Chapter 9:

Gentle mother, font of mercy…

"She was spraying some shit about Asha Greyjoy when we took them."

"Little bird…"

Save our sons from war we pray…

She tried to move her head, but a sudden jolt of pain made her lie back down.

Gentle mother, font of mercy…

"Look at me. Can you look at me?"

If she really tried, Sansa could see. Her eyes were too exhausted to open, but she could hear. The voice speaking to her was not next to her, but it was near. And thank the seven, it was a rasp. So they were not dead, she prayed.

"Sandor…" She found she could speak. She heard an audible sigh of relief.

"Thank fuck for that." It was definitely him. Sansa could now see colour. And she could lift her head. Lying on her side, she sought out Sandor and saw him sitting against a pole. He was bound to it, no chance of movement.

"What happened?" She asked.

"You bloody well gave us away, that's fucking what." He snarled back. She wanted to tell him to shut up, that it was not all her fault, and that they would have been taken anyway, but then she remembered that she had heard the name Asha Greyjoy. Being taken could not be such a bad thing. In a way it was meant to happen.

"And your sister and the bitch of Tarth are here, by the way." She gave Sandor a look of confusion.

"They went North," She stammered. How could they be here? Brienne would never let anything like this happen to Arya. You thought Sandor would never let anything like this happen to you…

"They were caught like us. The little bitch probably gave them away as well."

"I didn't mean to tell them who you were!" Sansa said, her lips trembling. She wanted to just drop her head into the dirt and cry. Arya wasn't safe, she wasn't at the wall with Jon, she was here surrounded by filthy outlaws who would murder her and then come for herself and Sandor, the man she had kissed with a passion she didn't know she had now hated her. And it was all her own fault.

"I'm sorry." She muttered, feeling the tears swelling up in her eyes. She lowered her head. If she had to cry, it would not be where he could see. She had already given too much of herself to him. Stealing a glance, she saw pity in him.

"No, little bird, I am sorry," He spoke surprisingly slowly, his rasp toneless, "I am sorry I couldn't reach you. Seven hells knows I tried. But they played a new trick on this old dog." He laughed hoarsely and bitterly. She looked up at him.

"You've come between disaster and I many times, sir," She told him, "You have saved me in more ways than you know."

At that, the laugh stopped. His eyes were on her again, the same eyes that had looked upon her when he woke her from her nightmares.

"Then I'll get you out of this." His words were not desperate for approval, nor were they a sacred vow. It was a fact, pure and simple: he would get her out. She would walk away, and she would walk away alive because of him. Without another word Sansa knew he would now protect her more fiercely than he had ever protected Joffrey, and he would savage anyone who touched her without her permission.

Before any other words could be spoken, a man suddenly stood over her and was kneeling down to take hold of her.

"Touch her and I'll strangle you with your own guts," Sandor warned.

"Not trussed up like a turkey, you won't," The person replied. Sansa could see it was the first of the men who had spoken on the road. He hauled her to her feet, and two men hoisted Sandor to his. She remembered why they were here. Sansa gave Sandor a look asking him not to struggle.

"You mentioned Asha Greyjoy?" She asked the bald man.

"So what?" He spat.

"I wish to speak with her at once," She replied.

"D'ya jear that?" He turned to the men holding Sandor, "The little lady wishes to speak with Asha Greyjoy, at once!" His laugh was gnarly and his grip on her arm was tight as he pulled her along, with Sandor struggling as he was dragged behind them.

"Where are you taking us?" Sansa asked, trying to make her voice sound anything unlike the fear in her stomach. Her escort made no reply but gave her a smile with grey teeth.

"Bring the little one and the huge whore with them!" He called over to someone. Sansa immediately was aware that he meant Arya and Brienne. She could see them now, Arya was not bound like Brienne but was being dragged all the same. Somehow Sansa guessed they had a harder time holding Arya than Brienne.

"My lady," Brienne called to her when they were pushed into Sansa and Sandor, "Are you hurt?"

"No," Sansa replied, and threw her arms around Arya. Thank the gods she's not hurt. The sisters were yanked apart and now two men were holding Sansa.

"You promised to take care of her," Brienne said venomously to Sandor.

"Don't give yourself fucking airs," He replied as they were both yanked to a walking pace behind the girls, "You haven't done any fucking better, bitch of Tarth."

One thing I haven't missed, thought Sansa.

"Where are we?" Arya asked, glaring up at the men as if she could scratch their eyes out.

Sansa looked around frantically, trying to make out the truth. They were still in woodland of sorts, with tents and fires up everywhere. Men were running around everywhere, drinking, some singing, some eating, many laughing. Most with their eyes on her.

Don't be afraid. A wolf doesn't need courage to chase off rats.

When the four were brought before a gathering of men seated around the biggest fire of all, the bald man left Sansa and said something to one of his men she couldn't hear. Once it was said, however, the man immediately went off running.

"What are you doing so far north hound, and what do you want with Asha Greyjoy?" The bald head looked from Sandor to Sansa. She gulped.

"Looking for vermin to kill," Sandor replied. Brienne, who was still being held by three men, gave him a cold look. He gave one back.

Sansa was trying to think of something to say when her eyes suddenly caught a flash of grey on one of the flags hanging above a tent. A direwolf. All she had to do was glimpse in another direction and there was another. Then, yes, next to the Kraken of House Greyjoy there was another. And another. There were men here still fighting for House Stark.

"You'll be interested to hear what I have got to say to Asha Greyjoy when you find out it concerns the direwolf that flies above you." She spoke slowly, determined.

"And why would we be interested in anything from you except what's between your legs?" The man grunted.

Sansa could feel the anger of both Sandor and Brienne behind her but she said nothing. Instead she snatched her arms free of the grip of her captors, and before they could get her again drew her hood back from her face and spoke as her auburn hair tumbled about her.

"Because I am Sansa, of House Stark, daughter to Eddard, Lady of the North and Heir to Winterfell," With her last words the eyes of every man were fixed on her even more than before, as they realised they were looking at the most eligible maiden in Westeros. At first her words sounded like the desperate pleas of the child she had been in King's Landing, as she had begged Joffrey to stop when he demanded her Father's head, and when he had had her beaten before the court. But when Eddard and Winterfell passed her lips she felt the strength of the Wolf inside her, the walls of the Stark home enclosed around her, protecting her, and the warmth of her sister beside her.

"I see Direwolves here, fighting with the Kraken of house Greyjoy as allies," She went on, as her voice gathered power and eventually commanded the clearing full of men,

"If any of you ever loved my father, ride with me," Sansa couldn't believe how bold her voice was, "The Stark line is not gone. My brother Jon is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and you named my brother Robb the King in the North before his death. And I have my sister. I am asking those of you still loyal to House Stark, and those who have made us your friends. Let me speak with Lady Greyjoy and offer my comradeship in return for hers. If you would see the direwolf of my house above the walls of Winterfell again, stand with me, the daughter of Eddard Stark. Help me retake the stronghold of the North."

With the final words of Sansa Stark a sudden rupture went up from the mass of greasy heads she saw before her, and as she turned to look at Arya, she saw a look of amazed astonishment from her younger sister. She didn't turn to look at either Sandor or Brienne. A voice suddenly broke through the cheers, sceptical and stern,

"With due respect to you and yours, m'lady," This fellow with the bald head was going to be harder to persuade, she could see, but somehow it didn't bother her. She was not a coward, or a frightened child anymore. She was a wolf, she had found her pack again and made it stronger. Like any respectful lady would she heard him out, "what is there to retake? The Boltons have your old home, and once the Greyjoys are done with it they'll leave it as it is now: a ruin, sacked and smokin'."

"Ruins can be rebuilt," She replied instantly, "Harrenhal still stands after the Targaryen dragonfire, and look at King's Landing after the sacking of Robert Baratheon. Winterfell can grow from what it has become with these invaders."

Upon these words a new man made his way around the fire to her. As he drew closer, Sansa felt a spring of recognition. Arya confirmed it as she suddenly exclaimed,

"I know you!"

A weary smile spread across the aged face, blackened with the soot spent eternally by a blacksmith's hearth as he spoke,

"I am glad to hear it, Arya, daughter of Eddard. And you, Sansa," His squinting eyes turned to her, "You have the authority and forbearance of your lady mother. I am ashamed I did not recognise you or your sister sooner. I am Mikken…"

"You forged Needle for me," Arya said instantly.

"Yes, and proud that you remember, young warrior," Mikken said fondly. Yes, Sansa remembered now. From the forges of Winterfell came men like Mikken, who with every blow of his welding hammer armed her father in battle and gave him his protection, a shield engraved with the direwolf that was a part of her, of Arya, of every Stark that ever sat in the chair of Winterfell. And here he was, his loyalty unbreakable. Sansa blinked back a tear. It would do no good to cry. "If it would please you, my ladies," Mikken was saying, as he got down on one knee, "I would be honoured to protect the daughters of Eddard Stark. Allow me to propose myself as your shield."

"I have a shield, as does my sister," Sansa replied, a genuine feeling of regret, "Sandor Clegane and Brienne of Tarth have done more for us than I can say, however we will welcome your comradeship and trust."

"As you wish, lady Sansa." Mikken moved back, and several other men came forward to swear their fealty to the wolves. Before long the entire camp was on its feet, chanting Eddard and lady of the north and glory to Winterfell.

Arya had been released and upon Sansa's request Sandor and Brienne had been released from their bonds. Immediately they both came to the girl's sides, and their swords were returned to them.

"That was quite a speech," Sansa heard a hard, female voice say. Turning, she found the one she had been searching for.

Asha Greyjoy was stood before Sansa Stark, the Kraken before the Wolf, and a woman of good build, short brown hair and narrowed, suspicious eyes. "I'm almost tempted to fly the Direwolf of House Stark above my own banners."