4.
The next morning brought with it surprise, on top of all the surprises of the previous day, when their father and the boys came home with six dire wolf pups.
To Sansa however it was not so strange; in fact it had the feeling to her of something she had almost been expecting – only without exactly knowing it would happen. When she whispered her understanding to the children it seemed obvious to them as well – that the pups had been saved from near death and it could only have been The Stranger himself who had saved them. Saved them for the children in an expression of gratitude for all they had done so far.
The children had nodded at this wisely and with wide eyed comprehension, falling into a contemplative, almost reverential silence that was broken only when Rickon announced that he was going to call his wolf Shaggydog.
"You can't call him Shaggydog!" Bran objected, louder than usual – "It's silly. You sound like a toddler!"
"Leave him alone Bran, he is a toddler!" Sansa intervened.
Rickon stuck his tongue out at Bran complacently.
Arya was already rolling around on the floor with her wolf, getting dust and fur in her dress and laughing.
"Mine's called Nymeria," she announced. Sansa sighed; of course it was. She looked at her own little wolf and the pup looked back trustingly. She was the smallest and sweetest, and Sansa had known she was hers from first glance. Arya hooted in predictable derision when she said when would call hers Lady. Lady thumped the floor with her tail happily as though approving the decision. Sansa scooped her up and hugged her; she was such a little soft ball of fur.
"What about you Bran?" she asked gently, daring to be ill mannered enough as to rub her cheek against the little beast's soft head – "What are you going to call yours?"
"I don't know," Bran looked so intensely thoughtful it made Sansa want to laugh. She made herself not though, so as not to hurt his feelings – "Maybe Ghost."
"You can't," their brother said, clomping in with his own pup in arms – "Mine's called Ghost. Just look at him."
Jon showed them all his wolf with more than usual pride. They all had to admit that with that colouring his wolf had the better claim to the name. Soon Jon and Ghost were rolling on the floor with Arya and Nymeria. Sansa watched them with a sigh, wondering if she was wicked for the huge part of her that was impatient for Jon to go so that the rest of them could slope off to the Godswood.
Finally Jon heard Robb calling him and went, scrubbing Arya on the head on the way out. The children all fell silent as though on some unspoken signal.
"Come on," Sansa nodded. "We'll take the pups".
Sansa was already ready, so was Arya; both of them having pilfered enough food at breakfast and with such growing ease that Sansa was beginning to feel like a criminal genius. The girls led the way, wolves in arms, with Rickon trailing behind, half carrying Shaggydog and half carried by him it seemed, for the wolf and the boy were not so far off in size.
When they reached their wooded cave, The Man was awake and testing the space. In the middle it was just high enough for him to stand and Sansa noticed that he had tried to bandage the scratches on his arms and neck.
"You should let me do that," she said.
"What the fuck are those?" he gave back by way of greeting.
"They're ours!"
"Father gave them to us."
"They were going to die!"
All the children started talking at once. The Man sat down heavily, beneath the onslaught of little voices.
"You saved them for us didn't you Ser?" Sansa asked, closer, more gently, confidentially knowing. He looked at her oddly and did not reply. In the silence she gave him the food they had collected and noticed with approval that he ate this time with far greater manners than before. He watched the pups warily and eventually nodded –
"Dire wolves," he said "Heard they could kill a man, let alone a child. Starks, aren't you?"
"That's right," she nodded, inexplicably pleased that he had put this together – "I'm Sansa Stark, this is my sister Arya, my brothers Bran and Rickon –"
"Girl, stop before you give me a bloody curtsey. Vicious beasts I heard – those. You kids know what you're doing?"
"They're just little pups," Bran said.
"They won't hurt us – look –" Sansa began, beginning to put her wolf in the Stranger's lap.
"Girl, you have a persistent and worrying belief that things will not hurt you. It's going to get you in trouble – what are you – no, don't do that I –"
Lady climbed up his chest, resolutely, tail wagging, and licked him in the face. He grimaced but could not stop from cracking a smile – "Ah well, they're not the only things get called vicious without reason."
"There's reason," Arya glared, fiercely, trying to make Nymeria look fierce too – "They could kill a man. They have done. It's only Lady who's so soppy." Nymeria licked her hand then sat beside her all but grinning, forgetting to put her tongue back in.
Before much longer Bran and Rickon had scurried off with their wolves to play.
"Will you let me re-do those bandages?" Sansa asked.
"You know what you're doing?"
"I can do it better than that." She was already unwrapping the rags from his arm before he could protest further.
"Ouch," Arya peered in close – "That looks nasty – you should burn that – Father says those kind of wounds need cauterised." She looked smug at pronouncing the word. The Man jerked away from her, Sansa slapped her with a butterfly of a backhand blow;
"Not nice Arya! Why don't you go play with the boys?"
"I don't want to play with the boys!"
"No –" Sansa thinned her lips, then smiled – "But your wolf does. Why don't you go follow her?"
Nymeria was already halfway out the bushes, leaving Arya no choice but to follow her.
"I'm sorry about her," Sansa said when she was gone.
"One in every family," The Man shrugged – "You've not seen anything – ow!" Sansa had poured a little wine over his arm – "That hurt!"
"If you'd stay still it wouldn't hurt as much!"
"You could have warned me – hey – you brought wine?
"It's for your arm." She looked at him sternly. He laughed, reached out to her, his fingers lightly brushed the side of her face, touched the tips of the smile she gave him back. His fingers trembled and fell. Sansa felt a blush in her that reddened her cheeks and ran all down her boy, a curious, tickling, slowly spreading warmth. She looked down, tied the fresh bandage firmly.
"There!" She looked back up brightly – "Does that feel better? Tomorrow I'll bring you clothes that don't –" she checked herself, never wanting to be rude – "Fresh clothes," she amended.
"And where on earth will you find my size do you think? Are you magic, little bird?"
"I can make them," she said, stubbornly – "I'm ever so good. You'll see."
"Why are you doing this for me?" he took hold of her wrist. This time instead of pulling away she leaned in a little; she didn't really know why.
"I prayed for you," she almost whispered – "I prayed for you so long and now you're here. I'll look after you forever – if you need me."
"Girl I –" there was only so long he could take her honest blue eyed gaze – "I don't think I am who you think I am."
"You need me, don't you?" She frowned.
His mouth worked around the difficulty of admitting it –
"….yes," he said finally. It sounded truer on more levels than he meant it.
"You are what I prayed for. I just know that you are."
She looked so happy he could not argue with her again. And she was leaning in so close now, he could smell the air she breathed, feel her hair tickle his face. Her lips were so close to his and his hand had moved up her arm.
A crashing sound in the bushes and the voices of the children shouting –
"Sansa! Sansa come quickly! They're here!"
She only had time to break away and stare at the Man wildly, apologetically, before the children burst back in to lead her off. As they ran back through the Godswood they explained –
"It's the people – the group father mentioned, some of his men who are coming to stay!"
Sansa remembered; she had forgotten all about it. Something about her father wanting to improve relations with his neighbours, to better get to know the other powerful families in the north. When she came out into the yard the place was full of horses, men milling around and more rising in through the gates. It was a shock after the quiet of the Godswood but Sansa remembered her manners and smiled to welcome them.
Looking around she saw one young man rein his horse in tight. He was more impressive than the others and, Sansa could not help but notice, attractive. His eyes were bright with merriment and he looked like the kind of young man to whom smiles came easily. And he was clearly in charge to some degree. When he leapt with all the agility of fresh energetic youth from his horse Sansa was there to welcome him.
"Lady Sansa," he smiled, a cheery smile, almost ear to ear, as though he had been hearing about her for ages and had struggled to wait to meet her. He took her hand like a lord to a lady and lifted it to his lips – "The descriptions did not do you justice."
Sansa could not help the fluttering smile that flickered around her lips in return – he was obvious but it hardly mattered, it resonated so of the stories she loved and she could not for all the world fail to play her part in a moment out of a story. She even blushed –
"Thank you my lord – I –"
Her father approached then with another man in tow. They were both smiling but the newcomer's smile did not reach his eyes. Though he seemed, to all appearances, a gentleman, there was something flinty in those eyes and worse – something sharp that Sansa did not like.
"Roose Bolton, at your service My Lady," he inclined his head to her minutely – "And this –" he gestured the smiling young man who had just let go of her hand – "Is my son, Ramsay."
_x_
Dun dun DUN!
How's that for a cliffhanger? Plot twist anyone? :-) I've never written Ramsay before and I have to confess that I'm oddly looking forward to it. I've spent about a week wondering who to make the villain of this piece and then it was so obvious I'm hitting myself. Just in case anyone's worried though - absolutely NOTHING is gonna happen like the badness of season 5. :-)