Chapter 7

Sansa, dressed once more in knight's training clothes, held her new blade in her hand, testing the weight of it, feeling more than less than adequate as Bronn stepped behind her and put his body directly behind hers. She was no longer uncomfortable with his proximity anymore after weeks of hand to hand training, and even pressed back into him, so he wasn't as far away, letting her shoulders lean against his, using him for support.

"Now," he said, speaking directly into her ear. "When you hold a knife for fighting, you're going to hold it like this." He then positioned the hilt the right way in her hand and put his hand over hers, their fingers entwining.

She nodded, and took a moment to feel how it now felt in her hand. It was heavier than she'd expected, but it was a good weight.

He then placed his free hand on her left hip and tapped the toe of his right boot against the inside arch of her right foot and muttered against her temple, "Don't forget your feet, Sansa. Keep your weight on your toes, ready to move quickly. Remember what I've taught you," he added, putting a gentle pressure on her hip, his fingertips suddenly feeling warm, even through her layers of clothes. "Fast feet, level knees, loose hips." He then pressed his fingers a bit more firmly into her hip and said, "Loose hips, girl; dammit, quit tightening up on me."

Pulling in sharp breath, she nodded, and adjusted herself accordingly, attempting to relax. It was the sellsword's own fault, really. For some odd reason, he was causing her to tense up. She didn't know why, but she knew that it was his fault, not hers.

With only a small hitch in her voice, she asked, "Was this how you were taught?"

Sansa could feel him smirk, his lips near her jaw and she wondered why.

"No, milady. I learned all of this the hard way. A man like my father didn't have time for a brat like me."

Before she could question him as to what he meant by that, he cut her off, and then proceeded to instruct her on how to feel the weight of her knife as not an object, but as an extension of her body, and over the period of an hour, they stood this way. Every few minutes he would have her change position, but he was always right there, a reassuring presence behind her, giving her more confidence than she would have ever been able to muster on her own.

Her blade was exactly like his, with a uniquely curved edge, and she wondered why he had decided to teach her to use it, instead of with a ladies blade as she'd seen her mother use. That was what she had honestly been expecting to learn, but she took it in stride, silently pleased that he thought that she could learn how to use a blade like his. It made her feel strong. She knew, though, that had she tried to use it a few weeks ago, she would have been straining to simply keep the blade up for as long as she had already, and that Bronn had been most likely trying to build up her strength in order to wield it.

After a while, he finally pulled away and stood next to her, pulling out his own blade from its' usual place, tucked into a sheath behind his back.

"Now," he said, turning so that he was facing her, "I'm going to show you some basic defensive moves."

Sansa nodded and balanced herself lightly on her feet, bringing the knife up in front of her, and he gave her a wry smile as he looked her up and down.

"Of course, now that I'm not showing you, you get it all down perfectly." He shook his head and rolled his eyes, and added, "Look at you; light on your feet, your knees are solid and your hips are about as loose as they can get without fallin' off your pretty little torso…"

He let out a sigh and then squared off opposite her, mimicking her own position. He then said, "Now, if I attack this way," and came at her with his blade in a downward motion, she instinctively bent her left knee and brought the blade up with her right hand, knocking against his and he smiled in surprise at her actions.

"Oh, you think you know what you're doin' now, do ya, milady?"

Sansa smiled.

"I've seen my brothers fight enough that I know this much, Bronn," she said, smirking slightly as she continued to hold his blade, and he smirked back, and replied, "Oh, really?" and then managed to sweep his blade in an unexpected motion, and suddenly she had her back pressed up to his front, the dull side of his blade pressing against her throat and his left arm around her waist pinning her against him.

His swift and lightning fast movements were an icy cold reminder of who and what he was. A sellsword.

However, an inexplicable sudden rush of heat ran through her as he hissed into her ear, "I know you're pleased that I chose to start teaching you this, but don't make the mistake of taking this lightly, milady. Had this been a real fight, the other side of my knife would have slit your pretty little throat already." She simply drew in several short, sharp breaths, feeling the heat that had rushed through her, settle somewhere between her legs; it was remarkably similar to what she had felt when they had first started training, but much stronger. He then said, "Now, if you don't mind, I'll show you how to use that knife of yours. Alright?"

She nodded.

"Good."

He let her go and they squared off once more.

Over the next hour, he showed her how to block strikes from different angles, and not just from a knife, but also from his sword. Sansa had to admit to feeling more than a bit of trepidation when he pulled out the sword, wondering how in the seven kingdoms she was going to fend him off. The sword was nearly as tall as her, but with his instruction, she actually managed to hold him off more than once over a prolonged period of time.

When they finished, both of them tired, Sansa finally decided to bring something up that had been bothering her.

As he was sliding his knife back into his sheath, she said, "Bronn, I was wondering something…" He looked up and nodded, so she continued. "When…when you've been teaching me about defending myself, I realized that I was a bit…uhm," she paused trying to find the word, and he smirked.

"Skittish?" he suggested and she smiled, embarrassed.

"Yes, exactly. I was skittish. Well, before I ask you what I want to ask you, I wanted to tell you why I was skittish. I've never told anyone, actually," she said, wringing her hands and walking over to the edge of their small courtyard, sitting on the low stone wall, her knife in its sheath. Bronn joined her, propping one knee on the wall, his hands resting on top of it. Finally, she said, "When…when there was that riot in the city, I…I got separated from everyone. I ended up being…attacked. By, uhm, three men."

Bronn tightened his jaw, fairly certain of where she was headed with her story, but waited for her to continue, which she did.

"Two of them held me down and the third…" She paused, taking a deep breath, and steeled herself, for she had never said the words out loud. "The third man pulled up part of my dress and…and…he…he…he was going to…to…to rape me."

She let out a long breath, barely believing that she'd actually said it. She'd never admitted it to anyone, and only ever let them infer. But now she'd said it, so there was no taking it back. Besides, she didn't want to go back. She would never go back. She would never be that defenseless again, thanks to Bronn.

Bronn simply nodded.

"Yeah. I suspected as much," he said, dropping his knee and sitting down next to her, squinting over his shoulder into the bright light that glinted off the water.

"You…you did?"

Bronn nodded a second time, a grim look on his face.

"When I went to fix your laces our first time here, I saw how you reacted. I know that look well enough to know that there was definitely a reason behind it. It was one of the reasons why I thought you would take to the training rather well, actually. You had a reason to."

She gave him a curious look and then nodded as she replied, "Yes. Yes, well, it was one of my reasons, at least, but I still have a question. It, it has to do with what I've just told you." He gestured his head in her direction, a motion for her to continue, so she said, "Why haven't you taught me how to throw someone off me if I'm pinned? Isn't that…important? Especially for a lady to know?"

At her question, he suddenly stiffened and stood up, and turned away from her.

In a tight voice, he said, "Because with what I'm teaching you, milady, it'll never get that far, I guarantee it."

Sansa shook her head, confused.

"But…but one of the things that you've taught me, Bronn, is that anything can happen during a fight, and that I have to be prepared for the worst, no matter what. Isn't that a part of it?" He wouldn't turn around, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. Ignoring it, she stood up and continued to press the issue. "I want to be able to protect myself, in any circumstance, and if I can't even throw someone off of me, then I'm not prepared! I want to be able to-"

He suddenly whirled on her, invading her space so that there was barely an inch between them, and he hissed, "It won't happen. I won't let it."

Startled, she gaped at him, and then stuttered out, "What…what do you mean you won't let it?"

Bronn, seeing the confusion in her eyes, shook his head and let out what sounded like a growl, and then said peculiarly, "Damn you, Sansa…damn you, girl. You honestly have no idea, do you?" She continued to stare at him, completely mystified by his words, and he let out another growl and added, mostly under his breath, "I can't do that to you."

He then turned and walked away from her and said, "Go and get changed, already. I believe Lord Tyrion is expecting you for dinner this evening."

At his cold dismissal, she slipped up the hill and quickly changed, still baffled by the whole encounter. All that she'd wanted was a reason why he hadn't taught her, and he hadn't even come close to giving her one. Instead, she had gotten him riled up for no apparent reason and now he was upset with her. She didn't like it when he was upset with her; he started acting the way he used to when she'd first met him, cold and unfeeling, and she knew that wasn't true.

She slipped back into her dress, not feeling the least bit self-conscious when she came down and asked Bronn to finish tying her up. He had been doing so ever since their first session. She usually had Shae help her with her dress, and so Bronn had started to help her after their training sessions so that there wouldn't be any suspicion when she went back to the hall.

This time, however, as she lifted her hair for him to tighten the back of her dress, that same, strange warm feeling slipped down her spine as she felt his strong fingers tying the laces. Again, the warm feeling settled between her legs and she suddenly felt flushed, especially when his fingers accidentally brushed just above the line of her dress, briefly touching skin. Her breath hitched, and she waited for him to let go…but, instead, his touch lingered, slipping up to the nape of her neck, and neither of them said a word, afraid to break the silence.

And then, all too quickly in Sansa's opinion, het let go and then turned her around and escorted her back up to her quarters, neither of them speaking a word the entire time.

And when he left her at the door to her and Tyrion's rooms that was precisely what he did. He left her there, sharply pivoting on his heel the instant they arrived.

She stared for a long moment down the corridor where he'd disappeared, but then hastily stepped inside the door, not wanting to give the guards any reason to wonder why she was acting so strange towards the sellsword. No one was supposed to know, after all. But even as she prepared herself for dinner, sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair and glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but wonder what had just happened between them.

He was her friend, her teacher, her confidante…but something had changed. And she wasn't entirely sure what it was.

What had he meant when he'd said, I can't do that to you? And why had he…touched her?

Finally realizing that she would find no answers in her mirror, she left it and went to sit at the table, where the first course had already been laid out.

Tyrion arrived just moments after she began to eat, and Sansa was pleased to see that he was in a good mood. Good. That meant she might be able to ask him about what his sellsword had meant with his words…but just as the thought came to her to ask him, she immediately decided against it. No, what had happened between her and Bronn was personal. She may not know what any of it meant, but she knew enough to know that she shouldn't bring it up with her husband.

No.

It was between her and Bronn.

To bring Tyrion into it, would be asking for trouble, she knew. He was a fixer, he liked to fix things, and Sansa had an uneasy feeling of how he might try to fix their problem. Money was always his answer to most things, and so she was slightly nervous that Tyrion would see fit to end her training, and she had no desire to end it.

She wanted…no, she needed to continue it. It was the only way she would be able to understand what had happened between her and Bronn, she was sure of it.

After a long silence, Tyrion said, "How was your first day with a knife, Sansa?"

She didn't know what to say, so she simply said, "It went well. He's pleased with my progress."

At that, the lord lifted an eyebrow in her direction as he took a long sip of his wine, and then said, with a strange tone in his voice, "Really? You seem to be…different, today. Was the training more stressful than usual? You seem a bit distracted."

He didn't miss a thing.

"Well, I am a bit," she admitted, choosing her words carefully. "It was different than what I was expecting, but not too hard. He's a good teacher."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow again at her words, but let it go, starting in on his meal, and she was grateful for the reprieve. Yes, he was her husband, but that didn't meant that she trusted him with everything…but at that thought, she wondered. How was it she couldn't tell Tyrion, but she had been able to tell Bronn about her attack? Did she truly trust the sellsword more than him? With a start, she realized that the answer was yes. She did trust the sellsword more than she trusted the man who she'd been married to.

And she wondered what that meant…

Part 7/?