Chapter 14

Bronn woke up all too early the next morning, his senses on high alert after his encounter with Lady Sansa the night before. The woman was magnetic, whether she realized it or not, and he could not seem to get free of her, no matter how he tried. Not that he particularly wanted to, of course. In his agitation, he made his way down the servants' corridors, wanting to avoid anyone of the main castle. He was in a mood and was liable to take it out on anyone who crossed his path.

The sellsword went over the plans in his mind; his own plan to escape King's Landing, and Lord Baelish's plan to secret Sansa away.

He wasn't entirely sure what the weasel of a man had planned, but he had a few vague ideas as to what it could be. He knew of a few men who might still be swayed to help out a Stark, especially for one as fair as Sansa. It wouldn't take entirely too much convincing, to be honest.

However, what bothered him most and had him on edge at that very moment was the thought of Shae getting to Lord Baelish before Baelish could get the girl out. The instant that Petyr knew about his and Sansa's, well…relationship, and he used the term loosely, they were done for, and Bronn could not risk them being caught. If Baelish knew, then he would stop in any attempt to help her and instead use the information to blackmail either one, or both of them, and use them for his own devious purposes, and, again, Bronn could not risk it.

A plan steadily forming in his mind, he made his way towards the handmaidens' quarters…but stopped just short of it, hiding himself so that he could see the entrance and the comings and goings of the girls without being seen.

The only way to make sure it didn't happen was to stop it before it could.

Bronn was going to talk to the bitch, and see if he could show her a better arrangement that would be mutually beneficial to all of them. Of course, he had no idea what he could offer her, but it was better if he tried, instead of not trying at all. He knew that Sansa would expect it of him, even if it was against his nature. He absently caressed the blade tucked away in his left sleeve, making sure that it still slid easily into his grasp, not wanting to take any risks. The sellsword was, of course, prepared for all circumstances.

An unbearably long amount of time later, Shae walked from the handmaidens' quarters, her shoulders pulled back imperiously, the long hem of her red dress catching in the breeze, at which Bronn darkly grimaced at. A portent of what was to come, he was certain, but of whose fate, he was entirely unsure.

As Shae turned, he discreetly followed, silently grateful that she was traveling the less guarded paths that had no other souls among them, leaving the two of them undisturbed. After a while, however, he soon realized where she was heading and he reluctantly tightened his fingers around the hilt of his blade.

She was heading to Baelish's official quarters.

Bronn let out a wearying sigh, but steeled his jaw and lengthened his stride.

She had to be dealt with.

His long legs effortlessly caught up to her, where he then wrapped an unforgiving hand around her arm, dragging her away from her intended path and towards a disused dock, where the remains of an old fishing boat still lingered in the water, the rope tying it to the dock frayed and ready to turn to dust at the slightest touch. His other hand, which he had clapped firmly over her mouth, stifling any sounds that she might make, dropped, and the instant it did, her eyes snapped up to his, flashing dangerously.

"What do you think you are doing?" she hissed at him, finally having the semblance of thought to wrench her arm from his grasp.

Bronn glared at her.

"You're going to Lord Baelish."

It wasn't a question, and she knew it, but she stared back at him, an eyebrow raised in silent defiance of his words, as if daring him to say anything more…so he did.

"I can't let you do that."

At that, she scoffed, and said, as she insouciantly tossed her hair over her shoulder, "And you think you are going to stop me? You think of yourself too highly, sellsword…" She said the last word like a curse, practically spitting it out, her shoulders rounding like a snake about to strike.

He had been planning on talking to her, shockingly enough, but now he could tell that talking would not be an option.

Her entire body was openly daring him to make a move, and he was tempted to do exactly as she expected and make the first move…but he didn't. Instead, he waited. Shae smirked at him, as though she was already victorious.

"That's what I thought…you are a coward. You don't have the stomach to kill me." Bronn said nothing, and she continued to speak, attempting to rile him up. "Unlike you, I know what I want and I will do anything to get it. Tyrion is an idiot who thinks with his cock, and would never dare imagine that a woman could outsmart him. Well, I have, and I will do everything I can in order to escape this hell! Do you think I like being a whore? I may be good at it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Unlike you," she added, sneering. "Who seems to welcome the blood on his hands, so long as there's gold in it as well."

Bronn said nothing, even as her words hit dangerously close to home.

"You think she loves you? The Stark girl?"

The sellsword didn't reply, but he felt his heart beat hasten for the first time during their encounter.

"You are sadly mistaken, sellsword…she only just turned a woman and, like Tyrion, is only thinking about the heat between her legs, and she will leave you once you give her what she wants! It's what bitches like her do…"

Bronn raised an eyebrow at her surprisingly creative twist of words, but other than that, showed no outward reaction to her inflammatory words.

Shae smirked a second time…and then she did exactly the wrong thing. She turned away from him.

Taking advantage of the opening, his hand and heartbeat steady, Bronn stepped up behind her, his dagger fitting neatly between her third and fourth ribs, his other hand wrapped firmly around her mouth, stifling any sound that she might make. Her whole body stiffened in his grasp, struggled for a brief moment, and then fell limp, her weight suddenly becoming heavier than expected, balancing solely on his blade and braced against his body. Letting out a low groan of exasperation, he pushed her off him, ignoring the low thud of her body as it landed on the worn out boards of the dock.

"Stupid whore," he muttered as he idly wiped off his dagger with the hem of his tunic. "Never turn your back on a man you know is willing to sell his sword…"

Bronn then lifted the dagger up to eye level and inspected it in the light, checking to make sure that he'd removed all of the blood from the blade.

He looked down at Shae's body and let out a weary sigh.

"Couldn't be helped."

He slid the dagger back into its' proper resting place and then leaned over and yanked at the twine, which was significantly stronger than it looked, using it to tie a rock around her waist. He then looked down at her one last time, his eyes cold and distant…and then, with one firm shove of his boot against her side, pushed her into the water.

A proper burial, he thought to himself.

He stared at what little blood stained the dock and brushed it off. No one would think twice about it, and would assume that it was from fish, and not from a human.

As he stalked back towards the castle, he thought about his actions and whether or not they had been strictly necessary…but then he thought of Sansa. The conclusion was simple. Shae had been a threat to Sansa's safety. Now she wasn't. He had done the right thing.

His fingers tightened briefly on the dagger at his waist, and he silently wished that he could have made the little bitch suffer more than she had. It had been a more reverent death than she had deserved. Shae deserved to have been tortured for several hours on the point of his blade, begging for death…that would have much more fitting and much more satisfying for him, but Bronn knew that Sansa would not approve, so he had kept it clean and quiet.

He was not worried about Tyrion. The Lord would worry for a few days, but then come to the conclusion that Shae had found a way out of King's Landing, and that suited the sellsword just fine.

However, as Bronn approached his quarters, he thought of Sansa and guilt, an unusual feeling for him, struck him once more.

He could not tell her what he had done. However, he knew it would come out eventually, but now was not the time for it to happen. Later, perhaps. But even as he thought it, the nauseous feeling returned. Even after he was in his private rooms, as he stripped his weapons from his person, the thought came back to him, along with the unaccustomed feelings.

He had done it for her.

Feeling a sudden, inexplicable surge of anger, he threw his jerkin to the floor, almost violently, and then glared back at his closed door, as though silently accusing it of wrongdoing against him.

Despite every logical and practical reason that condoned and supported his actions, Bronn knew, without a doubt, that they would come back to haunt him in some way. It was easy enough lying to Tyrion; he did it regularly and without any feelings of guilt…but lying to Sansa? That was different. It was completely different. By now, he was able to admit the truth to himself. He was in love with her. Bronn, the mighty sellsword, now knight, feared by most everyone, including his employer, had been brought to his knees by a girl. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

And not just any girl. Sansa Stark.

The fiercest, kindest, and most fascinating woman that he had ever met…and he was completely and utterly in love with her.

And it fucking terrified him. He had made a silent promise to himself to never let anyone in like that. But now, completely unexpectedly, he had, and it was clouding his judgment. He briefly considered simply following his old plan and leaving…but his conscience stopped him from doing so. Bronn knew he couldn't do that to her.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, agitated and feeling off balance. Ironic considering that he had been steady and calm only minutes before as he'd sent Shae to her watery grave, never to be seen again, his hand sure, his movements clean and precise. Sansa changed all that. She made him feel…well, that was the problem. She made him feel. And, as he'd told Tyrion, feelings, in his line of work, only got people killed, and that was the exact thing that he was trying to prevent.

A dragon and a wolf.

That did not bode well…

Resigning himself to the inevitable continual frustration, he reluctantly lied down on his cot, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.

He would not go quietly, that was for certain. If Sansa was his final destination, then he would most likely fight it every step of the way, so Bronn began to mentally prepare himself for the battle ahead. It would involve denial and plenty of misplaced anger, he was sure, and he was fairly positive that the Stark girl would receive the brunt of it; not on purpose, however.

He out a sigh and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow. He'd deal with it tomorrow.

Part 14/?