The next morning found Sansa and Tormund in the practice grounds of the castle courtyard. But the sparring lesson was not going very well.
For one thing, Sansa had not come properly attired and Tormund couldn't catch his breath from laughing.
"How are you going to fight in that—thing?" He asked her when his laughter had subsided enough that he could form a coherent sentence.
"What? My dress?" She asked, all wide eyed innocence. "What's wrong with it?"
It was a simple dress of pale blue linen, form fitting across the chest and flared at the hip and sleeve.
"You can't move in it," Tormund explained.
"Well, I can dance in it."
Tormund shook his head, agitated.
"There's too much for your opponent to grab hold of. Your hair too, for that matter. Tie it back."
So she'd changed into a pair of Robb's old breeches she found in his chest and her riding vest, and tied her hair in a tight knot at the back of her head.
She'd paused for a moment before putting the clothes on, holding the breeches to her chest, feeling the soft worn fabric under her fingertips. Robb had been just a boy when he'd last worn these. She pushed the thought away. No good ever came of thinking of the past.
When she arrived back in the yard, Tormund was waiting.
But he wasn't alone.
Jon watched her approach, his face inscrutable.
Sansa had always found it difficult to read her half-brother, even when they were children, and she found that it hadn't gotten any easier in the years they'd spent apart.
"Sansa," Jon said in greeting. "Tormund was just explaining to me that he's training you for combat."
He said it like it was a joke, but she knew he didn't find it funny. Tormund, in a surprising act of chivalry, made an excuse of looking over the weapons rack to give them some privacy.
"I thought it was time I learned to defend myself," she said.
"Sansa, you don't need to do this," Jon said, stepping closer to her and lowering his voice so that he couldn't be overheard. "I'll always be there to protect you."
She looked into his eyes. Warm and brown and foreign to her.
"Will you, Jon?" She asked quietly. "Before I went South, I had four brothers and a father to fight for me. Now, I only have you. And you cannot always be there. We both know that."
He stared at her, his face inexplicably sad.
"They were my family too."
She laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to impart as much comfort as she could.
"I know. But now, we have to do everything we can to keep each other alive. And if that means learning to defend myself, then that's what I have to do."
"Would you rather me teach you? Tormund is a good man, but he's…" Jon trailed off, and together, they both turned their gaze on the wildling warrior, who was tossing a battle axe around like a toy, sending it sailing through the air over his head to land in the snow beside him.
"A little rough around the edges," Sansa finished for him, a smile playing at her lips. "No, Jon, I think he's exactly what I need."
Jon took his leave from her then, with a slight bow of his head. He clapped Tormund hard on his shoulder on his way back to the castle interior, and said something out of Sansa's hearing that earned a bark-like laugh from the wildling.
When Tormund rejoined her a few moments later he was smirking.
"Much better," he told her, indicating her outfit.
She thought his eyes might have lingered at little too long on her vest, which was snugger than she'd remembered it being, but she ignored it.
Sansa was beginning to learn that Tormund Giantsbane was an insatiable flirt.
"First things first," Tormund began, squaring off in a fighting stance. "Hit me."
"What?" She glanced at his face. Surely he was kidding.
Except he looked perfectly serious.
"I need you to hit me," he repeated, slowly like he was speaking to a child. "I need to see what you can do. What your strengths and weaknesses are."
He held up his hands in front of him, palms facing her.
"Hit me, right here in my hand. As hard as you can."
She glanced around the yard to see if anyone was looking. They were far from alone. There were men all over the castle and the grounds these days. Northern men and wildling men and Vale men. A couple of Mormont men were practicing swords a few yards away while others gathered around talking and laughing before heading out on watch. A Vale knight kept glancing at her surreptitiously from across the courtyard while he saddled his horse, no doubt wondering what the lady of the castle was doing dressed like a boy and talking familiarly to a wildling warrior.
"Sansa, look at me."
She turned her attention back to Tormund. To his scraggly beard and wildly unkempt hair. To his impatient expression.
"Do you want me to teach you or not?"
"I do. But there's so many people watching."
"Forget them. Forget everything. Focus on me."
Her eyes locked with his. They were surprisingly warm.
"Hit me," he commanded again.
So she did. She punched out with her right fist, felt the sharp impact of her hand against his, heard the crack of skin on skin, and pulled away, hand smarting. Her eyes immediately found his. He was smiling.
"Good!" Tormund exclaimed.
"Was it?" Sansa asked.
"Hell, no. But it's a start."
She laughed despite herself.
"First thing you need to know—don't wrap your fingers around your thumb," he told her, coming up close and taking her hand in his. "You'll break it that way. You want to keep it on the outside of your fist. Like this."
His hands were warm on hers and rough, calloused from years spent fighting and living beyond the wall. But not unpleasant. He rubbed his fingers lightly along the space just below her knuckles and she shivered.
"This is where you want the impact to be. Too high and you'll miss, too low and you'll hurt yourself."
Tormund glanced at her. They were standing very close, the winter air mingling between their bodies.
He stepped back, putting some distance between them, and brought his hands up in front again, palms out.
"Try again. Picture someone you hate and imagine you're hitting them. Can you do that, girl?"
"I'm not a girl," she muttered.
Pictures filtered through her mind. Ramsay and Joffrey. Cersei and Tyrion. Littlefinger and many more. Enemies and friends and everything in between.
The next time she struck out at Tormund, the force surprised even herself.
"Good." He smiled at her. "I knew you had it in you."
She shouldn't have been so pleased that this wildling felt her capable of violence, but she was.
And his enthusiasm was catching.
"Now," Tormund said. "You aren't very big or strong, but you can make up for that with these." He gestured to her elbows and knees.
"They're sharp, and if you put enough force behind them, you can do some damage."
"Alright," she agreed.
"The thing you want to focus on is putting one of those in someone else's soft spot."
"What do you mean?"
Tormund came up beside her, and touched her neck lightly.
"That's one," he said. "Your eyes too. And a woman's chest and a man's pecker—err—groin."
She hid her smile under her hand.
"Anyways, if you can inflict enough damage to one of those soft spots, then even someone your size can bring down a bigger opponent."
Again, he was standing too close. This time, Sansa took a step back, clearing her throat loudly.
"Right, let's practice," he said.
They spent the next hour running through defensive training exercises, with Sansa trying her best to land blows on Tormund's body and failing miserably. She quickly learned that his body was all lean muscle, battle trained and hardened, and that he moved much faster than she'd imagined, easily anticipating her every move and blocking it before she could inflict any damage at all. And although Tormund tried to be gentle with her, he managed to rip her vest, bruise her body, and on their last pass backhand her to the ground.
Tormund held his hand out to her to help her to her feet, but she ignored it. The cold was seeping into her breeches, but her bruised and aching body didn't want to move, and the sky overhead was such a pretty blue.
"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling beside her.
"No." She glanced at him and groaned. "My head hurts."
He leaned over her body and touched a hand to her temple, surprisingly tender.
"Does that hurt?"
"Yes."
He was leaning in close. Too close to be proper.
She could see the tiny flecks of gold in his hazel eyes and the freckles on the bridge of his nose. She could smell him too.
Man and horse and woodsmoke.
Rich and alive.
His eyes drifted from hers down to her lips, parted in anticipation.
A moment hung in the balance.
Then her elbow came up, sharp and strong, and struck him in the side, hard against his ribs.
Tormund rolled off of her, coughing and laughing, and when he lifted his face to her he was beaming.
"You tricked me!"
The men in the courtyard had turned towards the commotion, some wandering closer to hear them better.
"You told me to use my strengths," Sansa reminded him.
"Aye, that I did."
His eyes roved the length of her body languorously, taking in the view of her chest heaving against the stays of her vest and the escaped pieces of hair falling around her face.
He looked proud and conflicted and more than a little aroused.
She watched him shake his head, as though clearing his thoughts.
"Maybe you'll be a warrior after all," he managed.
And Sansa smiled then. Bright and happy and for the first time in a long time, hopeful.
She held out her hand to him in truce and he took it, returning her smile in kind.
"I think you've learned enough for today," he said.
"Tomorrow, then?" she asked.
"Tomorrow," he agreed. "But don't think I'll fall for the same trick again, girl. It takes more than a pretty pair of eyes to distract me."
"Not in my experience," she said sweetly.
His booming laughter carried her out of the courtyard and into the castle interior, warming her long after it was gone. And back in her rooms, as she pulled the tattered vest over her head and ran a hand through her tangled hair, she found herself thinking of Tormund Giantsbane and his laughing eyes, and wondering what exactly tomorrow had in store for them.
Author's Note: Hello! Thanks for reading. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought. Good, bad or ugly, I'd love to hear your opinion. Also, hoping to bring in our friend the Hound soon. :)