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CHAPTER 19

SANSA

Sansa stared at her body under the waving surface of the water while she tried to relax in the warmth provided by the bathtub. Her pale legs were riddled with plenty of bruises of different shades and colors and small cuts, all gained during the long weeks of travel from the Quiet Isle. She looked at her right side to inspect an ugly scar she had under her breast, right in the ribs. It was a mark from one of Merryn Trant's beatings that never healed properly. Every day it reminded her of that time in her life, but also somehow showed she had found the strength to survive and to make her own path. Sansa wondered if Sandor Clegane would like her body that way—dotted with the marks her life had left on it—if he saw her completely naked. The thought made her cheeks flush. He had gone a while ago, saying that he had to join Grenn at the training yard and she had remained in bed for some more time before he left the room and she asked for hot water to take a bath. She was trembling as she entered the bathtub. And she knew she still smelled of him.

Instinctively, Sansa lifted her fingertips to her lips and then lowered them to her breast, where he had touched her. She recalled how his mere proximity had aroused her, and how she'd been captivated by the way her body had responded under his hands, seeking him, fitting his as if there wasn't enough skin on their bodies to be in contact with each other. When he penetrated her it had hurt, but Myranda and Mia had told her about what she should expect when laying with a man and she already knew it was something neither beautiful nor romantic, let alone during the first time. Sandor hadn't been an exception; she'd felt tiny and inexperienced under his massive body, though it wasn't how he moved inside her, but the way he looked at her, with that odd mixture of hunger and worship, that had finally soothed her. Sansa wondered what he had felt at that moment, if by having had her at his mercy he had finally fulfilled his desires.

Her inner thighs still stung and she had also noticed there was a little blood there. She laughed at herself; how many times had Jeyne Poole and she talked about how their wedding night would be! She remembered how they daydreamed about handsome knights who would ask for their favors, and would do anything to steal a kiss from them. Jeyne would be shocked if she knew that the first man she'd ever kissed was someone as ugly and unknigtly as the Hound, and even more if she told her that the first man she'd laid with wasn't even her husband. Sansa giggled at the silly thought, realizing that the woman she had become didn't care anymore for those kinds of matters. She had been betrothed to a monster and to men she never asked for, married by force, kissed by a boy and a man at the Eyrie and almost raped by a bard and a man during their journey to the Wall. Many women even had children at her age. Nobody would expect her to still be a maiden after all she had lived through, and she had chosen when and to whom she wanted to lost her maidenhood. After all, that had been her little victory over the people who had controlled her life since the day she left home, and somehow, she felt proud of it.

Rude and harsh as Sandor Clegane was, there was something almost gentle and knightly as far she was concerned that hadn't gone unnoticed for her. Sansa couldn't recall when the unnamed emotion she had felt that first day they met again at the Quiet Isle had evolved into something deeper and more solid. She had often thought of him at the Eyrie, and it'd been long since she was aware that, despite the rough manners with which he treated her at Kings Landing, he had truly cared for her. But it'd been during the longs days spent together riding though the Realm that the bond they shared had tightened in a subconscious, but irrevocable way. The short conversations they had, the looks, the proximity, the danger he had exposed himself to in order to protect her, the times she had to heal his wounds, how he took care of her when she fell ill or how he'd kept her warm at night with his body - Somehow, during all those moments came a time when his touch made her skin shiver and her heart beat faster and now her own body missed his when he wasn't next to her. But it hadn't been until last night, when she was certain he had left the Wall that she had realized she wasn't able to live anymore without him guarding her. An unbearable sense of loss had devastated both of them; she'd been well aware that under the bitterness of his mood towards her there was pain and disappointment, though she had been unable to soften it with kind words. But he had returned to her, to never leave again; that she knew for certain. His crude words still echoed in Sansa's mind; they hadn't been words of love or promises, but words of safety and loyalty—and want. And every pore of her skin had absorbed them until they had settled deep inside her being. She did not regret for a single moment anything that happened during the last hours; not the song, not the weeping, not the loss of her maidenhood, if that meant she could feel safe and wanted and held and kissed by the man she and only she had chosen.

Feeling a newly discovered strength, Sansa closed her eyes and slid down the bathtub until her head was completely under the water. There, behind her eyelids, surrounded by the peace and solitude the water provided, there was Winterfell. Part of it was burnt and ruined, but its walls were still strong, the snow covered the ground and there were villagers working around its buildings. She longed for it to be true. She wanted it more than ever and she wanted to fight for it. Sansa surfaced the water taking a deep breath. It was time to gather the fallen pieces from last night and begin a new day.

Later that evening, the ancient map was unfolded on the table in front of her. Sansa had lost count of how many times her fingers had run over the old paper, shorting the distance between The Wall and Winterfell. She had been studying it for hours, trying to recall the names of the Houses who had lived under House Stark's leadership until that moment. Umber, Karstark, Manderly, Mormont, Glover, Flint, Cerwyn, Hornwood… She wondered how many of them she could still trust. She knew little about the Northern politics at the moment.

The map seemed to be as old as the Wall itself. She had found it in The Vaults, an underground place of Castle Black that contained the food stores and the library. It was said that in the Night's Watch's library, there were records and old books that even the Citadel didn't have, covering drawings of the faces in the weirwoods, the language of the children of the forest, and even scrolls from Valyria. It had taken her more than an hour to find what she was looking for, but when she finally unrolled it and saw what it contained; she had held it tight to her breast with a confident smile.

Sansa had left the place covered in dust and spider webs and she had to sneeze several times before walking to her room. Sandor was in the courtyard, yelling at the boys about how they had to shield from an attack or how they must properly hold their swords. She stood there for a while, watching how he fought with one of them and then explained to the rest of the dumbfounded boys what he should or shouldn't have done. It reminded her of the times Ser Rodrik Cassel had trained her brothers at Winterfell. She had grown accustomed to the unmistakable sound of steel since she was a child, and its familiar scent that surrounded her again made her feel a little like being at home.

"You fight like rats, summer boys!" Sandor was snarling as one of the boys tried to rise from the ground. "I bet even one of the wilding children could poke a spear by your white asses before you could even call for your mom!"

Sansa couldn't help but burst out chuckling at his words; as it seemed, the hard night hadn't calmed his usual rude manners. When they noticed her, the young brothers' faces went red like apples before looking at their feet. Sandor turned to glance at her too.

"Stop staring like idiots and keep practicing!" he barked at them before walking toward her.

"If they are meant to protect the Realm we are fucked…" Sandor growled.

"Don't be so harsh with them. I'm sure they'll improve under your teaching. You're good at this," she said still smiling.

The two of them stood staring at each other, without knowing what to do or what to say now that they were outside, encircled by the busy life of Castle Black. Sandor's intense gaze disarmed her and finally, Sansa broke the awkward silence as she noticed a brown bruise rising on his jaw.

"What happened to your face?" she asked.

"Your brother," Sandor brushed his face before he added, "I deserved it."

"I bet you did," she said with a giggle.

Sandor frowned but finally twitched his mouth in his usual mocking grin. "I better check on those boys before they hurt themselves."

She grabbed the scroll tighter. "I need to talk to you later, please. Before dinner, when you're done."

He nodded and went to join the group again.

Sansa stared at the map again, analyzing possibilities, trying to figure out a way home in the little drawings and names that dotted the paper. She had seen Littlefinger planning and plotting plenty of times, spending uncountable hours writing letters, thinking up ways to forge new alliances or to break old ones. She had stood then by his side in silence, watching and listening, figuring out how his mind worked. And little by little she had finally learnt the subtle art of networking, manipulation and politics.

She wasn't sure what Jon was going to think about it. Would he support her or would he think she was just a silly girl playing castles? Winterfell had also been his home, though he had chosen a much different life and he hadn't the duty to help her now. Sansa had talked to her brother about an hour ago, at the Lord Commander's Keep where Jon used to deal with the Night Watch's business. He looked fatigued with brown circles showing under his eyes, and she felt a sting of guilt knowing she has been the cause of his little sleep last night. Ghost had left his place under Jon's table and had run for her to scratch his head. They hadn't talked much, just a few words of apology from her and some of concern from him before agreeing to meet later.

Sansa waited in her room for them now, expectant and nervous, retelling in her mind over and over what she needed to do. It was getting dark when Sandor arrived. He nodded at her and leaned on the wall waiting for her to talk. A few minutes later Jon was there too and though he looked askance at Sandor, he didn't bother to raise his gaze to him.

"Please, come closer. I need you to see this," Sansa asked them.

"What's that about?" Jon asked looking curious at the map.

"I found it in the library. This is Winterfell," she said, pointing at the little drawing of a castle in the middle of the parchment, "and this is where we are." Her finger slid then drawing a big circle entangling the two points. "And all this is the land our family has ruled for centuries and where the Stark's bannermen live."

"What are you implying Sansa?"

"I want them to know I'm here, that there is a Stark in the North again. I want to know how many of them are really loyal to Roose Bolton." Sansa took a deep breath. "I want to call father's and Robb's bannermen again and try to take Winterfell from the people who murdered our family."

Jon stared at her, his face like stone and inscrutable. He turned to Sandor, "Did you know any of this?"

Sandor simply shrugged and stared back.

"You're well aware of the actual situation in the North, Jon; despite being so far I'm sure you are." Sansa continued, "You also met father's bannermen at Winterfell and know the Lords who went south with Robb. Sandor Clegane has led men for the Lannisters for years; he knows tactics and strategies on the battlefield. And I'm supposed to be a Lady, remember? I know how to do the diplomacy; how to find the right words I need to address them. If Stannis feared I did this, it's only because he knows I can succeed."

"You agree with all this, Clegane?" he asked him again before answering to Sansa.

"Why not?" he rasped out, "The girl has courage. And if anyone knows at this point about plotting and diplomacy, that's her. It's time she removes her pretty head from this frozen hole and claims what is her by right. Or do you prefer her to beg for a cot at some of your northern lord's Castles?

Sansa searched Sandor's eyes, finding assurance and respect in them. He had supported her unconditionally, without even knowing what she was going to ask for. A slight smile made her squint at him at the certainty that she wasn't alone anymore.

"I don't want anybody calling me beggar again. Don't you want our home back Jon? I think I must try. For father and Robb. For Bran and Arya. For the people who raised us. For our family."

The Lord Commander's dark eyes ran over the surface of the big scroll; focused and thoughtful as they always were. "First you'll need to gain a strong ally. Then it'll be easier for the rest to follow," he finally told her.

"I've already thought of some names…" she said with a smile. Jon nodded.

"I guess I need not suggest that you marry someone to make a better alliance."

"I'm afraid this must be done without that possibility."

"Alright. Then tell me what you have in mind."

They spent the next hour talking about Houses, names, men and women of the North, calculating chances and possibilities. She learnt who rode with the King in the North and who died for him. Who were loyal and who changed his cloak. Winterfell was their priority, then to secure the Neck; Sandor pointed out. Once done with that, with all the North united again, no southerners would pass beyond Moat Cailin. She knew some of the important Houses still had hostages at the Twins, and that Boltons and Freys had too killed many northern men. Sansa realized then what should be her calling: that the North never forgets.

When the two men left her room to join for dinner she asked for paper and ink and sat to write the letters that would determine the lines of her fate.

My Lord / My Lady, I am taking the liberty to address you in regard of the love and loyalty you professed to my Father, Lord Eddard Stark and my brother Robb Stark…

The words didn't flow easily at first; it seemed wrong to be asking for their help after so much loss in their families.

…I am aware I am asking for further sacrifice. I know I have no right to demand your help when you are still weeping for your loved ones…

Sansa could easily feel the painful losses they'd been through. These families had lost sons, brothers, fathers, husbands and friends in the War of the Five Kings and she was asking for more. Though she wished she could make them understand this was a different request; she wasn't just asking for revenge for her family, but for justice for all the suffering and grief the traitors had caused to their beloved North.

… I do not want you to join my cause only because of your loyalty to my House, but for the honor of the North itself. Those who had betrayed us have taken possession of Winterfell, not only sullying my home and the name of my family, but bringing shame and dishonor to our Kingdom….

She also recalled to them the oaths that bounded them to House Stark, and wrote them about what she remembered of each one of their visits to Winterfell and what her mother and her maester had taught her.

… I ask you to please join me in this quest. I know you are brave and loyal men. Let Boltons, Freys and Lannisters know that we don't kneel to them, that the North doesn't forgive so easily.

Sansa's fingers trembled slightly before signing:

Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell.

It was already dark when Sandor came back to her room after dinner time. He brought a mug of ale with him and stared for a while at the letters scattered over the table.

"Stannis won't like this," he remarked

"I know. That's why I need to send them as soon as possible. I can't afford for him to know about our plan before they reach their destination, and I still have a lot of work to do," she told him.

He finally sat on the chair across the table and spread his long legs in front of him before taking a long gulp of from the mug.

She went back to her task; writing letter after letter until her fingers were dark with ink.

To Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbour…

To Lady Alysane Mormont of Bear Island…

To House Umber of Last Hearth…

To House Cerwyn of Cerwyn Castle…

Blackwood, Tallhart, Ryswell, Waterman, Norrey… She wrote to all of them, taking care in each sentence, leading words of courage, hope and northern pride to each one of their hearts. Twelve letters, all similar but different, with special words for each one of the Lords they were addressed to.

Sandor Clegane sat silently next to her the whole time, leaving her to her task and making a quiet though comforting companion while he finished his drink.

Suddenly Sansa woke up as she felt a strong hand over her shoulder and found that Sandor had crouched down in front of her. She realized she had fallen asleep on the table, although she didn't know for how long. She glanced at him through sleepy eyes as he wiped what seemed to be an inkblot from her cheek.

"Go to rest little bird," he muttered.

He was so close, she thought he was going to kiss her then, but instead he rested his hand at the back of her neck and then slid it as his fingers followed the line of her jaw to her chin. She put her own hand over his and leaned her face in it so he could cup it. It seemed to her that his hand trembled slightly against his cheek when she smiled lazily at him. He rose then and left and Sansa felt a shiver when the warmth of his hand finally abandoned her cheek.

The next day, early in the morning, when the sun had barely risen and a soft warm orange color spread across Castle Black, twelve black ravens flew from the Rookery of Castle Black carrying Sansa Stark's hopes toward twelve castles of the North.