A/N: So sorry about the lack of update. Finals week. You know how that goes. And there was Comic Con this week! Did anyone watch the panel? Both Rory and Sophie were there (but no questions about SanSan )! Anyway, since there was such a fantastic response to my last chapter, I made this one a bit longer.
24: The Blood of the First Men
Sansa unwrapped her arms from Sandor's neck reluctantly but smiled when he didn't move his arms from her waist. A wide smile broke through her lips before she pressed them to his lower cheek and kissed her way around till he reciprocated with a hunger that lay dormant in her for a long time – since the day she was forced to watch him with Shae if she was being truly honest with herself. Just thinking about it made her body shake with umbrage.
Sandor noticed the change in her demeanor instantly and pulled back. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice harsh from exhaustion.
"I need to know," she blurted. That wasn't exactly what she had meant to say but before they went any further, she needed to hear him say it.
His eyes dimmed and his shoulders sagged. The Red Wedding was the one thing he had no interest in talking about. Sansa walked him back to the tree trunk and watched him collapse on the seat. "What do you want to know?"
"Were you there?"
"Yes."
Her lips threatened to quiver but she held firm. "Why?"
"Joffrey sent me."
"Did-" Her throat closed at the mere thought of him putting a sworn into her brother's back or sliding it across her mother's neck. "Did you do anything?"
"Did I kill anyone?" he clarified curtly. "No. Or maybe I did. The whole thing was chaotic."
"What about my family?" she asked in a whisper.
"I arrived too late to do anything of worth."
His teeth ground at the memory. He had never felt so useless in his life. At least in the Blackwater battle he had some semblance of order: the enemy was on the other side of the wall and he should kill them; the Red Wedding was nothing short of a frenzy with men on both sides not wearing armor on the outside of their clothes, making it extremely difficult to decide clearly who belonged to which side.
Sansa nodded once in affirmation. "Tyrion told me as much. I'm relieved to know that at least one Lannister pities me enough to speak truth."
Something in her was different and Sandor hated it. Where were the tears? Where was the crying? Hells, he would have taken a smartass comment. But there she stood – sullen and pale as a ghost. "Sansa?"
"Yes?"
He put his hand against her cheek and though there was a spark in her eye, her face gave nothing away. "Are you all right?"
"I am well, thank you. You must tired from your journey though; and having an audience with the council…"
"Did someone say something to you? Was it one of the Kettleblacks? Because if it was, I swear by the sword I will rip their tongues out."
"Things have been difficult," she admitted. "But I am well now and even more so knowing that you have arrived without harm. I will be thanking the gods for that every night."
Shae peeped through the trees. "Someone is coming," she warned.
Sandor frowned at the interruption but stood anyway while Sansa moved as far away as possible. Neither was expecting a short, bald eunuch to emerge from the tree line.
"Lord Varys," Sansa squeaked.
"Lady Sansa," the man replied, just as surprised. "I beg your forgiveness my lady, I was not expecting you."
"Who were you expecting?" Sansa inquired rather hotly.
Sandor whipped his head in her direction, her tone catching him off guard. She noticed but didn't apologize. That was very un-Sansa of her and that, out of everything, worried him. Sansa's gentle heart is what made her unique and kept her better than the people around her.
Varys smiled congenially before he replied, "No one in particular. But it is good fortune that we have stumbled into each other."
"How so?"
"My good Clegane," he addressed. "Be a good kingsguard and escort the Lady Sansa into the Keep. You know where to go."
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"What is going on?" Sansa demanded from the shadows.
Sandor stood a little ways in front of her, watching for the signal from Varys. He took the opportunity to examine her closely and asked, "What happened to you, little bird?"
"Nothing."
He lifted her chin up gently. "You look ill."
"I do not," she replied haughtily.
She removed her chin from his grasp but kept close to him. She felt confused and her head was beginning to pound against her skull. Too much had happened and processing it was difficult, especially when she felt so alone.
Sandor frowned deeply at the interaction but felt a slimmer of hope when she leaned closer. He went to move his arm around her shoulders when he heard the signal: two bird calls. "Let's go."
Varys opened the door slightly, watching Arya fiddle around with some contraption he was working on. "Come in, quickly."
"What's going on?"
Arya froze as her sister's voice hit her like a brick. She watched as red hair moved from behind the Hound and suddenly there she was – taller and much thinner than she remembered but there she was.
Sansa followed Varys' gaze toward the back of the room and became confused. "Who is that?" she asked quietly.
Varys looked up to Sandor but quickly returned to Sansa. "I think you two should talk."
Before she could say anything, Sansa found herself alone in a room with the stranger. "I'm Sansa Stark," she said politely. Who knew whom this boy really worked for? Did he belong to Cersei? Varys? Maybe even Littlefinger?
"I know, Stupid."
Sansa was startled slightly. "Arya?"
The two girls stared at each other, perhaps not quite sure that the other was real. The air around them stilled and it was as though they were at opposite ends of the world despite being only a dozen feet from each other.
"Hi," was all Arya could manage.
Sansa took a few steps forward and awkwardly took her sister's hand. "I thought you were dead," she whispered, her voice overcome with emotion.
"Almost," the younger Stark teased.
"Where have you been?"
Arya blew a sharp breath out. "That's a long story."
"I don't understand. How did you get here?"
"The Hound brought me. He saved me."
Sansa's brow furrowed slightly when she realized that her sister was implying that she was present at the Red Wedding. "How?"
"I was at the Twins. He brought me there, hoping I would convince Robb to listen to him."
"What do you mean?"
Arya relayed the events at the Twins for over an hour.
"Is it true about Robb then? About his head?" Sansa asked quietly.
When Arya nodded, Sansa simply took in a small breath and nodded.
Her sister's reaction infuriated Arya and suddenly she was itching to wrap her hands around Sansa's white neck. "I saw Father too, that day at Baelor's Sept."
Sansa eyed her little sister and saw anger staring back. No, not anger. Blame. "Did you?"
"I saw you too. On those steps next to Cersei, smiling as though it were your wedding day. Even when that cunt had Father on his knees, you still smiled." Her words had cut her sister deeply; it was obvious. But the fury that she had repressed against Sansa began to crawl out of every nerve in her body. It gave her immense satisfaction to see the "perfect daughter" start to tremble. "Did you smile when Ser Ilyn cut off Father's head? Did you have a nice supper with the queen and your betrothed after?"
Sansa sat rigidly in the chair while her sister unleashed a diatribe upon her – each word bringing more pain than any of the kingsguards fists. Her instinct to defend herself was long gone. But that didn't mean her feelings had become extinct.
"How nice it must be for you to sleep in a warm bed at night and a hot supper every evening! Isn't this what you wanted? To be rid of your family and become a Lannister? I suppose now that Robb is dead, you have the claim to Winterfell; that should please your new friends. Did you laugh when you got word of the Twins? I bet you did. I bet you wanted to see Robb's head!"
"Is that what you think of me because I'm not out there with you?" Sansa replied as her soft tone laced itself with venom. When her sister said nothing, Sansa nodded. "Well then."
Sandor grasped her arm as she was leaving and saw a look of alarm cross her face. Neither girl had registered his presence. He thought bringing the girls together would help both cope with their family being systematically wiped out; instead it made things worse. 'This is why I don't get involved,' he thought. 'Too fucking complicated.'
He had only come in because he heard the shouting. The moment he opened the door he was blasted with air thickened with strife. It nearly choked him. Both Starks were furious – with each other, themselves, other people; but their main problem was that they didn't understand the other's strengths. Sansa could never survive out in the wild like Arya and vice versa. But both had potential that others saw in them. Arya would make a great soldier and Sansa, under the right tutelage, would make even Varys wary of crossing her. Together, they would be a formidable force. But what did Sandor know of family? He had exactly one family member and Gregor was at the very top of his kill list. But he had seen how close the Starks were and how hard it was for both girls without their family to guide them. He wasn't even sure what it was that made him agree to bring Arya back. It was a fucking fucked up thing to do and seemed to be causing more harm than good. His main concern though was Sansa; that would never change. And right now, he knew that she needed to face what happened otherwise she would let it rot until she was overcome with hate. He couldn't let that happen.
"You're not going anywhere," he commanded.
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The moon was high above when Sandor gently led Sansa to the chair she had just vacated; Arya he had simply tossed back. The young Stark's chair skidded slightly at the unexpected force.
"Now listen," he said roughly. "I rode though the seven hells to bring you two together and neither of you are leaving this room until you sort things out."
"You can't keep me in here," Arya scoffed.
"Why? Because you're Ned Stark's daughter? In case you forgot, that name doesn't mean shit anymore. No one even believes you're alive much less three levels below the throne room. So shut your fucking mouth about what I can and can't do. Now start talking."
"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish," Sansa said. "She hates me."
"No, she doesn't. "
"How do you know?"
Sandor sighed heavily. He desperately needed sleep, preferably with Sansa right beside him - his Sansa, not this new one. "Have I ever lied to you?"
"No," she answered after some minutes.
"Then what makes you think I'm doing it now?"
"I don't know."
"Yes you do. Tell me." When her eyes shifted to the floor, he grew impatient. "Sansa, open your fucking mouth and say what you want to say. Enough with the fucking games already."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me what you're really thinking! You, not Tyrion or Shae or what you think I want to hear, tell me the godsdamn truth!"
Sansa glared at him, furious at long buried feelings. "I don't want to!"
"Why not?"
She jerked away from him and with an almost mechanical delivery, said: "Because it's my fault. I'm the one who went to Cersei and told her everything. I was stupid. I was so stupid. I should have known she wasn't good when she had Lady killed but I was confused. I thought I loved Joffrey and I was so mad at you for ruining everything! Father tried to warn us but I didn't care. I hated him for trying to take me away and I hated you for making things worse. If I wasn't so stupid, I wouldn't have gone to Cersei and Robb wouldn't have gone to war and everyone would still be alive. So go ahead and blame me for everything because that's whose fault is."
Arya watched as her sister's cheeks burned red with shame.
"And I needed my sister," Sansa confessed. "I needed to know I wasn't alone in the world and I hated you for getting away. I had to stand on those steps and watch our Father's head roll off his shoulders and I knew that I had caused it."
The only sound in the room was Sansa's shallow breathing and it took a few minutes for Arya to finally let out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding.
It wasn't until an hour later that one of them spoke up. To everyone's surprise, it was Arya.
"I forgive you," she whispered sharply. "You didn't know any better."
Sansa looked up through her long lashes at the short figure across from her. "Why did you even come back here?"
Arya paused. "I wanted to see you."
"To torment me about how awful I am?"
"Because I needed to see my sister."
Sansa blinked. "But you hate me."
"No I don't," Arya confessed shyly. "We've never been close but...I don't know. After what I saw at the Twins, I just needed to make sure you were okay."
Sansa let that absorb for a moment. "Sandor didn't tell you anything?"
"Who?"
Sandor rolled his eyes inwardly. He had decided to take a nap shortly after Sansa went back to her seat. In truth, his eyes had chosen for him, unable to fend off the fatigue any longer. But he made sure that he was leaning against the door so there was no possible way to escape.
"The Hound," Sansa clarified.
"Oh. Well, not a lot. Even if he did, I don't trust him."
"I didn't either at first. It took a long time for it build."
Neither one wanted to talk about the hulking figure on the floor so the talk turned to the Twins again.
"I wanted to kill them all," Arya remarked. "One day I will."
"We both will," Sansa added firmly. "One day, Arya, we will have our vengeance on those who have wronged us. But until then, I have to stay here and play the game. I have been the pawn for too long. If there's a chance I can learn, I'm going to take it." She held up her hand when her sister looked to interrupt. "Please. Let me finish. You asked what happened after Father's death. I'll tell you."
It was a painful memory for both Starks reliving the events of Baelor. Arya's misconceptions about Sansa's life afterward were shattered and the young girl was certain that Sansa had left things out – for what reason she wasn't sure. After the tale was told, the room fell quiet again. It had become a pattern that night as they had more than their fair share of grievances against each other. Yet the biggest one still remained: Sandor "The Hound" Clegane.
"For a long time, I wanted to put you on my list," Arya stated abruptly. "If you weren't my sister, I would have. But I'm glad I didn't."
"List?" Sansa asked in confusion.
Arya nearly cursed herself. Her list was her secret, or at least the meaning of it was. "It's a list of people I'm going to kill."
The redhead sat in silence while her long eyelashes blinked at the young girl next to her. "What?"
"Sansa, someone has to make them pay and I'm going to be the one do it."
"Is Joffrey on that list?"
Arya nodded. "He's the other reason I wanted to come back. I want to kill him."
"Everyone but Cersei wants to do that," Sansa retorted blandly.
"Yes, but I'm the one who will."
"Don't you dare," Sansa warned.
"He deserves to die."
"And he will. But Arya, you would never get away with it. Sandor guards him and I won't let you hurt him to get to Joffrey."
A derisive snort came from Arya. "Seven hells! Haven't you learned anything? You can't trust anyone."
"I think I know more about who to trust and who not to in here, thank you very much."
There was a chill in the air as Sansa spoke and it dawned on Arya as to why her sister had gotten so defensive; it was the same reason she had snapped the Hound's head off when he brought up Gendry. "Bloody hells below," she grimaced. "You like him!"
Sansa sat up a little straighter. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. And I have lost too many loved ones to these people to let you or him take matters into your own hands."
Did that move him off Arya's list? 'Nope,' she thought. But she mentally put him last. That was about as good as it was going to get for him. "You don't act like it," she said at last.
"I used to."
"What happened?"
"Too much," she replied bitterly. "This place…It's poisonous."
Before she could stop herself, Arya said: "You could come with me. We could go North and take back Winterfell."
"Winterfell is Roose Bolton's now. The North belongs to them."
"It belongs to us, Sansa; we are the North."
"We are also completely helpless on our own," the older sister argued. "We can't take Winterfell back with just the two of us. Even if they're on your little list, you are no match for the Bolton army. Don't forget that they have the Lannisters' support now as well as the Freys. It's a foolish task, Arya."
"You just said that you wanted to take them down and now you say we can't," Arya remarked vehemently.
"I said we couldn't take them on our own," Sansa emphasized. "You can't just charge in swinging your sword hoping to win. You need a plan."
"Fuck plans! Sansa, this is our home! Winterfell needs us."
"Winterfell will be fine without us. It's been there before we were born and it will be there long after we're gone. Taking it back does us no good unless our enemies are dead. Until then, we will have to wait."
"Okay so we don't go to Winterfell. What about the Wall? Jon will take care of us."
"To get to the Night's Watch, we'd have to cut through Bolton territory."
"Northmen are loyal to Starks. They'll know who you are and they'll take us in."
Sansa shook her head adamantly. "Arya, the north is not an option."
"Then what do we do?"
Water began to pool in Sansa's eyes. "You have to leave Westeros."
"I'm not leaving without you."
"You have to."
"I'm not going."
"Arya, I'm a Lannister now and the only one who can produce an heir that the North would follow willingly. If I left now, I would be hunted for the rest of my life. I can't put that danger on you."
"I'm not a child, Sansa."
"I know that. But I have to take care of you; it's my duty. And the only way I can do that is tell you to leave as soon as possible. Go somewhere that no one knows who you are and wait until all of this is over."
"Jaqen," Arya whispered.
"What?"
"Nothing." Arya fingered the coin inside her pocket and thought about Jaqen's offer that seemed like a lifetime ago to train with him. The determination in her sister's eyes was evident and even though she didn't want to leave her behind, Arya knew deep down that it was for the best. Sansa couldn't survive the wilderness just like she couldn't survive the highborn responsibilities that were expected of her. "Okay."
Arya kicked Sandor's boots and the man leaped up, groggy eyed and irritated.
"We're finished," Sansa announced. "You can open the door now."
Sansa had no choice but to leave her sister in Varys' room. There was simply no plausible way for Arya to be on the upper levels of the Keep given her boyish looks and filthy clothes. It would be far too suspicious and Sansa's rooms were closely watched.
Varys had assured them that the plan they had come up with wouldn't be ready until the following night, which meant Arya had to stay in the city until it was time. For some reason, that worried Sansa more than anything. Her sister had never been one to stay put and she was greatly concerned for Arya's well being. Though the truth was that she could hardly believe that they were reunited at all. It felt like a dream and she was careful to remind herself what happened to dreams in the Red Keep.
A rough hand cupped her arm and she jerked at the movement.
"It's just me," Sandor replied unevenly. He wasn't sure if his presence was welcomed or not, which felt strange after their happy albeit brief reunion earlier.
Sansa smiled momentarily at him but when he only stood there, she was saddened at how far they had fallen from their previous status. "Thank you," she said quietly.
His gray eyes didn't show their usual hostility but rather a dim hope. "Didn't have much of a choice."
"Yes you did," she countered in a tender voice. "I am forever in your debt-"
"There is no debt," he said brusquely.
"There is," she urged.
He didn't have the strength to argue since all he could think about was sleep. "I've had a long journey."
"Oh," she replied with a frown. "Yes, of course you must be tired. Sleep soundly, Sandor Clegane. I will see you tomorrow."
In typical fashion, he nodded his understanding and began walking down the corridor without so much as a word in reply. Sansa watched in longing at her heart walking away before turning toward her own room. Her eyes threatened to close forever as she blinked heavily.
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Tyrion peered up from his book at his wife entering the bedroom. His day had been spent telling Jaime that Sansa was in bed resting. Jaime didn't buy it but kept his mouth shut anyway. Both brothers had much on their minds after Sandor's debriefing, including how to keep Brienne away from Cersei. That was pretty much an impossible task but somehow it worked. Jamie made sure to spend time with his sister while Tyrion gave Brienne a tour of the Keep, making sure to avoid the lower levels. He was incredibly grateful that the small council's interrogation of the Hound was long. It meant it was less time he had to worry about where everyone was. Granted, Cersei did have her spies and that made things difficult but if he knew his sister as well as he thought he did, her spies were mostly maids.
Sansa stopped short when she saw Tyrion by the window. It didn't surprise her that he was reading; the man was addicted to books.
"Hello," he greeted calmly.
"Hello," was her soft response.
"You must be hungry."
"Not especially, my lord." She glanced at the table and noticed food and plates. "But if you want company while you eat, I wouldn't mind a drink."
Tyrion stifled the need to smile and moved to the table, his book all but forgotten. "Of course, my lady. I have dismissed Pod and Shae so I'm afraid it's up to us to pour for ourselves."
"That's okay," she said lightly. "I don't mind."
He poured the wine for her and watched as she seemed to go into another world. There could have been bugs crawling out of the carafe and it wouldn't have made a difference to her. Yet her skin began to get its color back in the short amount of time that she had been around the Hound.
"Will you join me on the balcony?" he asked nicely. "It's a lovely night."
Sansa's brief pause ended when she grabbed the wine and led the way outside. Tyrion grabbed a plate and filled it with some food.
"It is lovely," she approved. The seat was cool but she relished the feeling. A breeze flittered around her and she sighed heavily into the air. "Thank you, Tyrion."
"You're welcome, Sansa."
The two shared a weary look together as she sipped her wine and he ate his meal. Before long Sansa was dead asleep and Tyrion was headed down to the Hound's room.
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"What?" Sandor growled.
Tyrion popped his head around the door and threw out a small smile. "Just me."
"What the fuck do you want?"
"I wanted to see how your coming home was."
"It would go better if people would leave me alone."
The small lord waved off Sandor's words. "I take it from her long absence that your reunion went well."
Sandor turned his eyes to Tyrion. "What did you do to her?"
"She hasn't eaten anything of substance since word of the Red Wedding and it was only this past morning that she managed to stay outside for longer than a few minutes."
"Has she cried at all?"
Tyrion shook his head. "Well, at first; now she just…exists. I was hoping you would be able to bring her back to the land of living."
"I'm not there yet myself," Sandor admitted.
"What happened there, truly?"
"It's like I said in the meeting: I arrived too late to do much."
"And the real story would be?" Tyrion prompted.
"I tried to warn him but the idiot wouldn't listen. Had his cunt of a mother not been there, I think he would have taken me at least a little seriously."
"Yes, Catelyn Stark can be difficult to reason with once she has made up her mind."
"Like mother, like daughters," he grumbled.
Tyrion crooked his head. "Daughters?"
'Fuck.' Sandor cleared his throat. "I brought Arya."
A feather could have knocked Tyrion over. The wind flew from his lungs and he was sure he must have misheard. "Come again?"
"I've no idea why I did it so don't bother asking. We were at the Wedding together and things just became too…Fuck, I don't even know how to describe it."
"Try."
Sandor glared at the Lannister. "She saw what the Freys did to her brother's body. I wasn't going to let her die on my watch after that."
"Where is she?"
"You must have taken too much milk of the poppy to think I would tell you that."
Tyrion only needed one guess: Varys. But chances were that the eunuch had stashed the little Stark somewhere only he knew. "Fair enough. You know, for someone who hates people, you sure have formed an attachment to the Stark girls."
His eyes rolled dramatically. "Get the fuck out of my room, Imp."
"No," Tyrion said lightly. "I spoke with Jamie at supper. He said that the King will give you a day of rest to recover before you resume duties."
"Great," Sandor drawled.
"And one more thing," Tyrion added. "I think Jamie is on to our little arrangement."
With that news, Sandor sat up, wincing at the pain from his wound. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. But he doesn't know for certain. It is only a deep suspicion at this point but you should know."
"Does Sansa?"
"I haven't had the chance to tell her. Why?"
"She was…indifferent tonight. When I first saw her she looked happy to see me and then suddenly it changed."
"She is probably confused. Quite a lot has happened. Has she seen her sister?"
Sandor nodded slowly. "But don't think of questioning her about it."
"What exactly was your plan here?"
"I don't know," the big man whispered in frustration. "I just wanted to get back to Sansa and the wolf bitch wants your nephew's head. Figured it was a good trade."
Tyrion rubbed his head where a sharp headache had suddenly appeared. "Clegane, this is serious. Arya will be killed if she is found here. Joffrey has wanted her dead since the Kingsroad and you might have given him the opportunity on a silver platter."
"You don't think I know that?" Sandor snapped violently. "She knows the risks, especially to Sansa so I don't think she'll be going after him – in public, at least."
"How long is she planning on staying?"
"Not long. I think she's realized how bad of a plan it was. She could already be gone for all I know. That girl is hard to predict."
The knot in his stomach loosened at the information and Tyrion visibly relaxed. "Good. The last thing any of us needs right now is another complication."
"The last thing I need," Sandor interjected, "is someone keeping me up. Now get the fuck out so I can sleep."
"Consider me gone." Tyrion turned before he opened the door and added dimly: "Don't die on us, Clegane."
Sandor waved his arm. "I've survived worse."
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Tyrion walked until he came to Varys' room. He lifted his hand to knock when the door suddenly jerked open and the owner of the room came out.
"My lord," the bald man greeted. "What brings you here at this hour?"
"I think you know, my dear Spider."
"I'm afraid my reputation has been overreached indeed if people think I can read minds."
The two men stared at each other for some minutes before Tyrion sighed. "May I come in?"
"Of course, my lord."
Tyrion looked around but found no noticeable sign that anyone else was in the room. "I've heard a fascinating tale tonight."
"I do love to hear your stories," the Master of Whisperers said slyly.
"This one involves my wife of all people."
"Oh?"
"I have heard – from a reliable source – that she is not the only wolf of her kind."
"Rumors are such silly things. Wine?"
Tyrion held a hand up. "No, thank you."
"Is this what brings you here – rumors of wolves?"
"I want to make sure that it will stay a rumor and not become fact."
Varys let a shrewd smile cross his lips. "My lord, I assure you that this rumor is long gone and has been for some minutes."
"…Really?" Tyrion asked in disbelief.
"It was for the best."
"For whom?"
"All of us."
"Then there is nothing more to discuss," Tyrion quipped. "It is long past my bedtime. But you will be sure that no more rumors appear?"
"Naturally, my lord."
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Sansa stirred in her sleep. Her dreams, which had become so dark of late, were now brimming with a strange sort of light. Limbs jerked as the sequence her mind had conjured became more vivid by the second.
Winterfell. The Wall. Both were tearing at her as though it were imperative she comes – as if the fate of the world rested on her presence. They were in the palm of her hand, imprinting themselves into the skin. If she wanted to, she could crush them both. But they were heavy and she found herself drowning in ice. When she looked up she saw a strange face staring back at her with blue eyes and pale skin. She didn't scream; she wasn't even scared. Instead her hands reached on their own accord at the figure. When they came into contact, a blast of fire woke from her fingers and she was suddenly thrown into a patch of land. It was cold and the Tully inside her shivered at the change.
A voice echoed off the cliff walls surrounding her. "Sansa!"
"Arya!" she screamed. She recognized her sister's voice immediately. Turning all around she saw a small figure standing with its back to her. She sighed in relief and ran toward it. "Arya?"
Sansa brought her hand up so that she could see her sister but another hand grasped hers just before it landed. It was the boy in green she had seen in another dream so long ago.
His shaggy locks shook as he pulled her hand away. "Don't."
Before she could ask why not, the figure turned and Sansa gasped. It was a little girl, a wilding by the looks of her. Only her eyes were a striking blue like the person she had seen earlier. Sansa felt herself being jerked away and she closed her eyes, afraid of what else she would see. When she opened them there was nothing around but a dark blot on the horizon.
"Run," a voice echoed.
"Who are you?" she asked the air.
"Run," the voice insisted. "Do not linger where dead men sleep."
Confused, Sansa's feet took off toward the black dot. To her relief, it was a direwolf that met her halfway. Together, they raced further into the wind, which had begun to blow hard while snow whirled around them. When it finally died down the dark wolf pointed to a small, blue flower winding up from the ice. Sansa leaned to touch it and again the scene changed. This time she could feel the ice growing beneath her, lifting them both into the air.
"The Wall," she said confidently.
When the wolf whined, Sansa looked up and there was Jon. Her half-brother was looking down into an abyss.
"It's almost time," he said to himself. "They're coming."
Sansa and the wolf looked over the wall and could see nothing but darkness. He began to pace back and forth but stopped when the wolf whined. His ink black hair swirled in the wind but his eyes were sharp as if he could see Sansa. Then she was in a dark room with a bed. There were figures all around her though they simply walked right through where she was standing. Jon was lying on a bed with several wounds peppering his body.
His head was thrown back as the old maester applied an ointment to Jon's calf. Sansa was rooted to her spot as her brother howled that they were coming. A large man clad in black hushed him and rubbed a cloth across Jon's damp head.
"Jon, rest," the large one said gently.
"What do you see, boy?" the old maester asked, his voice sounding tired and stretched beyond its years.
Jon looked where Sansa was standing and both Watchers turned. Only the older one smiled; the other was confused.
"Maester Aemon," the fat brother called. "He's going to be all right, isn't he?"
"He will live," the maester answered.
A sharp growl from Sansa's hip had her turning toward the door. In walked Ser Alliser Thorne and the former lord commander of the City Watch, Janos Slynt.
"The traitor lives?" Slynt said snidely.
"There is no traitor here," Maester Aemon replied wisely.
"He killed his fellow brother and joined the Wildlings. He's a traitor! Just like his father."
'Jon? A wildling?' Sansa thought.
"He came back to warn us and got three arrows for his troubles," the fat man argued.
Ser Alliser Thorne pondered the situation briefly. "When he wakes, tell him of the mutiny and the Red Wedding. Traitor or not, he will need to recover from the blow."
"But he's a traitor!" Janos blubbered.
"He will give an account of his actions when he is of a sound mind," Thorne explained.
"And Bran and Rickon," the youngest man said. "He doesn't know about them either."
"Slynt, leave us." The former City Watch commander puffed his cheek at the indignation but he obeyed nonetheless. Thorne approached the young one and said: "Sam, tell him that his sister sends him a message."
"Which one?"
"The pretty one."
The man named Sam nodded and Sansa was thankful that Thorne had remembered her request. She watched Alliser leave the room before walking up to her brother's bedside. The only one who seemed to even register her presence was Jon and the old man.
"Jon," she whispered. "Jon, you have to wake up."
"They're coming," was all he said.
"Who?"
"The Others."
The dark wolf put its nose to the bastard's hand and whined sharply.
"You have seen them," the green boy said calmly. The three occupants started when they heard the intrusion. "It is you alone, Jon Snow, that can hold them back."
Sam's voice kept breaking through, taking her surviving brother back to the land of life. When he disappeared, Sansa felt the room change until she was standing alone in the snow once more. The serious boy kept his eyes on her.
"Who are you?" Sansa asked.
"That does not matter. Names mean nothing, as you shall soon learn. You must fly, Sansa Stark just as Jon must lead the crows. It is your destiny to destroy the stone giant."
"But I am no one. I am not even a Stark anymore."
"Do not despair," the boy cooed knowingly. "The wolves will return."
Sansa's body lurched itself forward as she woke up. The sun had barely cracked through the sky but already her feet were in slippers and a cloak was being thrown over her shoulders. The urgency to tell Arya about her dream was steadily rising within her body. She vaguely wondered if her sister ever had these types of dreams. Too deep within her own thoughts, she didn't see Jamie until it was too late.
"Lady Sansa," he said, clearly taken by surprise.
"Ser Jaime." Sansa scrambled for an explanation as to why she was heading away from the highborn rooms. "I would have thought you were asleep."
"I could say the same about you. What is it that makes you hurry about so?"
"It's a woman issue," she replied.
Jamie's nose scrunched at the news. "You must be looking for the maester then."
"I am," Sansa exclaimed. "I'm in terrible pain so if you'll excuse me."
She rushed past him and waited to hear his footsteps leave the hallway before fleeing the upper level. Over the course of the past few months, Sansa had become quite familiar with the back tunnels that led down into the Keep. Her feet barely touched the stones as she slipped down into the level where Varys' room was.
She hadn't even reached the door when it flung open and her sister pulled her inside.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
"Did you have the dream too?" Arya asked in a low tone.
"With that strange boy?"
"And Jon! Sansa, he's alive!"
"How is this possible? Two people can't share the same dream! Besides, you were a wolf!"
"I was Nymeria," Arya replied proudly. "It's happened before."
Sansa's head tilted. "Huh?"
"After the wedding, the Hound and I were in the woods. I went to sleep only... I didn't. It was like I had woken up and become someone else. I could feel everything – the grass, the air, the taste of blood. But then I saw the Hound sleeping and when I woke up for real, there was a pack of wolves around me."
"I don't understand. How is any of this possible? And why us?"
Arya frowned at her sister's questions. "I don't know. Wait. Remember Old Nan's stories about Wargs? She used to tell us that the only people who could do it had the blood of the First Men."
"She also said that it was because they were close to the Children of the Forest," Sansa replied dubiously. "Old Nan was…well, old."
"That doesn't mean she was wrong. How else do you explain what's been going on?"
"But all I have are dreams," the redhead countered.
Arya thought on that. "Maybe it's because you lost Lady. But they can't take the First Men's blood from you."
"No they can't," Sansa smirked. "But what about Jon? How are we seeing him?"
"I don't know, Sansa. I'm only thirteen."
As though she didn't hear her sister, Sansa said: "There's a library here. I'm sure there has to be a history of the First Men in there somewhere."
"Maybe we can look for our aunt Lyanna too."
"Lyanna? Why?"
Arya shrugged carelessly. "Aren't you curious about her? The Hound told me I looked like her."
"Maybe that's why Cersei hates you."
"Hey, that's what he said."
Sansa blushed at the coincidence. "When Tyrion gets up, I'll ask him if there are any books about the North. If anyone knows, it would be him."
"He came by a few hours ago."
Panic flittered across Sansa's face. "I didn't tell him anything."
"He knew something," Arya insisted. "Varys was able to make him believe I had already left."
A sharp breath left Sansa's lungs. "Thank the gods."
"It must have been the Hound who told him."
"Why would Sandor do that?"
"I don't know. But if you didn't say anything and I didn't say anything, then there's only one person left."
"I'll ask him later," Sansa suggested. "For now, let him rest."
xxxxxxxxxxxx
Tyrion woke to find his wife patrolling the solar room, her fingers intertwined in a nervous manner.
"You're up," she said cheerfully.
"I am."
"I have a favor to ask of you."
"Name it and I shall do my best."
"I would like to a read a book but the ones you have don't interest me."
Tyrion glanced over at the pile he had collected; they were mostly about war strategies. "I see your point. What did you have in mind?"
"I'm not sure. Perhaps if I saw the library…"
"Oh. Of course, my lady. When Shae-"
"Actually, I would prefer if it were just you and me, if that is all right with you."
Tyrion didn't even try to hold his surprise back. "If that is what you want."
"I do," Sansa assured. It wasn't that she didn't want to be around Shae anymore but Tyrion had information that she needed. For now, she could stomach her disdain for the Lannisters to get what she wanted; and the less people who knew about her mission, the better.
Tyrion stood there awkwardly for a heartbeat, unsure of his next move. "I should get dressed."