met Jaime again, they would be on opposite sides of this conflict. She might have to kill him. Was that what Sansa asked of her?

"I will need an army, Your Grace—"

Sansa dismissed her. "I can only spare a small retinue. We both know that. And you may not have to fight."

"But I must take the fort."

"We are always given a choice Brienne. If you would not use your sword, turn Jaime to me another way. You love him. You can realize that love. You can make it a reality."

" . . . How?"

"Find the feminine part of you and supplicate him with it."

Brienne felt embarrassed by Sansa's words and self-conscious that she had never been a beautiful woman, a proper woman. "Your Grace—I'm sorry—I don't know if I can—"

"Then kill it," Sansa interrupted. "Kill the love inside you." But then she softened, gentle. "I know your strength is great. Make him love you, Brienne. Men will break themselves for a woman they love."

She knew it was true, but she had never dared to dream that it could be true for herself. And certainly not where the fair Jaime Lannister was concerned. Brienne felt torn. Sansa, her liege, was commanding her to fulfill her heart's secret desire, yet Brienne hesitated to accept the task.

"The least you can ask is that he stall his sister's army for one winter," Sansa continued. "Please try, Brienne. And if he won't, then you know what you must do."

Could I turn Jaime Lannister from his own family to the Starks? Brienne wondered, her mind cloudy with doubt. But she believed Jaime to be a good person—that was true. Sansa's plan prevented bloodshed on all sides. Certainly, Jaime would see the wisdom in it. Brienne knew not enough of love, but he might side with her over Cersei on this issue, she thought. And if he won't—will I have the strength of heart to kill him?

She ruminated on her quests. Meeting Catelyn, Jaime and his golden hand, traveling with Pod and looking for the Stark girls—all of it surrounded Oathkeeper. There was only one chivalric path for her to follow. "Aye, Your Grace," Brienne answered Sansa. "I will do it. My sword is yours."