Chapter 16

Sansa was nervous as a handmaiden dressed her, fastening her laces too tightly on her bodice.

"Jera," she said, a gasp in her voice, "It's too tight."

"But…all the ladies wear it this way, Lady Lannister," she said, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Sansa bristled at being called so formally, and glared at her in the mirror as she brusquely replied, "I don't care if it's the fashion, handmaiden. Loosen them or you will be dismissed."

Jera looked sufficiently scared and did as she asked, and Sansa let out a sigh of relief as she was finally able to breathe. She did not feel the least bit guilty as she watched the thirteen-year-old blonde leave the room, and instead felt a rush of confidence. Today was the day that she was escaping.

All too soon, Tyrion showed up to escort her, and she let herself be led to the chapel of the seven gods, ignoring the looks sent in their direction. She kept her head held high and her eyes focused. Baelish had told her that he would smuggle her out during the wedding feast, so she would have to wait. She could wait. Sansa had waited long enough and few more hours of daylight were worth the price to pay to finally be free of King's Landing.

Tyrion gently squeezed her wrist as Joffrey walked up to the dais to wait for his soon to be wife, Margaery Tyrell.

She clenched her jaw as the vows were being said. The only thing that reassured her was the fact that she wasn't the one who was standing up the dais, being forced into marriage with a boy who probably would have raped her on their wedding night. She swallowed as they walked down and passed by her, relieved she wasn't the one on his arm, his ring shackled to her hand…but also scared for Margaery. The things he would most likely do to her...she felt sick to her stomach.

All too soon, but at the same time, not soon enough, they made their way to the wedding feast, Tyrion on her arm the whole way, giving her strength and resolve in just his firm hand on her wrist.

As they were settled next to Tommen, Sansa discreetly glanced around the courtyard, trying to see just how things might be happening. However, as Joffrey proceeded to humiliate Tyrion in front of everyone, she felt a churning in her gut. A feeling that she shouldn't reach out for the goblet as it fell under the table.

…and it proved to be the right choice.

As he lay choking in his own blood, the place went into a panic, Cersei rushing down from her chair to hold her dying son in her arms, screaming at everyone to either get away from her or to help her. Which one was more important to her, Sansa didn't know. And she didn't care. During the melee, she felt a hand grab her wrist and drag her out past the marble columns and down a hidden path, nearly completely overgrown with deep ivy.

After being dragged what felt like a mile through an unfamiliar backwash of King's Landing, a hoarse voice hissed back at her, "Keep up, girl. Baelish paid me to get you out of here alive, and if you can't keep your feet I will leave you here to rot. Do you understand?"

She nodded, and he then added, "My name's Asher," and she quickened her pace, and Asher soon let go of her wrist, obviously reassured that she could keep up. Her heart pounded and she heard thunder in her ears as they ran through more overgrown underbrush, and Sansa felt a wave of relief wash over her when she saw the horses. There were three of them: one for each of them to ride, and the third laden down with food and supplies. Without thinking about it, she swung up onto the large chestnut without any help, ignoring the hand the middle-aged man offered her.

Sansa tugged on her cloak, making sure that it covered her red hair, which was a dead giveaway. Asher swung up on top of the bay and pulled away practically as soon as his feet were in the stirrups. She urged her horse forward and followed after him; the pack-laden blood bay gelding was tethered to Asher's horse and easily followed, no tension in the rope.

They broke into a brisk trot, and then into a canter, taking an un-seeable route through the trees and beyond the borders of King's Landing.

They rode in silence for hours, the older man glancing back at her every so often, as though making sure that she hadn't taken off. Sansa felt questions on the tip of her tongue, but she tightened her grip on the reins and pinched her lips, afraid that any wrong word might change Asher's mind.

After a long while, they broke the thick woods into a small clearing, arriving at a small shack. He slid off his horse and petted its' neck, murmuring in that raspy voice of his, "Good girl, Lyra."

He removed her saddle and bridle, slipped on her halter and tied her off, letting her graze, while Sansa slowly followed suit, hesitant to be stopping so soon. She would have much rather rode all through the evening and into the dead of night, as she wanted as much distance between her and her prison as possible. However, that was not the only reason why she was wary. As she removed her cloak, she didn't have to look to feel the man's eyes on her. It made her skin crawl.

After tying off her horse, she polished the leather, and then finally asked, "My horse…what's her name?"

"His," Asher corrected her. "His name's Zmaj."

Sansa's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What does that mean?"

He snorted and muttered, "Stupid girl doesn't know her languages," but louder, he said, "It means dragon. And it suits him, the beast," he added, a dark smile on his cracked and sunburnt lips. "He's a fiery one, he is. But he seems to be calm under your touch, Lady Lannister."

She looked away, disconcerted by his almost leering look, and then said in a short, clipped tone, "I will not be called Lady Lannister any longer. You may either call me Sansa, or…" She paused, knowing that she couldn't be called Lady Stark, for obvious reasons, and then finished her sentence impulsively, saying, "Lady of the Blackwater."

Asher gave her a look, but then nodded.

"As you wish…Lady of the Blackwater."

She flushed, but couldn't help but be pleased at how it sounded. She pulled out a bag of oats out of the packs and gave some of them to the pack horse, who had been nudging her side for the past few moments, not so discreetly asking her if she had any treats.

"And this animal's name?"

He grunted.

"Brego."

Sansa looked calmly at the blood bay and ran her fingers through its mane as it shoved its nose into the bag, munching away. She would give him to Bronn. He would be a good match for him, she thought. Brego, much like Bronn, was strong and silent. Suddenly, the horse brought his nose around and nipped at her side, and she startled. Brego seemed amused at her reaction and snorted. She playfully slapped him on his broad shoulder. He was just as devious as Bronn, as well. A perfect match.

As it got dark, Asher told her to get inside, and that he would stand guard. However, as Sansa stood inside the barely standing four walls, she felt a surge of apprehension in her stomach. Even though he seemed cordial enough, she had an uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong. Yes, Baelish had paid him to get her out. But how far out? And how was she going to break away from him to meet Bronn without him knowing?

Taking her time, she turned towards the cot in the corner, wary of how it was positioned away from the door. Bronn had taught her to never turn her back on her exit. She moved the cot and sat down on top of it, wrapping her arms around her knees, her fingers touching on the blade on her lower leg. She would draw it if she had to.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually her eyes drifted, and she startled awake at hearing the door swing open.

Immediately, her hand went to her blade and she drew it out, getting quickly to her feet, prepared to defend herself…and then saw that it was Asher.

"Steady, girl. It's mornin'." She looked outside in shock, not quite able to believe that she had actually slept. He tossed a piece of bread in her direction and grunted, "There's your breakfast, now saddle up Zmaj and let's get moving. No sign of anyone followin' us, but I'm not takin' any chances, now get your pretty ass in gear."

He left, and Sansa felt a surge of anger at his coarse actions. Fine. If he was going to treat her that way, then she would act that way. She moved to the pack that he'd thrown in after her the night before, and dug through it, pleased to find the exact linens she'd been hoping to find. Men's trousers, a tunic, and a thick, cowled cloak that would disguise her hair and face easily. She glanced behind her, making sure the door was shut, and quickly changed. If she was going to be on the run, then a dress would only get in her way.

As she emerged from the ramshackle hut in her new clothes, Asher gave her a quick once over, and then grunted again.

"Good to see you bein' practical, Lady of the Blackwater." He tightened the girth on Lyra and then moved over to Brego, throwing the pack over his withers. "We'll be ridin' hard today, so no more of this leisurely wanderin', now. Before, we were trying to see if anyone was followin'. No one is. So, today we're aimin' for distance. Zmaj is strong, and he'll last longer than the other two, so I'll set the pace with Lyra, here, so we don't tire out. Think you can handle it, milady?"

She tightened her jaw and straightened her back and moved to Zmaj, putting on the tack quickly and efficiently, and then swung up into the saddle with practiced ease and shot a look in Asher's direction.

"I am not to be coddled, Asher," she said, spitting his name out like a curse. "Running is what wolves do best, after all."

He smirked and shot her a humorless grin as he swung up into his own saddled, grabbing the lead reins for Brego as he did, and replied, "Good. Because today…you're going to be running."

He took off into a brisk canter, and Sansa followed. After only a mile, he broke into a gallop, and she urged her gelding to follow, and she felt a rush of joy at feeling him surge beneath her, his legs flying over the forest floor, never a misstep as she lead him after her bodyguard. It had been a long time since she'd done something like this. She had used to love taking out her father's prize stallion and running him through the paths across Winterfell. It was as close to flying as she'd ever felt, and it was a heady feeling, blood pounding through her head, feeling the muscles of the horse between her thighs pushing through every stride with pure strength…absolutely intoxicating.

For an hour or so, she was able to forget why they were running, and lost herself to the rhythmic pounding of Zmaj's hooves on the hardened ground, each one echoing in her head like a promise of the path that lay before her. A reminder that she was one step closer to Bronn.

After two hours, they slowed down, allowing the horses to walk and breathe, and give them both a chance to catch their breath, as well.

Hesitantly, she asked, "Where are we?"

Asher gave her a look, as if he wasn't going to answer her, but then said, "West of Rosby. Baelish gave me instructions to take you to Rosby. Said you'd be hidden and well taken care of at a local inn. He knows the innkeeper's daughter, and she's promised to keep an eye on you."

West of Rosby. Where Bronn said they would meet.

She stopped Zmaj.

"I have to relieve myself," she said quickly, sliding out of the stirrups and down to the ground. She turned and walked towards the trees, glancing back behind her, making sure that he was still there. Yes. He was still there. Now, how was she going to find Bronn? She ducked behind a wide tree, just out of sight, and looked around her.

The forest west of Rosby. Think, she told herself. Think. Bronn would leave a sign that only she would understand. But what would he leave behind that no one else would notice? What might he do that would draw only her attention, and no one else's? And then it hit her. He would have left something of his behind. Something that only she knew about. Which meant nothing to her. No. He wouldn't have left something behind. No…she had to leave something behind. Quickly, Sansa ripped part of her shirt at the hem and tied it on a branch.

Deciding it had been long enough, she walked back out and got back on Zmaj, but not before casually saying that she would hold Brego's reins.

Asher seemed slightly surprised, but also relieved, and willingly handed over the reins.

They broke back into a swift canter, not quite at full pace, while Sansa kept her eyes open. He would come for her. Tracking people down was what he was good at. He would find her, of that much she was certain. He would find her and save her. No, not save her. Be with her.

She knew that she would never truly be safe, not until the search was called off, and that would only happen if they thought she was dead.

They continued this way for several more days, camping every night.

On the fourth night, they slowed once more, and then Asher came to a stop and said, "We'll stay here for the night. It's just half a day away from the city. You'll sleep next to the fire, I'll keep watch." He dropped from Lyra and moved to tie her off to a stake he stabbed deep in the ground.

She watched for a long while, not quite willing to dismount, but finally did, taking care of the two other horses, still taken aback by how kind he was to his own horse compared to the other horses. He was deeply affectionate with the mare, but was brusque with the boys, treating them both more like pack mules, instead of the brilliantly smart and strong horses they were. Much like he treated people. His mare, Lyra, was lovely, but complied too easily with his wishes, bending her head with every single touch, giving in as if there was nothing else, her personality dull and indistinct from any other animal's.

Her father, Ned Stark, had taught her that a horse and rider should always be in conversation, and that the rider should respect the horse enough to recognize when to follow the animal's instincts over their own. If the horse followed too blindly, it could lead a man straight into danger. Sansa felt that slightly defiant spark of fire in both Brego and Zmaj.

They listened to her, but they scolded her when she was wrong with snorts and subtle shifts of their bodies, and she respected it.

The light dropped quickly and Asher started their fire just as fast as night fell. Sansa moved close to it, laying out a roll of cloth that did little to insulate the ground beneath her, but it was better than nothing. He moved away from the fire, just as he'd said he would, and turned his back to it, his sword across his knees, staring out into the darkness.

Sansa ate little, her appetite escaping her as she thought of what might happen if Bronn did not find her in time.

She pushed it from her mind and as she began to settle for the night, she brought over Zmaj, who laid down behind her.

She finally laid down, her back to her horse, drawing warmth from him keeping her eyes trained on Asher's faint outline, certain that she would not be sleeping. Again, she was wrong. She woke up suddenly in the night, disoriented and confused when she saw Asher gone from his place. Immediately on her guard, she drew her blade and got to her feet, Zmaj surging to a standing position behind her, picking up on her tense body language.

He snorted and pawed, but she settled him with a touch of her hand on his neck.

Straining her ears, Sansa heard the faint sounds of a scuffle.

Robbers.

Realizing she would have to fight, she steeled herself, and pulled out another small blade from her pack while she still had time. This was what Bronn had prepared and trained her for. She could do this. She kicked dirt over the fire to make it more difficult for her opponent to see, and pressed closer to the gelding to hide herself and give her an advantage. Fast feet, level knees, loose hips, she silently recited in her mind. Fast feet, level knees, loose hips.

Very faintly, she heard the shuffling of feet.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt.

A hand suddenly grabbed her arm.

Screaming, she violently wrenched her arm out of her attacker's grasp and turned on him, bringing her knee up, feeling it hit ribs, and he groaned and fell back a step. Pressing forward, she closed the space between them and lashed out with her blade, but an arm came up just in time, so she only hit leather. Realizing she had to get him to the ground, she pulled back slightly and then surged forward and used her weight to throw the two of them to the ground, where they tussled for a moment, until she unexpectedly found herself pinned.

Remember what Bronn had taught her, she rotated her hips, brought her knee up as hard as she could, and the man grunted, his hands loosening on her wrists, so she kicked him again, and crawled out from underneath him the instant she was free. She stood and brought her blade to his neck, her other hand holding his head still, but then he spoke…

"Dammit, girl, I should never have taught you that fucking move…"

She froze.

Her blade fell to the ground.

Sansa suddenly felt her knees give out under her and she dropped to the forest floor and then moved so that she knelt in front of the sellsword, not quite believing it was him.

"Bronn…is it…really you…?"

"No, I'm a white walker, of course it's bloody me, girl! I've been tracking you for days, now." He rubbed his throat and gave her a look in the dark. "I've taken care of Asher, don't you worry 'bout that. I just need to know if you're alright?"

She nodded, unable to speak, staring at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Finally, at a loss for words and not sure of what else to do, she put her hands on either side of his face and drew him into a kiss, trying to show what she couldn't say. It was a hot and fierce kiss, a mixture of teeth and tongue as they both tried to find solace in each other. She pressed herself closer, so that they were flush against each other from shoulder to thigh.

Finally, she pulled back and said, "I missed you…"

He let out a laugh.

"And I missed you, you maddening woman. You didn't make it easy to track you, you know."

Sansa shrugged and shook her head.

"I didn't have much of a choice. Asher kept us moving so often, I barely had any time…I was so afraid you…you wouldn't…" She nearly choked on her words, the tears finally starting to fall as the weight of everything came crashing down. She was free. She was with Bronn. They were together…

Before she could spend a second longer thinking on it, Bronn dragged her up to her feet as he stood, and then looked over at the two horses, Zmaj and Brego. He pointed at them and said, "We're keeping the horses, don't care what you say, girl," and she managed to put herself back together enough to snap back with, "I was planning on keeping them, you idiot. I figured you would track us on foot, mostly, so you would need a horse. That one's yours," she added, motioning to Brego.

She grabbed her pack and swung up onto Zmaj bareback, and then gave the sellsword a faint smile as he followed suit.

"Now," she said, turning the chestnut in his direction. "Where are you taking me?"

He gave her a grim smile.

"We're headed north, milady," he said, and she drew in a sharp breath. "Your kingdom needs their queen."

Surprised, but suddenly feeling hopeful for the future, Sansa nodded, and they turned their horses away from the path, Bronn leading the way on the blood bay gelding. For the first time, she felt a surge of strength run through her. She would be going home to Winterfell, reclaiming the north.

With Bronn at her side.

Part 16/?