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CHAPTER 17

JON / SANSA

"Ghost, with me!"

The cold breath swirled around his mouth as the white wolf ran towards him. Jon scratched his head and the animal adjusted his pace to his. As they walked on top of the Wall, the wind blew and snowflakes whirled around them. He needed time to think and this was the only place in Castle Black where he could really be alone for a long time. Brienne of Tharth's letter was still in his pocket; an old little piece of paper that changed everything for his sister. Those words meant more for her than being acquitted of the death of Joffrey Baratheon; that letter determined that there was, again, a living Stark free from the Lannister's manipulations. If Tyrion Lannister was presumed dead, Sansa was free to marry again, to whoever she needed in order to reclaim Winterfell. And anyone in the North would recognize her as her father's heir. But he was aware he wasn't the only one in noticing it. It'd taken him two days to tell King Stannis about the missive. The King's countenance hadn't changed when he received the news, but something had shone in his gaze, a bright and intelligent spark in his hard eyes had betrayed him. Stannis had known, as had Jon before, that Sansa Stark was the most important piece to make the North fight for him in his quest to sit on the Iron Throne.

Jon looked southbound, to the Seven Kingdoms. He also wanted a Stark in Winterfell; that was how it should always be. Not long ago he had rejected Stannis' offer to legitimize him in order to claim the ancient Stark's keep. He knew he wasn't a true Stark and that wasn't his fate, but it really was Sansa's. He'd like to help her, though he knew that wasn't his fight. His fight was north, where the dead rose from their graves, coming up slowly, but surely to the Wall to breach it, killing and destroying everything that was known. Winter had already come, a long night was about to happen and he and his men were all that lay between death and the Realm. When the time came, what did it matter who sat on the Iron Throne?

They really know nothing, nothing at all.

He shouldn't care about the game of thrones the kings and lords played, but he couldn't help but think about his current problems: the wildings, Stannis, Sansa and Clegane. He was pretty sure Stannis would conceive a plan to use Sansa in his favour, and it was very important for them to anticipate it. His sister seemed to be relieved and happier since Brienne's news. It had been a real shock to find her at the Wall; a beautiful grown woman that had little to do with the child of his memories. They had arrived there hungry, dirty, tired and scared but little by little they had gotten used to the place. He was aware of how men looked at her; with a combination of respect, admiration and desire, yet she had won her place between the odd mixture of people that were living at the Wall during those days. Southern knights knew who she was and wanted to please her to get her favour. Her elegant pace left the black brothers dazzled when she walked around the Castle, especially the younger ones. The free folk didn't care about tittles, but they appreciated beauty and Jon was sure that to their eyes she was what southern queens should look like. They also loved her hair—Kissed by fire, they called her though he didn't like it; Ygritte had also shared that colour, but she hadn't had any luck. Ygritte… Her memory still filled him with sadness. How she would have laughed at his men for taking Sansa for a wilding the first time they met her! The two of them were so different though they were also strong women, each in their own way. I'm sure you'd love to meet a proper Lady. I miss you…

Whatever it was, she had won their trust, even Sandor Clegane's. Jon still couldn't figure out what had really happened so that two people from such different births were so dependent on each other, but he realized they had developed a strange and strong bond beyond loyalties or titles. They made an odd companionship; he had been a Lannister man, a soldier who sold his sword for money, though Sansa had nothing to offer him when they met. Clegane watched her fiercely and over-protectively, and she trusted him blindly, looking for his eyes for approval before making any decision. She smiled more often when he was around and didn't care if anyone saw her touching his arm, or resting her head on his shoulder, as she did the night the raven arrived. Although Jon didn't like him, he was glad his sister finally had someone to trust completely after all of the misfortune she had been through. He felt she was going to need a friend in the days to come, and with that in mind, he finally decided it was time to talk to him.

Sandor Clegane was at the Armoury; he usually spent most of his time there, or with his wild horse at the stables. He sharpened his sword thoroughly, so focused he didn't even notice Jon's presence for a few moments.

"I've talked to Stannis about the letter," Jon said as Clegane was still working. "He just told me he wants to see us two before dinner. I do not trust the supposed calm that he has shown; I bet he's planning something."

The man put down the sword to look at him. "Why are you telling me this, Snow?" he finally grunted.

"I can't interfere in politics, Clegane. King Stannis…"

"King? The King of the Ice, you mean!" he replied contemptuously.

"Don't underestimate him. He wants the Iron Throne, he wants the North to fight for him and Sansa is Ned Stark's daughter. I'm pretty sure he'll try to use her in some way and I need you to stay alert."

The man frowned, "Since when do you trust me so much?"

"I don't, but she does," Jon simply stated. "You don't have to do it because I'm asking you, but for her. She's safe for now though she's still pretty alone and will need someone to advise her."

Clegane stared at him for a long minute, during which Jon thought he was going to send him to the seven hells, but finally accepted.

With that tacit agreement between them, both men left the Armoury and remained in silence for a while, watching the courtyard where Grenn was training some boys. Not so long ago, Jon had been one of those new recruits; prideful but still green as summer grass.

"There is something else I need to talk about. Have you ever thought about taking the black? We need men like you at the Wall," Jon said.

Clegane burst out laughing, "And let my balls freeze in this shitty place for the rest of my life? I'd prefer to burn in the seven hells! Sorry boy, but I'm still not tired of enjoying life!"

"Why not? You have no wife, no lands; you don't even have a place to return to. Your sword will be very worthy here, and you won't lack opportunities to use it, believe me."

"You, the lords and knights, always trying to get other men to obey your oaths…"

His voice was hard and low but Jon realized he wasn't talking to him at all, anymore, but rather to himself. "The only vow I gave in my entire fucking life, I broke it the day your sister came to visit the grave of the Hound. I swore a vow of silence to a man I trusted and I forgot it at the same time I saw her again. I won't make the same mistake twice, so spare me your oaths, Snow! I don't care about your vows; I don't care about anything related to this place…"

He talks like a wilding, Jon thought.

You know nothing, Jon Snow, Ygritte's words echoed in his mind. Don't you see?

Jon watched him carefully. He was looking away into the distance, at the Wall beyond the courtyard. His burnt face was a mess of horrible scars that twitched as the man seemed engrossed by his own thoughts. He's in love with her, he realized. That's why he's helped her without asking for anything; she's the reason why he doesn't want to join the Night's Watch…

"You know you can't have her, don't you?" he finally replied as low as he could "She isn't meant for you. One day she'll marry someone worthy of her birth and you'll have to let her go."

Sandor Clegane didn't say a word for a long minute. "The day she doesn't need me anymore I'll get drunk, take my horse and I'll leave."

I wonder if she knows it…

The Lord Commander broke the silence "Anyway, I don't want anyone idle at Castle Black. You'll have to earn your place, so you can help Grenn to train the new boys. They could use the help of someone new and skilled as you"

The big man looked finally at him; he seemed to like the idea. "Seems fair."

"Fine. You start this morning."

Jon left him and went looking for his sister at the King's Tower. Queen Selysse had asked her to join her and her maidens for breakfast, so he found them at the Queen's chambers, where a southern knight announced him.

"Excuse me your Grace, but I need to talk to Lady Sansa."

Selysse nodded and she left with a bow. Once outside, they walked together as Jon told her about his reunion with Stannis and his request of meeting him that evening. Sansa didn't seem worried about it, instead she was relax and carefree. He continued talking about other issues until he noticed she wasn't listening to him anymore, in fact she had diverted her attention to the training yard, where Clegane had joined Grenn and was yelling instructions and orders to the boys.

"I asked him to help with the training of the new recruits," Jon explained as he followed her gaze. She was watching how Clegane moved quickly between three men and got rid of them with two hard blows.

"You did well, he's very skilled. He's the best warrior you could have," Sansa's voice showed how proud of him she was.

"It's too bad that he isn't even a knight."

"I like dogs better than knights," she stated with a slight smile, as if it was and old joke of hers. "Thank Gods no, he isn't. No knight has ever moved a finger to help me."

Jon frowned. "I do not think it wise to display that you've grown fond of him," he warned her.

"Why? Because he hasn't sworn any oaths? Because he has nothing more than a sword or because his birth is lower than mine?" Her sister's blue eyes stared right into his. "We are who we are despite titles, family names or embodied sigils on a cloak. I learnt that at the Eryie. No one cared of me and men didn't respect me just because I was supposed to be Petyr's bastard daughter, though I was always the same person that I am now. Unfortunately, you were born a bastard Jon; do you think it's fair that people judge you just by that?"

Sansa's words removed something bitter deep inside him."No," he had to confess.

"So please, don't judge him by what he isn't," She gently interlaced her arm with his and smiled at him again. "He's kept me safe for a long time and that's the only thing I care about."

At the courtyard, the men kept fighting and the sound of the steel came to them through the cold air.

"I've seen how he looks at you, Sansa. He wants you."

His sister blushed and shivered slightly, though she didn't stop watching him in the distance.

"I know…" she whispered.

May the old gods forget her because she feels the same, Jon realized with concern. Not only does she respects him, but also wants him. He could finally see it in the way her gaaze kept track of Clegane's every move, in the shy smile she gave the man when he peeked at her in the distance, or in the confident way her eyes narrowed when she was pleased of how he could fight them all.

What a strange world, Ygritte; crows falling for wilding women and highborn ladies falling for lowborn soldiers, while war tears everything apart. How you would have enjoyed this!

That evening, Sansa's feet were heavy as stone as she climbed the steps back to her cell. She tried to think of a plan, a great idea or just something that would allow her to avoid being the center of other men's plots again, but her mind didn't seem to work properly. Not in a hundred years couldshe have imagined what the meeting with Stannis had prepared for her.

"Be careful with him, I don't know what his plan is yet," Jon had warned her as they walked toward the King's Tower. He looked serious and thoughtful, though he was always that way lately and she had tried to calm him, because actually, why should she fear a king without a kingdom after all she had been through? How wrong she'd been…

On their way to the meeting, Sansa had caught a glimpse of Sandor who was still training some of the boys. The man had seen her too, and she'd noticed he didn't lose sight of her, a worried look on his face. Please, don't be worried too, she remembered having thought.

To their surprise, the King's chambers were crowded. Stannis and Selysse sat in the centre of the room and were surrounded by his court; the red woman was there, as well as plenty of knights of the Stormlands; even Selysse's maidens stood behind their Queen. Sansa made a graceful bow in front of them and waited next to the Lord Commander for the King to speak.

"Lady Sansa, as you may know I've been informed that you've recently been released from the charge of regicide hanging over you," Stannis said with his characteristic impassive tone. "You should know all of us are glad of the news."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"So, because of this good news, I've decided honour you."

"H-honour me, Your Grace?" she stammered.

"My Lady, I've decided to marry you to one of the Queen's men, Ser Patrek of King's Mountain, one of my most trusted men. Ser Patrek, please," The king waved a hand and a clean-shaven and windburned man stepped forward, and bowed his head to her. His knightly raiment was of white, blue and silver and his cloak a spatter of five-pointed stars. "Once you are married I'll take back Winterfell from the Boltons, and the Starks will rule the North again as they have always done. Of course, in exchange you'll support me in my claim to the Throne. The ceremony will be as soon as possible," the king stated.

Winterfell. Home. That was all she had always prayed for, but she wasn't prepared for that. The thought of another arranged marriage made Sansa shudder and she felt like her legs wouldn't hold her any longer.

"I am very grateful," she said cautiously, "though your Grace may have forgotten I'm already married. You called me Lady Lannister the first time we met." She said with a gentleness she was far from feeling. Ser Patrek smiled with arrogance at her and suddenly her stomach ached, and she knew she couldn't bear it; she wouldn't let them do that to her again.

Jon was tense by her side and tried to intervene in her favor. "I think we should discuss this issue in private, your Grace."

"Nonsense," Stannis claimed ignoring Jon's words, "Lady Sansa will marry Ser Patrek if you want your Keep back. The Imp may be dead, and anyway, I'm sure we could make a deal with a Septon about your previous marriage."

"No, I won't," she had stated, her voice strong and clear, echoing against the stone walls. "I beg your pardon, your Grace, but I will marry no one."

A wave of angry whispers had filled the room in that moment. The Queen clawed her nails in the arms of the wooden chair, and Stannis clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. Sansa made a farewell bow and left the room, walking with the grace and the pride of a northern Queen.

"Don't you think this has been your last word, my lady. Think about it, where will you go when you can't stay here any longer? You know you have nowhere to go!" she heard Stannis saying as they left.

Sansa's strength began to fail her once they were outside. She was panting and shivering. Wasn't the Castle even colder now?

"What were you thinking? You shouldn't have said that. Stannis won't forget this affront," Jon had told her.

"I could not bear the thought of marrying again against my will! I don't need another husband."I don't want anyone who doesn't love me in my bed again…

"Even for Winterfell? It wasn't such a bad deal, I think…"

"Not at that cost. I can't… I'm sorry, Jon, I know I promised not to make any trouble…" she felt suddenly very tired and had run to Hardin's Tower, seeking solitude.

Now that she was alone, she felt sad, angry and powerless all at once. As she shuffled down the hall toward her room, she noticed a dim light coming out of Sandor's cell. She approached silently and peered through the ajar door. His tunic was lying in a corner of the room and he had his bare back to the door. Sansa watched him in silence as he washed quietly and thoroughly cleaned his hair, face and arms in a big wooden bucket. She realized she felt a curious peace being part of that little moment of his intimacy; his mere presence soothed her, like something rather familiar and heartwarming. A part of her was eager to tell him about what had happened; sure he'd know what to do about it, but another hidden part of herself didn't want him to know she might end up married to other man. How would he react? Sansa wasn't sure she even wanted to know the answer.

He lifted his arms to wring out his hair and her eyes followed the water drops that slid from his black hair down his back until they died at the waist of his breeches. His skin was a war landscape of old and fresh scars of all kinds of sizes, but beneath them there were strong muscles and a body full of life. "I've seen how he looks at you, Sansa. He wants you," Jon had said. The memory made her body shakeso intensely that the skirt of her dress brushed the door frame. Though it was just a soft noise, he heard it and turned quickly meeting her guilty gaze. Sandor reached the door in two large steps and opened it completely.

"Didn't you learn how to knock, girl?" he growled.

She blushed embarrassed and looked at her feet to avoid his gaze, as she couldn't even mumble a meager apology. Neither of them said a word for what seemed an eternity, until he moved aside and let her walk in. Only a pair of candles lit the small room, which was even smaller than hers. He was so close when he closed the door and turned to her…

"I'm sorry…" she finally managed to mutter.

He stepped forward; his big shadow projected on the stone wall. Sansa stepped back until she lay against the wall and finally stared at him.

He wants you, Sansa.

"How did the meeting with Stannis go? Everything's all right?"

"I-I don't really know…"

He frowned and stepped forward a little bit more. She was now cornered between him and the wall.

"What has happened, little bird?"

That the only time I wasn't a pawn in this war was when I was running with you,she wanted to tell him. That I want you to take me again and run far away but now we have nowhere to go...

Still waiting for an answer, he inadvertently touched his left side, where she noticed her stitches had left a thick, soft, pink scar. Instinctively Sansa raised her hand and touched it slightly with the tip of her fingers.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked in a whisper.

"Not usually, though now it's burning."

Her hand was attached to his skin and she couldn't remove it, indeed, she stared at how her fingertips stroked gently his side as she realized how badly she had missed his body next to hers all those days. A trail of butterflies fluttered over her belly and flew away, thrilling her body with a newly discovered excitement.

"You shouldn't be here, Sansa. Come on, go now" Sandor said in a hoarse voice, though neither of them moved.

Standing between the man and the cold wall she found herself shaking her head and smiling as she heard him saying her name for the second time in months.

He wants you…

"There is no need for you to do this, little bird," he objected weakly, though at the same time he raised his big hand very carefully and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. She held it and rested her cheek in its calloused palm.

"I know, but I don't want to be anywhere else," she whispered.

When Sandor pulled her towards him, his strong hand forced her to rise to receive his mouth. She tasted the taste of salt water, snow and sweat as his tongue slid inside her lips, slow but relentless. Sansa felt the wetness of his body through her dress as she pressed closer to him and surrounded his body with her arms, enjoying his closeness.

He wants you…

"Ask me to stop, little bird, because I won't do it by myself," he groaned in her ear. Then he lifted her easily and carried her to the cot where he sat and placed her on the floor between his legs. Now they were the same height and she was trapped between his strong tights, arms and body and her face was in front of his. She took it gently with both hands and very slowly, her lips began to mark a trail of kisses all over the burnt side; from his forehead to his cheek, through the bone that showed on his jaw to what was left from his ear, trying to erase with her touch the pain and the nightmares that burned flesh had meant. He moaned as a wounded animal would, as if it hurt, but when her lips finally reached his mouth, he ate hers with an eagerness that made her mind fly away. As they kissed, she dared to slide her hands over his shoulders and felt the tighten muscles of his back under her palms. His were all over her body, filling all her senses and giving her goosebumps.

I want him too…

With quick and expert fingers Sandor began to undo the laces of her neckline and kissed her there and she couldn't help but tangle her fingers in his wet hair, threw back her head and completely surrendered to him.

Suddenly, strong knocks sounded on the hallway next to them.

"Sansa? Are you there?" Jon's voice called her.

She gasped, startled of the voice and Sandor covered her month with his right hand while held her waist with his left. They heard how Jon's steps approached until he knocked again on Sandor's door. Sandor tightened his grip.

"Clegane? Have you seen my sister? I need to talk to her!" he asked from the other side of the door.

"No! Now leave me alone Snow!" he rasped out.

They felt how Jon hesitated for a brief moment, but finally he left. Sandor took his hand from Sansa's mouth and she breathed deeply. He had not released her yet.

"I should leave and meet him or he'll suspect," she muttered.

He nodded without taking his eyes from her. She tried to mend her dress and stepped back to leave, but he grabbed her wrist fiercely and yanked her closer.

"You still owe me a song, little bird," he groaned with a tickly voice.

A slight smile showed at the corner of her mouth as she stroked his cheek, and in that simple gesture was a whole world of promises.