A/N: Okay, so I'm trying really hard not to get into spoilers here because I know not everyone has reads the books or even wants to (though I highly recommend it. A Clash of Kings is amazing). But since the Reeds are cast for the 3rd season, it's not really spoilerish...is it? Anyway, Sansa is slightly...not her ladylike self in this chapter. I kept picturing her in the episode of Blackwater where she looks so mature for her age and gives that little smartass answer to Joffrey.
Chapter 11: The Green Boy
Sansa was watching from the window in her room at Winterfell. She wasn't sure how she got here, but she did. A chill came over her body sending her skin into a coat of bumps. Someone was in the room with her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't turn her body around.
"No, you mustn't," a voice said. A boy's voice. But it wasn't anyone she recognized.
"What do you mean?" Sansa breathed.
"You must not come back."
"But this is my home." Finally she was able to move. When she did, she came to face a boy about Bran's age but rather than a childlike expression, this boy was as serious as her father had been.
"It is no longer. The Starks have left the Wall open. Winterfell will be destroyed."
"How can that be? Winterfell has stood for thousands of years."
"Everything has its time. Heed the warning, Sansa. For the sake of the realm, you must heed the warning."
"What warning?"
"Winter is coming."
With a breath of cold air, Sansa sat straight in her bed. Her body was sweating but she felt as though someone had poured a pail of cold water on her. The boy in the dream scared her. Even now she could see his green eyes and the somber expression his young face held.
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Sansa watched Tyrion Lannister walk the length of the Great Hall. Apparently, Cersei had become indisposed of this particular morning as was Lord Tywin so it was left up to the imp to sort out the king's business. Tyrion threw her a look that held pity in it. She vaguely wondered what he was thinking of in that moment to make him look at her with such sad eyes. Before she could waste another thought, the day's business had begun.
For the most part, Sansa tuned out everything until Cleos Frey came into view. Curious, Sansa straightened her posture and leaned more into the railing. Tyrion was discussing the Lannister's refusal of Robb's terms (no surprise there) and instead was giving the Frey boy their outrageous terms (again, no surprise there).
"And what of his sisters?" Cleos Frey asked the imp.
Sansa could feel every single pair of eyes watching her, including Sandor's despite him being half hidden by the spiked throne. A tiny breath refused to leave her lungs as she heard the reply.
"Until such time as he frees my brother Jaime, unharmed, they shall remain here as hostages. How well they are treated depends on him."
"Gods, Jaime must be maimed beyond recognition then," Sansa thought. She grew furious when the man had the gall to glance back up at her with that sad look. She wasn't sure how hard she was fighting to maintain control, but when she felt something cool slide down her fingers she saw that she had been digging her nails into her palms the entire time Tyrion had talked. Ignoring the pain and quickly wiping away the blood, another man caught her eye. He was clearly of the Night's Watch going by his hard expression and black dress.
Ser Alliser Thorne and Tyrion were going at each other's throats in the most courteous way possible as talk turned to white walkers. The thought them sent an involuntary shudder through Sansa. Even though the others in the room were snickering and laughing at the idea of the dead walking, Sansa knew there was some truth in the words. And going by Tyrion's face, he did too. The two shared another quick glimpse – so quick that no one even noticed – but it spoke volumes. None of these people had been to the North much less the Wall. But Sansa and Tyrion had. They knew something awful was coming whether folks wanted to acknowledge it or not. Southroners had their stubborn and narrowminded ways of thinking: if they haven't seen it, it isn't true. But Winterfell and its Northern borders still had some of the old magic and it seemed this particular winter was going to be especially eventful.
At first Sansa thought Tyrion hadn't experienced or seen anything at the Wall but now that the crow was talking, she could see it plain as day on the imp's face. It was a look that only someone who had lived in the North could see.
"They were dead the first time," Ser Alliser snapped. "I brought Jared's hand, torn from his corpse by the bastard's wolf."
Sansa stood attention. "Jon!" She screamed at herself. A painful wave of regret spread through her at the thought of her half brother. Her sweet, loving half brother who wanted nothing more than to love and be loved in return. But in her empty head, Sansa only considered him nothing more than half of a brother simply because his mother wasn't hers. That's when it struck her.
Tyrion dismissed the council and people filtered out of the Great Hall. But Sansa lingered behind, noticing a heated discussion between Alliser and Tyrion.
"The cold winds are rising," Ser Alliser warned. "The Wall must be held."
Tyrion knew that for a certain. "And to hold it you need men, which I've given you...as you might have noted, if your ears heard anything but insults. Take them, thank me, and begone before I'm forced to take a crab fork to you again. Give my warm regards to Lord Mormont...and to Jon Snow as well."
When Tyrion turned, he stopped short at the sight of Sansa Stark. He bowed his head slightly and she returned it blandly. "My lady Sansa."
"Lord Tyrion," she bit. "Might I have a word with the Watchman? I seek information about my Uncle Benjen."
"Of course, my lady. Bronn! Hold still a moment longer. Lady Stark wishes to speak with the crow. I truly hope he has good news, Lady Sansa."
"I'm sure," she smiled politely. Sansa swept past the guards and small council members and even Sandor to rush to the crow's side. He looked as mean up close as he did far away. Sansa pitied him. Bronn hesitated to leave the man's side. "I seriously doubt that Ser Alliser wishes to kill me, Bronn. And in the throne room no less."
"You're a Stark, girl?" the rough man rasped. His voice echoed off the walls, calling attention to them both.
"I am."
"I know a Stark on the wall - Benjen."
"He is my uncle. How does he fare?"
"Don't know." There seemed to be a shade of sadness in the man's voice. "Benjen's been missin' for months now. The Old Bear took that bastard boy-"
"Jon," Sansa corrected sharply. "His name is Jon."
"Jon," the man spat. "They took to the Forest in search of him. Don't think we'll ever see any of 'em again." He suddenly remembered who he was talking to. "Beggin' a thousand pardons, my lady. The Starks have always been a friend to the Watch."
Sansa was acutely aware that the remaining people in the Great Hall, including Tyrion and Sandor, were scrutinizing their every word. "And with the gods' blessings, may they ever be. What news of the Wall and Winterfell?"
"What are your house words?"
"Winter is Coming."
He lowered his voice to a near whisper but still loud enough to hear if one strained. "The old powers are risen, child; should the Wall fall, no one but the Starks could hold back this winter's chill. You're a child of the north, girl. The winter season is in your bones. Heed their warnings. You feel the coming storm just as much in this place as your uncle did on the Wall." He returned to his arrowed posture and sent his voice booming. "The Starks are always right eventually. But winter isn't coming. It already has."
Sansa's wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. She couldn't deny his words though. Indeed she had been feeling as though something were amiss, she just didn't know what. "Should you have any way of reaching my uncle or my brother, Jon, I would ask that you let them know that I am being treated fairly and miss them terribly." She tried to emanate everything she wanted to say through her eyes, but the man just stared blankly at her. Finally, she leaned into him and brought him into a hug. "Send a raven to my brother, Robb and tell them that Arya is not here and the Tyrells have joined the lions."
Her whisper was so soft that it was barely audible but when they parted, she could see he understood.
"Only the gods can know for certain if Benjen's alive but if he is, I'll let him know. It's a sad thing to hear, my lady. And know that the Starks are always welcome at the Wall."
His suggestion did not go unheard. Sansa smiled courteously and watched the man get escorted from the room. Rather than head back, she stayed for a minute to gather herself. She didn't really want to turn around. If she did, that would mean having to go back and be a sullen girl whose family are traitors. And she was so tired of that role. She'd been playing it for months now and wasn't sure if she could do it anymore.
"I hope the crow had good news," Tyrion said behind her.
Sansa closed her eyes and put her armor back on. Turning, she faced him and smiled. "You heard him as well as me, my lord. Did any of that sound good?"
The men's faces at her sharp reply made her stifle a giggle.
"No news then of your uncle?" Tyrion replied.
"None."
"I am truly sorry, Lady Sansa."
"As am I, Lord Tyrion. Should he come back to the Wall human, he will have nothing but cold tidings to greet his return."
Tyrion tried not to wince at her icy tone. It was so unlike Sansa and he wasn't sure if it suited her or not. "Human, my lady?"
"You heard what he said about the white walker."
"A fabled tale," Tyrion said. He tried to chuckle but standing before a child of the winter who grew up with such magic, the laughter had died before it reached his lips. For some reason, Sansa's presence was making him feel far more foolish than he had ever felt. It was beginning to chafe his confidence.
"If you say so, my lord." Sansa cast an eyebrow upward and let a knowing smirk cross her lips. She spared a glance at the rest of the men, letting a sliver of lust come through when she met Sandor's eyes.
His eyes gave nothing away. Sansa wondered how he did that and if he could teach her. His mouth twitched though as she walked past them. She knew that smile, even if others thought it was nothing more than burnt muscles twitching involuntarily.
"What in the name of the Bloody Mummers was that about?" Bronn asked as they watched Sansa walk out.
"I think Cersei's little dove has grown some talons," Tyrion smiled.
"What do you make of her conversation with the crow?" Littlefinger prompted.
"Alliser? Nothing. She merely inquired about her uncle and brother."
"Do you truly believe that, my lord?" Varys asked, doubtful.
"What do you think?"
"I think we just saw Sansa Stark stoke the fire of a mad man." Littlefinger sounded smug.
"How disappointing you prove to be sometimes, my Lord Baelish."
The subject of white walkers and Sansa's strange encounter with the crow had left a throbbing headache in their wake. Tyrion rubbed his temple gently. "Well, if there's nothing else I shall take my leave my lords. Hound, with me."
Tyrion let a good a good distance come between the court and him before he spoke. "Has Lady Stark been getting rest?"
Sandor raised an eyebrow at the question. "What?"
"You heard me."
"How the seven hells am I supposed to know how much rest she gets?"
"You are the one who watches her most, Clegane."
"That doesn't mean I keep a ledger about her sleeping habits. In case you didn't know, standing guard happens outside the door."
"Surely, you must hear something. If not you then the other guards. Have they said anything? No, you wouldn't know that. You're not exactly someone others confide in."
Sandor was extremely proud of that. "Why do you want to know?"
"She was pale this morning. Did you notice?"
Of course he did. "Aye, she did."
"I want you to find out what she said to that crow. And make it fast."
"If I ask, she'll know something is going on."
"Then what do you usually talk about?"
"How much we hate your family mostly."
Tyrion couldn't fault her for that. He hated his family too except Jamie. "Please ask Lady Sansa to dine with me tonight. If she refuses, tell her I command it."
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At first Sandor was hesitant to knock. Earlier, something had passed between her and the crow as well as Tyrion. That worried him for all sorts of reasons. The old man wasn't her taste true enough, but judging on her preferences so far, he didn't throw that possibility out. She rarely hugged people, including him so when she flung her little body into the crow, it damn near blew everyone over. He tried to hide his confusion but couldn't manage it. At least he blended in with the rest of the councilmen and Bronn. They were all listening intently to her conversation but it wasn't like they had to strain. It was odd. All of it: her manner, the crow's response to her words, and her reaction after the man left. It was so...so... un-Sansa like.
But she hadn't so much spared him a glance when Tyrion was dealing with the crow. It was plain to see something was on her mind.
Carefully, he knocked.
"Come in."
He opened the door and tilted his head so he could get through. Sometimes he really hated his height. "Little bird, the imp wants you to dine with him tonight."
Her brow furrowed together. "Do I have a choice?"
"No."
"That's what I thought."
He took in her posture. She was tired. Restless. Maybe even annoyed. "What was that down there?"
"What was what?"
"Don't play stupid. You know what I mean."
"I'm not the one playing stupid. Why are you asking me if you heard the whole thing?"
"I heard something but I damn well guarantee you that no one understood it."
"Maybe that's what I wanted," she sighed irritably.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Besides being a captive inside enemy territory while my family is splintered apart and a giant hound keeps barking asinine questions about things that are none of his business because someone asked him too, nothing is wrong."
"Slow down," he grunted. "You know I don't understand half those words."
With a roll of her eyes, she walked to the balcony and rested her weight on it. "You know, Arya would climb her way out here. I wouldn't be surprised if she had. All those guards are blind."
"Thanks," he grumbled. But there was no apology from her. "Are you angry at something, Sansa? Because if you are, tell me so I don't stand here looking like a fool."
"I'm not angry." Her tone spoke truth.
"Then what is it?"
"I- I just didn't get enough sleep last night and I'm scared for Jon and Uncle Benjen."
"Is that what this is about? That old crow was trying to scare people."
Sansa shook her head violently as though she had suddenly ran out of patience with him. "You don't understand. No one understands."
"Understands what?"
Her Tully blue eyes bore into his soul. "That winter has come."
"Sansa," he sighed. "There are no such things as the Others. Next you'll be saying that there are dragons about."
"Don't talk to me as though I am a child," Sansa snapped. "I may not be a seasoned woman, but I am not some suckling babe. I have spent my whole life in the north, Sandor and as easily as wine settles in your veins so does the winter in mine. I can feel it deep inside rising like the tides off Blackwater Bay. Just because you can't see it doesn't make it a falsehood."
Sandor was taken back. Somehow Sansa could always make him speechless whenever she chose to. Words came as natural to her as a sword to his hand. Once he gained his tongue, Sandor strode over to her. "It's not your body I doubt, Sansa. I'm just wondering where all of this is coming from."
"It's coming from me," she said gently. "I'm sorry I'm being so rude."
"Don't be. Seeing you like that makes me want to do dirty things to you," he smirked. He thought she would blush but instead she just stared at him with an unfathomable expression. "Sansa? Are you okay?"
"Who does the lizard-lion sigil belong to?"
The question had caught him off guard. "Fuck if I know."
"Tyrion would know," she muttered. "Yes, I will definitely take my supper with him tonight."
"Should I be jealous?"
"Huh? Of course not."
"Well, some would say you have a penchant for the grotesque: Joff, Tyrion, the crow, me."
"You're not grotesque and I had to hug the crow."
"You had to? Was there some law passed recently?"
"No. I needed his ear and some privacy."
"For what?"
"Sandor, honestly." She glanced up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Why are you so interested?"
"I saw you hug another man," he shrugged. "I was jealous."
"Curious for a man who has supposedly has no feelings."
"I know. But no matter how hard I try I can't get rid of them. It's the gods' way of cursing me."
Despite herself, Sansa let out a smile. He had taken a seat on the edge of her bed and she took a moment to admire him. He struck an impressive figure even when not doing anything but trying to relax. Even his burns were hardly noticeable to her now. It startled her to realize why she had been so terrified when she woke up: he hadn't been there. Feeling slightly guilty for behaving so unlady like, she decided to make it up to him. He had just taken a drink of her wine so Sansa grasped the cup and set it aside.
"Hey," he whined. "My veins need that." She pressed herself against him before settling on his lap. "Or not."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Her lips went straight for his, soaking in every flavor his kisses brought out. Gods the way he moved his lips it was if he were reading her thoughts. It was still strange to feel the butterflies in her stomach when they were like this or the ache in her chest when they were apart, but for the first time since coming to King's Landing, Sansa knew this strange relationship was the right thing for her.
"Don't move," he rasped. His hands were like iron clasps on her waist. "Just give me a minute." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Gregor, Cersei, that boy-girl Lancel, mutilated kittens."
"What?" Sansa snickered.
"It helps me calm down," he replied. His voice sounded as though two saws were going against each other. Sansa thought it was sexy.
"Why do you need to calm down?"
His eyes snapped open and he regarded her for a moment. "Gods, you're innocent."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Sometimes. Like now." Worried, Sansa tried to wriggle free but stopped when a guttural moan escaped. "I told you not to move."
"I don't want to make it worse."
"Then stop talking." He thought of Gregor fucking Cersei and went limp instantly. Still he kept his grip on Sansa to make sure his groin wouldn't pitch its tent again. "Okay," he said finally. "You can get up."
Sansa frowned at the way he moved. "Are you hurt?"
"Sort of. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."
"I wish you'd tell me so I won't do it again."
"What makes you think I don't want you to do it again?"
"Because it looks painful."
"It's a good kind of pain, Sansa," he chuckled. "Or at least it will be later." She still didn't understand. "Ask that handmaid of yours. I'm sure she'll tell you about it."
"Why can't you tell me?"
"I don't wanna scare you."
"You could never scare me."
He looked at her dubiously. "Everything scares you. I better go before all the fluttering women come around." He gave her one last smile before heading out.
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The rest of the day consisted of doing things she always did: working on her needlework, reading, and taking an uneventful walk in the gardens. She hadn't seen Ser Dontos since she caught a glimpse of him at court but she was grateful for that. Too many things were already starting to cloud her head. The godswood was her last stop of the day though even she began to wonder why she continued to come. Her father's gods didn't seem to be listening to her prayers any more than her mother's had. But still she prayed just in case. Robb and her mother were the first in her thoughts then Bran and Rickon who had to deal with Theon and that terrible Ramsay Snow. Arya came last because Sansa prayed the hardest for her. She had been missing for many moons now but in her heart, Sansa knew her sister was alive.
When it was time for her to go back, Sansa found herself thinking of her moment with Sandor. She was incredibly confused as the maids did indeed flutter about the room. The incident went through her head dozens of times but she was certain that she hadn't done anything wrong.
"Milady," Shae called. "Your bath is ready."
Was it supper already? Sansa looked out to see that darkness had taken over the city. "It's dark so soon."
"The seasons are changing," the handmaid replied. "It does that when winter starts to appear."
Sansa dismissed everyone but Shae. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"If you've been sitting on a man's lap kissing and he tells you to stop moving around, is that normal?"
"I'm afraid most of the men I've sat on haven't restrained themselves on that end," Shae smiled. "But I think I know what you're hinting at. Did something happen?"
Sansa nodded bashfully. "Was it something I did? He didn't seem to mind but then he started saying these weird things and moaned really loud."
"I assure you, milady. You have done nothing wrong."
"So what happened then? Should I avoid sitting on his lap?"
"No," Shae laughed. "Do you remember what I told you about a man putting his member inside a woman?"
How could Sansa forget that? "Yes. You made me look in a mirror."
"Do you remember your dream about all those feelings?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's the same for a man. Once the kissing starts, his member starts twitching and aches for relief just like yours. But since you're a maiden and must remain so until you marry, he has no where to put his save for his hand."
"His hand?" Sansa scrunched her nose. Then she remembered the night she had touched herself and it finally gave her the final clue. "Oh."
"Oh," Shae agreed. "Do you understand now why he did that?"
"I think so. But now I feel guilty."
"What for?"
"He looked like he was in pain."
"You will be too one day. Just give yourself time to adjust to everything happening with your body."
"Is-" Sansa wasn't sure why she stopped. Maybe it was because she was afraid to hear the answer for this particular question.
"Yes, milady?"
"Is there some way I can help him? I don't want him in pain."
"You can either become ugly or..."
"Or what?"
"Or I could teach you a trick or two."
"What kind of tricks?"
"The kind that will make men worship you."
After a heartbeat, Sansa grinned. "I wouldn't mind being worshipped."
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Tyrion opened the door for Sansa Stark. She looked fetching in a deep green dress and her hair dressed in the northern way. She had slowly disentangled herself from Joffrey – and by extension, King's Landing.
"My lady," Tyrion bowed. "Please come in. What would you like?"
Sansa waved most of the courses away before settling on some duck. "I must say I was rather surprised to get your command."
"Command? Oh, the Hound. I'm not surprised he phrased it that way. It was more of an invitation."
Sansa shrugged slightly. "They're all the same to him. He just repeats the words." 'Huh. I guess he is a little bird himself in a way,' she thought.
"Yes, Clegane is charming like that."
They sat in compatible silence while they ate. By time the lemoncakes came, Sansa wasn't sure if she could stomach one.
"Thank you."
"For what?" He inclined his head as he spoke.
"Everything you've done to make me feel less like a prisoner. I can't tell you how much it means to me."
"I am sorry for things to have turned out this way." It wasn't often Tyrion apologized genuinely or even sympathized with people who weren't cripples, bastards, or broken things. But the more he got to know Sansa, the more aware he grew that perhaps Bran wasn't the only broken Stark.
"It was for the best, I think."
"You mean because Joffrey is a tyrant and a foolish boy," Tyrion put in.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sansa, it is okay to speak in here. The people who are listening in these walls don't report to Joffrey, or my sister for that matter."
"Who do they report to?"
"I don't think you really want to know that."
Maybe she didn't. "This may seem a queer question, my lord but whose sigil belongs to a lizard-lion? I find I do not remember."
"Lizard-lion? I believe that's a northern sigil that belongs to one of the lesser houses pledged to Winterfell. Why?" He knew exactly whose house that belonged to but he wouldn't tell her until he got some answers first.
She couldn't tell him about the dream. "I was thinking of Winterfell and remembered my father telling us a story about some family with that as their sigil."
Tyrion didn't believe her but she was starting to get better at lying. All she needed was a good teacher and she would be a natural. "I can find out for you if you like."
"Oh I wouldn't dream of wasting your time with something so trivial," she smiled politely. "It's nothing of importance."
"I hope your encounter with the crow didn't frighten you."
"Why should it have?"
"Well, the Others are a terrifying thought, even if they are nothing more than old tales."
Sansa bristled at his words and popped a lemoncake in her mouth. "And if they prove to be more than that?"
"Then the Wall should stop them."
"And if the Wall should fall? What then, my lord? Would your lord father raise his bannermen and go north?"
"North is your family's territory."
"Not anymore. Would you entrust the realm to the Greyjoys?"
Tyrion was both pleased and disturbed to find this new Sansa sitting across from him. She was matching wits with him on a subject that few below the Barrowlands would know about. He found he rather liked talking to her. She was clever. "I wouldn't entrust the contents of my privy to the Greyjoys."
"Nor would anyone," she scoffed. Theon's betrayal was still fresh for her. "But you don't believe in the old magic of the north, my lord. Why trouble your thoughts with it?"
Why indeed. Staring at Sansa Stark made him want to say everything on his mind. But should he? "When I was at the Wall, I could feel it."
Sansa didn't need to be told what. "I know."
"How?"
"I could see it when Ser Alliser was talking about the Others. I overhead my Uncle Benjen talking about the funny way things moved beyond the Wall and the uneasy tension the night brought. Is that what you felt?"
"Yes." Tyrion wasn't sure why he was letting her guide the conversation. He had meant for this to be about her and what she had whispered to the crow. But it had been a year since his visit to the Wall and those memories and feelings were still as new as the day they occurred. He hadn't realized how afraid he had been until now. It felt good to get it off his chest.
"The north has its own way of dealing things. Perhaps that's why Uncle Benjen remains lost."
"He's a good man. I'm sure they'll find him eventually."
"If the forest will give him back."
Tyrion cocked his head. "What do you mean?"
What did she mean? Sansa herself was confused at what she was saying. It was like another person had taken over. "People always vanish in the Haunted Forest. It's cursed. Some return, some don't."
"Sansa, did your maester ever tell you stories about when the white walkers lived?"
"Not truly. It was mostly Old Nan who was the storyteller."
"Did she say how they were defeated?"
"I – I don't remember, my lord. It was so long ago and I never paid much attention to those kind of stories."
"Neither did I," Tyrion snorted. "Now I desperately wish I had."
"You believe Ser Alliser then?"
"I believe that something is happening. All who have lived the former winters agree that this feels different. I believe your family had it right all along. Winter is coming. And no one is prepared."
"You will be. You always are it seems."
"This is different. How can you plan for something you don't believe will happen?"
"But you do believe," Sansa said innocently.
"Yes, I guess I do. You Starks will know what to do."
"Then maybe you should stop killing us."
Tyrion's smile disappeared. "I think we should too."
"Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean to be unpleasant."
"No offense taken. We're both victims of our families, I think. Your brother is young and my father is old. He forgets what youth feels like. Everything is immortal when you are young. Had my father been here, I swear your father would not have died. It was a foolish, devastating act from a foolish boy. We need Ned Stark more than ever now."
"I'm afraid you'll have to settle."
"Settle? No, my dear. We all have our parts to play in this game. Your piece just hasn't been moved yet."
"Will it ever?"
Tyrion chuckled at that. "Enjoy the respite now, Lady Stark for I promise that once you make a move, you can never go back."
Did she want to go back? Back was the kingsroad where Lady was slain by Cersei's command. Back was where Joffrey showed his true colors by having that butcher's boy killed. Back was where she had no idea of the world and its workings.
Back was where there was no Sandor.
"I don't want to go back."
"Good." Tyrion couldn't hide the pride in his voice even if he wanted to. "You would have made a great queen," he said after a while.
"You really think so?"
"I know so."
Sansa took advantage of the serious moment. "Who does the lizard-lion belong to?"
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Sandor felt his shoulder being pushed. He woke up and almost cried out thinking a ghost was in front of him. "Sansa?" he muttered. "What are you doing here?"
"I had a dream."
"What?" He rubbed his good eye before reaching for some wine. Sansa stopped him and sat on the bed beside him.
"I had a dream. That's why I didn't get enough sleep last night."
"Oh." He tried not to sound annoyed. "Okay."
"I found out who the lizard-lion belongs to."
"Okay."
"It's the Reeds. Their house is our bannerman and it's said some of their people have green dreams."
"What the fucking hells are green dreams?"
"Green dreams are dreams that come true," Sansa explained. She moved her shift so that she could sit more comfortably. "Howland Reed has a son, Jojen, and I heard that he has them."
"What does this have to do with anything?"
"He was in my dream. He warned me about not going back to Winterfell and said that it was lost."
"It was just a dream, Sansa."
"I don't think so. He gave me a warning."
"What kind of warning?"
"Winter is coming."
"He told you your house words?" His words dripped with cynicism.
"Yes," Sansa glared. "But he implied there was something more to it. And then this morning with Ser Alliser..."
"Gods, this is what you woke me up for? To tell me about dreams and old men?"
"I came to tell you that I'm going," Sansa snapped.
"Going?" Sandor pulled himself up. "Going where?"
"Winterfell."
"But you just said that it was lost!"
"It was only a dream," she mocked.
"Look, Sansa."
"Come with me."
"We've been over this."
"I know. But I'm revisiting the subject. Winterfell needs me. It needs a Stark."
"Then let your brother handle it."
"Which one?"
"Any of them! You think you can take on the Greyjoys by yourself, not to mention that Bolton bastard? He skins people alive you know. Even Joff isn't that sick."
"I can't take them on...by myself." She paused to let that sink in.
"Sansa...no."
"They would never yield to me, but they would to the Hound. And the northmen would rally for a Stark."
He grabbed her shoulders fiercely and brought her close. "Sansa, stop this."
Sansa threw his hands away from her. "If you won't help me, then fine. I'll do it on my own."
Before he could reach for her, she was gone. But he was just as quick. He slammed the door shut just as she got it open. "You aren't leaving."
"Move," she commanded.
"Or what? You'll sing me to death?" A hand reached out and flew across his good cheek. He caught it on the way down and flung her so hard into his body that she bounced off. He knew he was grabbing too hard but she didn't say a word. The heat from her body was coming in waves and he knew she was furious. "Don't do that again," he warned.
"Or what? You'll beat me to death?"
He had no idea where this new Sansa had come from but he liked it. He released her as hard as he had grabbed and she stumbled back. "You need sleep, Sansa. Come on, I'll walk you back."
"No," she snapped. "I don't want the Hound."
She shut the door behind her with a slam. Sandor rested his head on the wall before laughing bitterly to himself. "Women," he cursed.
He took another swig of wine and fell back into bed. Sleep hadn't come easy the first time he laid his head down but his conversation with Sansa had left him drained. She was becoming reckless and reckless people are dangerous. He took comfort in the fact that she had been banking on him caving in to her blue eyes by saying yes. But since he had said no, she wouldn't chance running away. Not yet at least.
"Sandor," a voice called.
Not even a hearbeat later, Sandor was on his feet with a dirk in his hand. "Whoever you are, I'm giving you one chance to show yourself. Come out now and I might let you keep some of your limbs." The tongue would have to go of course. He couldn't risk someone blabbing about his and Sansa's conversation.
"I'm here," the voice whispered behind him.
Sandor whirled around but no one was there. "Games only make me angry," he growled. A hand grazed past him but again, no one was there.
"Over here."
The man whirled on his heel and began to tearing through his room. Fortunately, he hadn't had much to go through but that only made it all the more confusing. He was not accustomed to that feeling. "Craven," he growled.
"Over here."
Sandor turned and saw a boy, no older than the Stark's cripple, standing in front of him. "I'm not afraid of killing a child."
"Then do it."
Sandor slashed the sword into the figure but he hit only air. "What the fuck?"
"You must protect her," the boy warned.
"What are you peeping about, boy?"
"You must protect her. She must not come to Winterfell."
Sandor shook his head. He must have a fever. "Why not?"
"Winterfell is broken."
"She'll repair it."
"She must not come," the boy urged. His green eyes were full of pleading.
"Then where should she go?" If he was dreaming, what was the harm in playing along?
"The Inn of the Kneeling Man."
Sandor had never heard of it. He shook his head again and the apparition was gone. "Fuck me, this wine takes its toll."