Chapter 9

Sansa sat with Cersei once more, and she patiently worked on her needlepoint as the Queen cast her dark looks every minute or so. She couldn't stand her, but she had no choice in the matter. As she silently worked, her mind was back on the sellsword and how they had finished their last sparring session, or 'dancing lesson', as Arya would have called it.

She still didn't understand why Bronn was being so distant and so abrupt with her. She thought that things had been going well, but ever since she'd asked him to teach her how to throw someone off of her, he had become cold and his actions were now reminiscent of when they'd first met. Sansa didn't like it in the least, and was certain that she was going to have to bribe him in some way to get him to teach her what she wanted to know…but at the same time, she couldn't help but wonder why he was so reluctant.

Distracted by her thoughts, her fingers slipped and she felt the needle jab the center of her palm and she winced and, closing it tightly, brought her hand to her chest.

Cersei, who was sitting fairly close by, didn't even try and hide the condescending smirk that stretched across her lips at the sight of the Stark girl suffering.

"Do be careful, Lady Lannister," she said, the sneer evident in her tone of voice. "We wouldn't want to get blood all over your precious design…"

Like the woman actually cared, Sansa thought to herself as she put her needlepoint down and pressed a cloth to the small wound that was now bleeding profusely. Who knew that a needle could draw so much blood from such a small wound?

Just as she had the urge to leave, she heard familiar footsteps and looked up in shock as she saw an all too familiar sellsword approaching the two of them from the courtyard just beyond the room. He practically strutted inside, devoid of any fear around the queen mother, and gave a short bow to both of them when he walked in, giving Sansa a faint smile as he said, "Queen Cersei, Lady Sansa…pardon my intrusion, but Lord Tyrion is requesting his wife's presence. He has asked me to escort her."

Cersei looked affronted by the sellsword turned knight's words, but she gave a curt nod and simply said tersely, "Fine. Take her. And tell my brother that I wish to speak with him when he's done."

Bronn nodded.

"Of course." He turned to Sansa and offered his hand to her to help her up and she had to hide a smile at seeing Cersei's shocked reaction to his manners. "My lady?" he added, taking her hand and acting almost like a lord instead of a mercenary, and this time Sansa let the smile show as she stood and then wrapped her arm around his.

"Thank you, Ser Bronn. It is very kind of you."

He shrugged.

"Escorting a woman such as yourself isn't a burden in the least, milady. Shall we?"

She withheld the urge to laugh and nodded, letting him escort her out of the room and over towards Tyrion's offices. She didn't have to look back to know that the queen was silently fuming at his blatant mocking of his role as knight. This was one of the things that she'd missed about him over the past few days; his humor. He was the only person she knew who didn't seem to have any true fear of the Lannisters. There was respect, but no actual fear, and she hoped that she could one day have the same fortitude as he did.

After a moment, she realized that they weren't heading in the direction of Tyrion's work chambers…instead, he was steering them towards their private training area, which was odd because they weren't supposed to train until tomorrow.

"Bronn, where are we…?"

He hushed her with just a look, and so she simply let herself be led. She trusted him and knew that he would only ever take care of her.

The instant they were in what Sansa considered to be their courtyard, he led her to the center and then faced himself across from her, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked down at his feet and then looked away from her, out over the water, his jaw clenched and his body tense. Finally, after a long moment, he said, "You want to know how to throw a man off you. In order to learn that, I'm going to have to do something that I don't particularly enjoy…"

He looked back at her and uncrossed his arms, putting his hands on his hips, and added, in a bleak tone, "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right. You need to know how to do this."

Bronn then stepped towards her…and then he was suddenly uncomfortably close. She tried to back up, but his hands shot out and grabbed her wrists and pulled her even closer to him, so that her body was flush against his. Her breath started to come in uneven spurts, and she felt panic starting to rise.

"Bronn, what are you-?"

He cut her off.

"Every single time I've taught you something, I've taught you through experience. I wish this one could be different, but it can't." He paused and let his words sink in, and when he saw her eyes widen, he knew that she understood. "I'm going to pin you…and I won't hold back. I can't. If you can handle me, you can handle most anyone else."

She squirmed slightly in his grip which was, surprisingly, starting to hurt. After a moment, during which she was still unsure of herself, she said, "Bronn, you're…you're hurting me…"

His grip lightened, but only for a moment. He closed his eyes and swallowed as he tightened his grip once more. His eyes opened and Sansa tried not to react to the look in them. He looked as though he was waging an internal war with himself. She'd seen that sort of look before, right before her father would decide whether or not punish Arya for one of her wild and outlandish acts of unladylike behavior…but even as hands hardened, his eyes softened.

"I know."

Two words. But they said everything.

Sansa swallowed and took a deep breath and then nodded.

"Show me."

Seeing her resolve, he nodded, and suddenly she was on her back with his legs to either side of her hips, pressing himself firmly on her thighs, with now only one hand holding both of her wrists above her head. Panic rose once more, her body instinctively starting to struggle before she calmed herself down and looked up at him, trust in her eyes.

"So…what must I do?"

He looked down at her…and for a terrifying moment she didn't see the man she knew, but then he said, "Rotate your hips to the right," and so she did, noting just how hard it was to do with his weight across her, and he nodded. "Bring up your right knee." She did. "Now," he said, leaning down, pressing himself bodily against her, "Move your left leg in and bring it up as hard as you can…"

She realized what he was asking her to do, and she hesitated, but the instant she paused, he pressed more of his weight against her, and she panicked, forgetting for a moment what he'd asked her to do, and he hissed in her ear, "You aren't getting up until you do something to stop me, girl," he said, his voice lower than she'd ever heard it, and a trickle of fear ran through her…and, at the exact same time, she felt her resolve harden.

Dammit, she was going to get him off of her, no matter what it took. She closed her eyes to block the image of him out of her mind and imagined, instead, Joffrey above her…and something inside of her snapped.

Doing exactly as he'd said before, in movements much faster than before, she rotated her hips and brought up her knee straight for his groin.

His grip came loose on her wrists as he grunted at the impact, and she kicked him once more, causing him to completely let go, and she scrambled out from underneath him and slipped his knife from the sheath on the small of his back and then straddled his back and pressed the dull side of the blade against his neck, exactly where he'd taught her to place it in previous training sessions.

Sansa waited for a long moment…and then was confused when she heard him laughing under his breath.

"Not bad, Sansa. Not bad at all."

He put a careful hand on hers and gently pulled the knife away from his throat. He then turned his body around so that she was now straddling his thighs and he gave her a broad smile; an actual, genuine, smile and it took her completely off guard, causing her grip on the knife that was still in her trained hand to loosen.

She was now less confused and smiled along with him, handing him back his knife, and as he took the knife back from her their fingers brushed…and Sansa felt a familiar warmth slip down her back at the not-too-unpleasant sensation of feeling his skin on hers. He chuckled as he slid the knife back into its sheath, and then said, in a slightly breathless voice, "Well…you took to that better than I thought you would, that's for sure."

Feeling awkward at sitting on his legs, she moved to get up, trying to adjust her dress, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm and a raised eyebrow.

"I have to ask…when you closed your eyes, who were you imagining?"

Ducking her eyes, she muttered, "Joffrey," and instead of being shocked or appalled that she'd put the horrible king in his place, he nodded and said, "Good. Because of that, now I know I've gotten you to the right point." "What point is that?" Looking all too confident, he smirked and said, "You're not afraid of him anymore, are you?" She thought about it for a moment, and then her eyes widened in surprise and his smirk broadened.

"Didn't think so. You're angry now. Anger is good," he added, sitting up a bit more. "It'll keep you alive."

She moved from off his legs at that point and stood up as he, too, got up from the ground.

They stood face to face once more, and Sansa replied to his earlier words with a simple, "I hope so," and he gave her an odd look…and then did something unexpected. He lifted his right hand and placed his fingers on her jawline, tilting her head up towards his, where he stared at her with serious eyes.

"I know so, Sansa," he said, nothing but calm assurance in his gaze.

At feeling his hand on her face, she didn't know how to react except for her sharp intake of breath. She held it for as long as she could and then shakily let it out, unsure of what was happening in that moment. He hadn't said anything more, but there seemed to be something in his eyes that said that he wanted to say much more than he had. She absently ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips, and then saw his gaze move from her eyes down to her mouth…

…and he unexpectedly started to lean in, using his hand to draw her closer, and instead of resisting, she leaned into it.

His lips were on hers and she let out a soft sigh at the sensation.

It felt like coming home.

She could feel a steadiness and reassurance in the press of his mouth on hers that brought back vibrant and vivid memories of being home at Winterfell, knowing that she was protected and loved and cared for, and a tear slipped down her cheek as he pulled back slightly only to adjust his angle and lean back in to press another soft kiss to her lips, which she gently returned.

Caught up in the moment, she let him use his other hand to pull her tightly against him as he continued to kiss her, and the moment soon became one that she had no desire to leave. It was safety, it was affection, it was respect, it was home…he was home. Who knew that such a simple act could bring her to tears? They continued to softly kiss for some time, until Bronn abruptly pulled back from her, as if he'd been burned, a look on his face that she didn't recognize.

He dropped his hands from her and said, "I'm sorry, milady. I shouldn't have done that."

Sansa stared at him in shock, not quite believing his words.

What had he just said? He couldn't be serious! How could he kiss her like that and say that he hadn't meant it? Was he really as heartless as she had always secretly feared? Her eyes wide, she lifted her hands and, without hesitation, she shoved him as hard as she could, disappointed when he kept his balance, and glared at him through now wet eyes.

"How…dare you!" she hissed, tightening her hands into fists at her sides. "You…you…you kiss me like that and then you say that you shouldn't have? Obviously you thought that you should, considering you did it in the first place, you, you…you unfeeling…heartless….bastard!"

In a fit of anger, she brushed past him, moving towards the broken stairs, and felt a surge of hope through her anger when she felt him grab her arm and say, "Sansa…"

Lifting her free hand, she brushed the back of it across her eyes and gave him a look.

"What?"

His jaw clenched, his hand still firm around her upper arm, he firmly said, "It's not as simple as I would like. First of all, you're married," and at that, the wind in her sails immediately blew out, the reality of their situation coming down on her hard. "Second of all," Bronn added, "You're young. You don't know what you're feeling and I'm in all too perfect a position to take horrible advantage of it…and I won't, even with your husband's blessing."

At that, Sansa's eyes went wide and she looked at the sellsword in shock.

"Tyrion…Tyrion knows about this?"

He nodded.

"Saw it long before either of us did, actually. Told me so this morning."

She didn't know how to react, but finally she managed to say, "If…if he's given you permission, then I give you mine, as well," and Bronn looked at her in shock. Just as he opened his mouth to say something in response, she cut him off with, "No. I don't want to hear excuses that you've already thought of. I know my feelings and I won't be treated like a little girl that needs to be protected, anymore. I will be a part of this relationship."

Sansa glared at him, daring him to challenge her. He stared right back…and then used his grip on her arm to pull her to him, almost violently, and she tensed up as he held her tightly against him, leaving not a breath of air between them.

"This isn't a relationship. It's a secret. If it's a secret, then it can't be a relationship, is that clear?" he hissed, and she shakily nodded, but his grip didn't lessen. "Yes, Sansa…I care for you. Far more than I should. But you need to understand that feelings are what get you killed. Especially in a place like King's Landing."

His breath was hot against her face and she kept herself as still as possible, trying not to let it show just how much he could still intimidate her.

"I understand," she whispered, still feeling the same thrill as before, the sensation settling between her thighs. For some unknown reason she wanted to press herself against him, but she withheld from the impulse and instead waited for him to let go of her…but he continued to hold on.

"You don't know what it takes to keep you at arm's length, girl. These moments are all we're goin' to get. It won't be easy…hell, it'll be downright bloody difficult and fucking near impossible," he said, slowly letting go of her arm. "But, it will also be dangerous. Life and death, as it were. No one else can know. No one." He pressed his fingers to her jaw, leveling their eyes with one another and he added, "I've taught you what you need to know, and I'll keep on training you…but now there's a chance you'll have to use that training. Something I hoped it would never come to…"

He moved his fingers to her hair, and Sansa closed her eyes and pressed her head into the caress, savoring it for the few moments that she could.

"You completely confound me, girl," the sellsword muttered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She opened her eyes at his words and said, "Is that a good thing?"

He chuckled.

"Depends on your definition of good," he said and she smiled.

"I'll take what I can get," she murmured and he smirked and then gently pulled away, offering his arm to her once more.

"I think it's time to be gettin' back, milady."

Sansa nodded.

"I think you're right."

And they left, both of them with their smiles on the inside, neither of them quite believing what had just transpired between them. This was no longer a simple alliance made out of necessity, but instead it was something more; something better. And it was theirs.

But, as they turned the corner, Bronn escorting her back to her and her husband's chambers, a trickle of fear ran down Sansa's spine. She remembered what Bronn had said, that it was now a matter of life and death, and she kept that in the back of her mind. Yes, she may have found love for the first time in her life…but she could not let her emotions betray her. And at that thought, her internal smile fell. She would have to pretend that nothing had changed.

He let go of her arm and bowed, as he always did, and she slipped inside her quarters and then put a hand over her mouth as she let out a choked sob at the horrible realization.

The one time in her life that she was happy, truly happy…and no one could know.

Her eyes completely filled with tears by this point, she rushed into her room and threw herself onto her bed, and cried quietly into her pillow. There was no doubt in her mind that she was in love, and that was what made it so hard.

She would have to lie about it.

Part 9/?

A.N. - So...what do you think? Have I firmly captured your attention, now? ;)