Author's Note: Thank you again for the comments and reviews:) In this chapter I'll be introducing some of the San/San storyline. I had considered doing separate oneshots for the two of them, but since they're both more essential to the story from here on out, I decided just to go ahead and include their side romance in here. It won't detract from Amarah/Jaime though, so don't fret it your not really a San/San shipper like myself:) Read on and please enjoy!
Sansa did not understand the way Amarah looked at Jaime Lannister. The same girl whose disposition could once freeze over a desert waste if she so wished, now looked at the ruthless Kingslayer as if she actually liked him. Even worse, it almost appeared as if she might even fancy herself in love with the man. The way they had embraced after the Kingslayer pulled Amarah to safety had weighed heavily on Sansa's mind well into the next morning. She quite simply couldn't fathom how the logical, level-headed cousin she had known since birth could behave so friendly towards a man who should be considered their enemy, but she meant to find out.
There had been no time for conversation that morning as Pia bustled into her room and informed her that their party was already assembling in the courtyard below to begin their trek down the mountain. Sansa had felt a wonderful sense of freedom settle around her as she put on her traveling clothes and packed up any precious few items that she wished to take with her, not that there had been many. This place had never really been a home to her, despite Petyr's attempts to make it so. Sansa knew where her true home was, and she would never forget.
Once she had been prepared to leave, Pia led her down to the courtyard where her cousin was waiting. Sansa caught sight of Jaime Lannister's white cloak fluttering in the breeze as he left Amarah's side and moved to the head of the company as they began their way out of the fortress. Harry was standing nearby as well, with the flakes of fluffy, white snow mingling with the golden strands of his hair. He would not be departing with them. Sansa had been told last night during all the confusion that Harry had managed to escape death during the attack on the keep, and the Kingslayer saw no reason to withhold the fortress from him under the condition that he would in no way oppose the Lannister cause in the war. In the interest of saving his own skin, Harry had agreed to the demands. His quick loyalty to the Lannister cause came as no great surprise to Sansa. Harry wasn't the type of man who she would have thought to describe as particularly strong willed, or steadfast for that matter. She didn't consider the loss of their connection with one another to be a great one.
Sansa moved her gaze from Harry without bothering to issue a farewell and went to meet Amarah who was now in the company of the tallest and most fierce looking woman Sansa had ever laid eyes on. "This is Lady Brienne of Tarth," Amarah made the introductions after noticing Sansa's impolite stare.
The lady under inspection didn't turn a hair at Sansa's curious looks. Feeling suddenly contrite, Sansa realized that she must have been an object of intense scrutiny for most of her life. "I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell," the greeting automatically fell from her lips, accompanied by a shallow curtsey.
The stoic figure returned her introduction with a short bow. "I am glad to finally meet you, my lady. We have searched most long and hard to find your whereabouts."
"I know," Sansa murmured in return. "I am most grateful for it."
A good natured smile escaped Amarah's lips at Sansa's formality. "There's no need to act like the impeccably mannered lady of the keep, cousin," she ordered light-heartedly. "You're among friends now."
Sansa cast a pointed glance in the direction of Jaime Lannister. "Am I?"
Amarah opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the order to move out. Sansa could tell her cousin was annoyed at the interruption. "We'll discuss that in due time," she promised with a firm look that didn't invite further discussion. Following that edict, she dropped the subject in favor of falling into step with the rest of the company.
Sansa followed her example and they spent the following hours in companionable silence as they devoted their full concentration to picking their way along the steep mountain path. As they walked cautiously along, a multitude of questions ran through Sansa's mind, but she understood that now was not the time or place to discuss them. So she had to content herself with marching along to the orders of a man whose family she despised while Amarah acted as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for a Baratheon and a Stark to be traveling under the protection of a Lannister. After several hours of arduous walking, Sansa caught sound of a shouted order for the company to halt for a short respite in order to regain their strength. Shortly, they would recommence with the journey.
Once their marching came to a complete stop, Sansa took the opportunity give voice to one of the many questions floating around in her muddled brain. "Where do we plan to go to meet with the Lady Stoneheart?"
"She's not just Lady Stoneheart, Sansa. She's your mother," her cousin made sure to remind her before she quickly amended that thought. "That is, some of Aunt Cat is in that vengeful soul somewhere. She's the leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners so we will have to cross the Riverlands to find them."
"Do you expect me to stay with her when we do find them?" Sansa pressed, wanting to know more of Amarah's intended plans for her.
A look of mild alarm crossed her cousin's face at the question regarding Lady Stoneheart. "Of course I won't leave you with her! If Jaime allows it, I hope for the both of us to return to Winterfell and reclaim it in the name of the Starks. In your name, and yours alone."
Amarah's words confused Sansa because they bespoke of an allegiance to the house Stark while still aligning herself with the Kingslayer. Sansa longed to let loose the stream of questions and accusations of betrayal from her rigidly held tongue, but she schooled her features into an impassive mask to hold the words at bay. However, it appeared her cousin would not be fooled.
"I know that look."
"I don't know what you mean." Sansa attempted to play the fool, but her cousin was too clever for that.
Amarah took her cousin by both shoulders and forced her meet an unflinching gaze that seemed to bore straight into Sansa's soul. "I've seen many times before that carefully constructed mask you wear, as if you have no emotions simmering beneath the surface worth seeing. I know that look because it's the very one I wore for so many years living the capital. You don't need that look with me Sansa. I want to know your thoughts, and you need never fear letting me see them."
"I don't think you will like them," Sansa admitted, letting a disappointed frown creep slowly out from behind the serene mask.
"I believe I can already guess some of them." Sansa saw Amarah's gaze move from her to the edge of the company where Jaime Lannister stood, the golden sun glinting off his polished armor, making him to appear like a golden god of the mountain. The look of arrogant confidence on his face did nothing to diminish the illusion.
"How can you trust him?" Sansa blurted out before thinking better of it. "How can you ask me to trust him and his protection?"
"I'm not asking you to trust him," Amarah looked back at her without even a hint of guilt. "I'm asking you to trust me. I know Jaime Lannister is a man who can be trusted because he has proven to me that he is. I'm not asking you to accept that fact on blind faith. You will have to discover his honor in your own time. The only thing I ask is that you trust me to do what is in your best interest. I would never knowingly endanger you or place you in the company of those that would. Do you understand that?"
Sansa was tempted to return Amarah's question with icy silence but rethought that impulse at the grave look on the other woman's face. "Yes, I trust you."
"Good," Amarah answered before backing away a few steps to examine Sansa's features, a touch of fondness softening her eyes. "You've become such a young lady. No more of the gangly, russet-haired toddler running underfoot all the time."
Sansa found herself blushing a bit under Amarah's approving words. "Petyr tried to teach me how to be the lady of a keep for when he retook Winterfell."
Amarah's gaze turned hard again at the mention of Petyr's name. "Sansa, did Petyr Baelish ever harm you in any way? That is, did he ever force attentions on you?"
From the look on Amarah's face, Sansa could tell that her cousin was ready to march into the deepest pits of the seven hells and give Petyr Baelish the tongue lashing of his life if she answered in the affirmative. She was glad to spare her cousin the trouble. "He kissed me a few times but nothing more."
"If he wasn't already dead I would slit his throat myself," Amarah answered, clearly not pleased that Baelish had touched her cousin in any way.
As she took in her cousin's fierce expression, Sansa felt a warm sensation blossom in the center of her chest. She and Amarah had never been the closest of relatives in the Stark clan, but with so many treasured members of their family lost for good, they would need to depend on one another more than ever. Sansa knew instinctively that no matter what happened, she could depend on Amarah to have her best interests at heart. It was rather a nice feeling.
"I'm going to talk with Ser Jaime for a bit," Amarah told her then before pressing a kiss to her brow in brief farewell. "Will you be all right for a little while on your own?"
Sansa answered that she would and Amarah left her there with the promise to soon return. Sansa watched her go before wandering away from the din of rustling activity coming from the soldiers all around. Once she had moved away from the band of soldiers and squires, Sansa found a well placed rock overlooking the valley between the mountain surrounding her. When she reached the rock, she prepared to sit for a short moment of rest but was taken off guard when the little seat shifted beneath her, threatening to spill her down the side of the slope at her feet. Sansa gave a little squeal of surprise before a pair of strong arms lifted her from the seat and set her firmly in the grass once again.
Once she was standing on solid ground, Sansa whirled around to face her unknown rescuer. When her eyes met the sight of his half-burned head, the words she had meant to say were immediately forgotten. Sansa had recalled Amarah mentioning the Hound's presence in the company but had not noticed him that morning among the large company of soldiers. She had almost begun to think that he had wandered off on his own after the battle at the Eyrie. The action would not have been an unexpected one. In fact, the last time they had spoken he was running away from the siege on the capital. When she had asked him about his allegiance to the crown, the only reply she had received was a succinct but blunt one. Fuck the King, he had said. Though despite his ferocity, it had been the first time she hadn't been frightened of the great, hulking brute. Because it was that night she recognized he meant her no harm. The same man who she had watched slice people down without thought or remorse should have been a pronounced threat to her safety, but she hadn't seen him as such. She didn't then and she didn't now, even with him looking down at her with a fierce scowl.
"Don't go tumbling down the side, Little Bird," he spoke in the harsh, rough voice she remembered so well. "It would be a fucking, worthless waste to survive Lord Baelish only to perish at the foot of the mountains."
He promptly turned away to return to the others after bestowing that advice, but Sansa stopped him by calling out a question she had been longing to ask since hearing of his part in her rescue. "Why did you help find me?"
His head dipped toward the ground at hearing her words, almost as if he didn't want to reveal the truth, but he eventually looked back at her with a faintly haunted look lurking in his eyes. Inexplicably Sansa wanted to hold his hand in comfort, but she quickly squashed the odd impulse. Unaware of her thoughts, Sandor responded to the question she had aimed at his retreating back. "I don't know."
"I don't believe you." Sansa spoke the accusation softly, but the chilly, winter breeze managed to carry it to his ears.
His gaze bored into hers then, hot and hard, much as it had been the last time they had been together. She recalled that cruel mouth as it pressed against hers, even while the green wildfire of the night burned all around the city. How she had, for that one moment in midst of all that madness, felt entirely safe. The poignant moment between them was abruptly broken by an angry shake of Sandor's head before he turned his back to her once again and continued his path toward the others.
The wind carried his reply back to her. "Believe whatever you like."
The kiss Sansa remembers here is actually a kiss that she thinks of a couple of times in the books even though it never actually happened. That will come up again later in this story. I know this chapter was very short, but the next one will be from Amarah's point of view and much longer and much more angsty/emotional to make up for it. I'm already working on it, so hopefully I can have that up sometime tomorrow. Fingers crossed! Any reviews or comments are much welcome:)