Chapter 18

They had been riding for five days, tracking it as best they could. Well, Bronn was tracking it. Sansa was merely following him. Zmaj was agitated under her touch, and she could tell from the way her shoulders ached from holding him back, that he longed to run and stretch his legs. Not that she could blame him; she felt the same way.

Just as she was about to complain, Bronn halted his horse and held a hand out towards her, motioning for her to do the same.

She stilled, even as Zmaj moved under her in protest.

Bronn's keen eyes flitted around them, glancing between the trees, seeing things that she knew she couldn't. Sometimes she forgot just how skilled he was, because he hid it so well under his mask of seeming indifference…but then, at times like this, when everything seemed to be on a razor's edge, it showed through.

"Stay here," he muttered from the corner of his mouth as he softly dismounted, hardly making a single sound, and headed off into the woods surrounding them, trusting Brego to stay. He did.

Sansa sat bareback on her horse, trying to remain calm. If she was tense at all, the feisty gelding would pick up on it and would most likely bolt at the slightest sound. She knew that she had to trust Bronn to do what he did best, and keep her safe, as well. He was a better man than most in that sense; he actually cared about what could happen to her. So, she would stay. A few long minutes passed, and she tried to keep her panic down, swallowing hard each time she felt bile rising in the back of her throat.

After a few long, indeterminable minutes later, Bronn emerged from the brush and quickly swung a leg back over Brego and glanced over his shoulder at her.

"We need to move," he grunted, urging his horse forward.

She didn't question it, and simply followed him, even as he picked up to a dangerous pace through the dense forest. Sansa knew something was wrong, but she knew better than to ask about it. Bronn was never nervous or tense, but whatever was following them or tracking them had agitated him enough that he was showing his nerves. His hands gripped the reins too tightly, and his lips were drawn tight into a thin line. Someone…or something, was following them, and he didn't want to fight it. Zmaj, on the other hand, was glad for the change of pace.

Finally, after several long hours of silence, he drew Brego up, slowing him down to a walk, and Sansa let out a small sigh of relief at the reprieve. Brego's sides were covered in sweat and his breath was coming in long, heavy drafts. Sansa finally had the courage to say, "Bronn…we need to rest the horses. They can't keep going like this…"

He didn't respond for a long time…and then finally replied, in a reluctant tone, "Yeah…alright."

They went a bit further, just enough to find a nearby cold stream, and as soon as she dismounted, she went over to Bronn, who ignored her as he tiredly slid off the gelding and wandered over to the stream to splash cold water on his face, not even bothering to remove the horse's tack.

As Zmaj was only slightly tired, she immediately removed the leathers off of Brego and grabbed a cloth to wipe the poor animal down.

Whatever was going on was bad enough that the sellsword was neglecting his horse. It was bad.

After taking care of the two geldings, giving them cold, fresh water and a small bag of oats each, along with a firm brushing, she finally approached Bronn, who had been sitting next to the stream, looking back the way they had come with a wary eye, his sword out and resting on his knees, his right palm resting on the hilt of the blade.

"Bronn," she said tentatively, gently pressing her fingers to his shoulder to catch his attention, "Who's following us?"

He barely looked at her, his hand now gripping his sword tightly.

A long, tense moment passed, and he finally replied, "That's the thing…I'm not sure." Sansa withdrew her hand at his statement, and he quickly clarified, "I can tell you it's not a man. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I would say the tables had been turned and that wolf is tracking us."

She glanced back at the horses, who were grazing off their picket lines, and then at the path that they had taken in. It wasn't actually a path, but it was easy to see the area that their horses had passed through from where they sat. If the direwolf was tracking them…well, then they were in a very bad way.

She settled herself closer to him, her thigh up against his, and carefully asked, "Why do you think that?"

He worried his lip and answered, "How I've been trackin' it tells me it's circled around…but it hasn't attacked. That's not right. A direwolf forced this far south is one that is desperate, most likely rabid, and it makes no sense for it not to attack, especially with us havin' the horses with us. It should have eaten us days ago…but it hasn't. Also," he added, motioning to the trees, "They usually hunt in packs. Lone wolves that hunt tend to be more aggressive, so I'm a might confused. If it is that direwolf, it's either keepin' its distance for a reason, or it's a stupid beast. If it isn't, then I don't know what's followin' us…"

Bronn let his voice trail off, while Sansa thought about what he'd just said. A thought came to her, and she asked, "Bronn, can you tell how large an animal is or…or whether or not it's a male or female, just by tracking?"

He shrugged.

"Mostly. I figure we've got a female on our hands, roughly just under three hundred pounds, probably a young adult, four to six years old. Gold grey coat, I'm assuming, from what's been left behind," he replied, absently reaching out with his hand and tugging on a strand of her hair. Humming low in the back of his throat, he mused out loud, "We gotta change your hair, girl. You'll be spotted a mile away with these red flames…"

Sansa, however, barely heard him, thinking about what he'd just told her.

Suddenly, she stood up, ignoring his glare in her direction as she strode off purposely back the way they had just come.

The sellsword yelled at her as she started running, "What're you doing, woman? Trying to get us both fucking killed?", but ran after her anyway, even as she disappeared into the bushes and trees in front of him, not bothering to keep from making any noise.

Sansa's heart was in her throat as she ran, hoping against hope that she was right. Everything he said added up. Everything that he'd just told her, told her that there was hope. For both of them. She just prayed that Bronn was right, because if he was, then they had an actual chance of taking back Winterfell. They would have a chance at surviving the whole ordeal, and possibly even have a chance at a life for the two of them, in spite of everything horrible that had happened.

"Sansa!" Bronn yelled, but she ignored him. However, a firm hand grasping her shoulder and turning her around did, and she gasped, trying in vain to catch her breath, as Bronn glared at her and hissed, "What in the fuck are you doing, girl? You can't just run off like that when we're out in the middle of the woods! With all the noise and fuss you just made, you might as well have just served yourself up on a platter for that animal!"

She managed to catch her breath, and got out, "The direwolf isn't hunting or tracking us, Bronn. It's following us…"

"I fail to see the difference," he quipped back, pressing his hands to his knees, still catching his breath. "Either way, we're dead meat."

Sansa shook her head.

"No, you're not listening. It's following us…me, to be exact." He slowly stood back up, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. She quickly explained. "I told you that I had one once? Lady?" He nodded. "Well, we each had one. All of ours were killed, Bronn…all except Ghost and Nymeria. Nymeria was Arya's, and she sent her away when she realized that Joffrey was going to have her killed…"

She paused for a long moment, and then finally finished, "And I think she's the one following us. Following me…"

Bronn stared at her…and then let out a bark.

"Oh, you've got a be fuckin' kidding me," he said around a laugh. "Only the Starks would be mad enough to go taming direwolves…and now we've got our own fucking shadow. That's just great." He pivoted on his heel and began to pace, saying, "We can't have a pet direwolf, not with the horses."

But she interrupted him with, "Haven't you noticed the horses haven't been skittish? They haven't seemed to notice anything that you have, and if Nymeria's been tracking us, then she's doing a horrible job of it. She's been upwind the whole time…"

The sellsword looked at her, one eyebrow arched.

"Upwind, eh? And how'd you suddenly get so knowledgeable about tracking?"

Sansa gave him a look.

"I've told you before, father used to take us hunting. I may have been horrible at the hunting part, but that doesn't mean that I don't remember other things, Bronn. I'm not an idiot girl!" she snapped at him. "I know our wolves, and I know Nymeria. She and Lady were close companions, and she would never hurt me or go after the horses."

He snorted.

"That don't mean a thing to me, Sansa. She may not hurt you and, hell, she may not even hurt the horses…but can you guarantee she won't go after me?"

Sansa hesitated, and he gave her a look, one that she immediately recognized and absolutely despised. He had a point and he knew it…and he knew that she knew it. Swallowing down the childish urge to stamp her foot and go running off, she reluctantly admitted, "No. I suppose not."

Bronn, as if knowing just how upset she was, stepped towards her and drew her into an awkward hug, as he was still not accustomed to comforting others, and said roughly, but softly into her ear, "Look, I'm not saying no, entirely, I'm jus' sayin'…wait a bit." He felt her relax slightly in his arms, so he pulled her closer and suggested, "Maybe you can follow me from behind for a while, let your wolf come to you first. No chance of bandits or Lannister men following us with a direwolf around," he hesitantly acknowledged, a wry smile of amusement on his lips at the thought. "We do it a bit at a time, we might just work something out…"

She lifted her head and gave him a faint smile.

"Do you mean it?"

The sellsword nodded.

"Yeah. I do."

Sansa stared at him for a long time and then tucked her head into his neck and said, the words muffled against his skin, "Thank you for trusting me, Bronn," and he gave her a soft squeeze and replied, "Oh, don't think nothin' of it, milady. I'm sure it'll bite me in the ass at some point," and she let out a small laugh.

They eventually pulled apart, and he gave her a long look and drawled, "God, I sure hope you know what you're doing, girl…"

She gave him a smile, a familiar one that he hadn't seen since Kings Landing, and said, "Don't worry, Bronn. I'll keep you safe."

He snorted.

"Yeah, sure you will."

He turned back to the camp and she followed him, feeling a lightness of heart that she hadn't felt in ages. Since before meeting Joffrey. They were headed back to Winterfell, and they would be taking Nymeria back with them. Having Nymeria with her would ensure that the people would recognize and remember who their leader truly was. With Bronn and her sister's direwolf following close behind, she felt a rush of reckless hope and courage that she felt would be enough to push her through whatever challenges they might face heading back home.

She would step into her role as Lady of Winterfell, no matter what it took, and she would make all those who had destroyed her family pay.

Her mind filtered through who would receive her wrath first…and only one name came to mind.

Cersei Lannister.

Yes.

She would start with her.

Steel in her mind and a blazing fire in her heart, Sansa felt a new part of her awaken, a part of her that was hungry…and she felt a low growl of contentment at the back of her throat that she was certain wasn't hers. However, she didn't care. As she looked over at Bronn rubbing a hand over Brego's shoulder, a feral smile briefly flashed across her lips.

She was ready.

Part 18/?