Chapter 19

It had been over two weeks of traveling, and during that time, Bronn had stayed true to his word and allowed her to follow from further behind and during that time, Nymeria had approached her several times. Sansa had persuaded her with a bit of dried meat from her pack, and the wolf had taken it gently from her hand, taking care to not hurt her, which was a good sign.

A very good sign.

Bronn stayed far away. Even though he believed in her, he still didn't trust the animal, not that Sansa could blame him.

Outside of the North, everyone saw direwolves as foul omens, harbingers of death and destruction. Whereas, for house Stark, they were a symbol of strength and family. Direwolves looked after their own, no matter the cost. Which was one of the reasons why Sansa was feeling so protective of Nymeria. One of the many. Also, Nymeria felt like a tenuous hold on her last connection to the North. To Winterfell. To everything that she had been forced to leave behind.

And she wouldn't abandon it again.

The wolf liked to either follow from behind and hunt on deer and small predators, or surge ahead of them and scare off anyone who might be in their path. No one, besides Bronn, was stupid enough to try and hunt and kill a direwolf.

However, as they got closer to the north, and snow was no longer melting, but falling and staying thick on the ground, she noticed that Bronn was acting more tense.

He was stopping more often, and taking longer and longer patrols, as if he thought that they were being followed. Which, of course, wasn't possible; not with Nymeria hunting and scaring off anything that might come after them. Finally, after several more days of his odd behavior, he had them stop.

As he tied off his horse, he said to Sansa, "Summon your wolf. I think we're going to need her help."

"What? Why?" she asked, sliding down from her saddle and copying Bronn's movements. "Is there someone following us?"

His eyes darted around the small copse of trees that they'd entered, and he cagily answered, "I don't want to say. Think there might be some ears nearby…and I hate to admit it, but I'd feel a might more comfortable if your wolf was here to even up the odds…"

Hearing the tenseness in his tone, she nodded, but even as she went to pull out some food from her pack to draw Nymeria closer, her thoughts reaching out to her unconsciously, the golden-white direwolf came into view and drew up close to her side, her scent causing the horses to skitter slightly where they were tied. Her large head brushed against Sansa's upper arm and her hot breath fell across the Stark girl's hands. And then her head turned and let out a low growl in Bronn's direction.

"Nymeria," Sansa said softly, trying to keep her from attacking, "Bronn is a friend…"

At that, his eyebrow arched.

"Oh, demoted to friend, now, am I?"

She glared at him, and he took a step back…and then both of them were taken off guard when Nymeria suddenly lunged towards Bronn, and his sword swung out, but she jumped at the last moment and cleared his head, only to land on the other side of him, her jaws snapping tightly around the head of a man that neither of them had seen approaching.

There was a sound like a branch snapping, and then red stained her jaws and the snow around her paws. Her hackles rose as she moved between them and the figures that appeared from the forest around them, emerging from the shadows like ghosts.

Bronn stepped closer to Sansa, who hesitantly tugged at the hilt of her weapon, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder, at the ready.

One of the men, dressed in furs that Sansa had never seen before, stepped forward, his bow already knocked and ready to loose what looked to be a vicious arrow, with barbs all along the shaft. However, from the corner of her eye, she saw that Bronn didn't seem surprised.

"Well, well…wha's a direwolf, a girl, and a sellsword doing in these parts of the wood?" the man asked with a snarl.

Bronn shrugged and answered for both of them, "Jus' passin' through. We're not lookin' for any trouble," he cautiously added in a low voice, giving a pointed look at the eight men that surrounded them in a half circle. "Jus' passin' through…"

The man gave a grin, showing a gaping smile that had a few too many holes.

"Tha's a might presumptuous of you, dontcha think?" He stepped closer to them, undeterred by Nymeria's low warning growl, and then lowered his bow slightly and said, "I know who you are, Bronn. Your face and name are a sight that don't leave a man's mind easy when it's one of the last things that he sees and hears."

Sansa stilled.

Bronn didn't even hesitate.

"Only one of the last things? I must've missed, then," he snarked back at the man, resting his blade along his forearm without losing his grip on it.

Sansa, on the other hand, was not as relaxed, and didn't care how the two of them knew each other. She just wanted it all to be over. Feeling as if something needed to be done, unwilling to simply stand there and act like she needed to be saved, she took a step forward as well, her sister's wolf drawing closer to her as she did.

Sounding much more confident than she felt, she said loudly, "If you leave now, we'll let you live," but instead of the reaction that she'd hoped for, the men all looked at each other…and then started to laugh. She felt her face flush, but she swallowed and took another step forward, pulling out her blade the rest of the way and taking the proper fighting stance that Bronn had taught her. She was heir to Winterfell and she was going to act like it.

"Obviously you don't know a Stark when you see one," she goaded, and she heard Bronn groan and mutter behind her, "Oh, girl, you're going to get us killed…"

The man with the bow approached her, snow crunching loudly underfoot.

"A Stark?" He looked her up and down and she shivered in revulsion at the leer in his gaze. "You're a pretty thing for an inbred highborn…"

"You're thinking of the Lannisters," she shot back, settling a growling Nymeria with a hand on the wolf's shoulder. "We don't bear that disgusting affliction in the North," she added, arching an eyebrow, trying to look as imperious as she could, but certain she was only failing at it.

The man in the fur coat nodded.

"Good. That means you'll fetch a higher price."

He raised his bow…but in a blur of gold and white, along with a sickening crunch and a scream, he no longer had an arm to draw it. The other eight men all took a step back and Sansa felt a surge of confidence. She took another step forward and decided to make a stupid decision.

Raising her blade, she said loudly enough so that her voice carried across the clearing, "If you think you can take either of us alive, I wouldn't encourage you to try." She gestured at Bronn and Nymeria, who were both behind her; Bronn on her right, the direwolf on her left. She then declared, "I am Sansa Stark, heir to Winterfell. I have been taught to fight by Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, the Sellsword who's travelled North of the Wall, and I travel in the companion of a direwolf. Neither he nor my companion will show any mercy to those who think to profit off my capture."

She paused, catching her breath, trying not to show just how scared she was, even with a direwolf and sellsword at her side.

"And neither will I," she finally finished, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her short blade.

Bronn gave her a look, but moved to stand next to her, raising his curved weapon as well, forgoing his sword. He was preparing for a close contact fight…as was she. She widened her stance slightly and shared a look with her sellsword. He nodded. She looked back at the wildlings.

For a long while, the only sound was the wind as it jostled the branches, sounding less like branches and more like rattling bones.

And then four of them lunged towards her and Bronn, while the other four went for Nymeria. Not their best decision. All too quickly, the four was knocked down to two in just two snaps of the direwolf's jaws, while Sansa and Bronn held off the other four who came after them. Bronn easily fought off the two burlier ones, and Sansa found herself slightly surprised at how she was holding her own against the man who had a sword with a jagged hook on the end, and the slighter man who had an iron short sword.

She ducked under a wild swing, feeling the breeze as it passed too close over her head, and then came up and sliced just under their arm, and then swung around and blocked a blow that was meant for her neck and slid her blade along the wildling's, forcing it to the ground. She lifted her blade and swung it sharply down, at a steep angle, and blood, bright red, fell across her arms, chest, and face.

A sharp sting on her shoulder had her dropping to one knee and pivoting on the ball of her foot and blindly swinging her sword arm in the exact opposite direction that she'd just swung from.

More blood spray.

Sansa glanced over her shoulder to see Bronn just finishing up with his last one, a slash across the jugular.

The air was still, the only sound the three of them breathing hard, their breath looking like clouds of smoke in the cold air, and Nymeria approached her, butting her head roughly against her shoulder, as if reassuring her that she had done well.

Sansa shared a look with Bronn.

He gave her a grim smile.

"Nicely done, milady," he observed, gesturing to the two bodies at her feet. Her lips tightened, and she drew closer to the direwolf. He saw her reaction and quickly added, "No time to feel bad about it, girl. They would have taken you dead if they had to."

She simply nodded. She then reached down and used a handful of snow to wipe off her blade. Bronn did the same. The clearing was silent, save for the soft crunch of snow underfoot, as they both moved back to their horses, who had stayed tied and had not bolted, even in the midst of the fighting. The bodies of the wildlings lay sprawled in the snow, red turning to pink around them, while Sansa tried to put it to the back of her mind what she'd just done.

Not her first. But she had the upsetting feeling that they wouldn't be her last.

Saying nothing to each other, they were back on their way, with Sansa now the one taking the lead, as she knew the northern woods a bit better than the sellsword.

As the light faded, she saw a familiar pattern of boulders and trees, and knew that they were close to Winterfell. Within two days ride. She brought Zmaj up under the low hanging branches of one of the trees and cautiously dismounted. Bronn followed suit with Brego.

"So…" He gave her a look. "Where the hell are we?"

She didn't hesitate as she answered, "Two days ride from Winterfell." She removed the saddle and pulled a heavy cloak from one of the bags, wrapping it around her shoulders, ignoring the stain of red still on her clothes. "As soon as we're there," she softly added, "I'll be expected to take counsel."

Bronn nodded.

"Yes, you will. But what's going to become of me?" he asked with a drawl, setting up some wood for a fire.

Sansa's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

He snorted and explained, "Woman, you and I may have come to terms with our…arrangement…but that doesn't mean that whoever is left of your family will." Her eyes widened at his words, and he continued. "I don't think they're going to care that you have feelings for some up-jumped sellsword, no matter what you might think. They will do everything to keep me away from you, of that much I am certain." He paused and took a breath and then stepped towards her and added, "They'll think that I'm tryin' to use you and you can't really blame them, now, can you?"

She swallowed…and then nodded.

"No, I guess not."

She looked down at her feet and he brought two fingers under her chin and tilted her face back up to his.

"You are the rightful heir to Winterfell," he said softly…and then he crudely added, "So, you can go ahead and tell those cunts to shut it and mind their own business, milady." Her cheeks flushed at his words, and he smiled. "Now, how about you an' I get a damn fire started? I've no desire to go freezin' my cock off in this damned cold…"

Sansa rolled her eyes and pulled her head away and asked, "Must you always be so crude?"

"No, I don't have to, I suppose," he answered. "But it's so much more fun when I do…"

She continued to look irritated but helped him start the fire. Later that night, she had drifted off against his side after eating an entire rabbit on her own, and Bronn couldn't help but look down at her red hair and give a half-hearted smile.

One hand rested carelessly on his thigh, while the other gripped tightly to her curved knife. Even in sleep, her brow furrowed, as if she was thinking and strategizing her way out of a fight that she couldn't win, and Bronn used one gloved hand to brush a strand of red hair to the side, out of where it had fallen over face. Her nose wrinkled and she let out a soft sigh…and then settled a bit closer to him, fitting into him as if she had been made to fit just there, and nowhere else.

Not only had she seen her father beheaded in front of her, but she had also survived the death of her entire family, save for her two missing brothers, and missing younger sister. She was terrified of walking into a room with the queen mother, but could standoff and hold her own against a wildling with a direwolf at her side.

The sellsword marveled for a bit longer…and then she snorted.

He chuckled.

Heir to Winterfell indeed.

He settled against the bark of the tree behind him and tucked her closer. It was going to be a long night…and an even longer winter.

Part 19/?