It's been a bit of a lapse between chapters as I've been weighed down with A Levels and such, but I hope this was worth a short wait. I love reading the reviews as everyone has been so considerate and wonderful about my little story, do keep them coming, my lovelies! Hopefully the plot and writing hasn't or won't become stale… :)

Chapter 10:

When Sansa met Brienne she remembered thinking that she would never meet another woman like her in all her life. As the Kraken's daughter stood in front of her now she wasn't so sure. Asha Greyjoy was the promise of something; behind her weary but determined eyes there stood a warning that she was as good as any man, heightened with the iron-born blood and knowledge that came from leading 30 ships to victory at Deepwood Motte.

It was a mile or so south of Deepwood Motte that they were now, stood in Greyjoy's tent, with Sansa and Arya on one side as Sandor and Brienne stood faithfully beside them, and Asha on the other with several of her men. A map of the North was laid out, the Wolfswood between Deepwood Motte and home.

"You wish to come to Winterfell with me, then," Greyjoy was saying, "I give you your home back. What can I expect in return?"

"All you want is Theon," Sansa ventured cautiously, "Once you've saved your brother and destroyed the Boltons you'll have no use for Winterfell."

"I need to find him before I have Winterfell," Asha replied with a coy smile, "My power lies in my ships, remember. And I'm going further and further inland. The sea is my strength."

"Winterfell is ours," Arya said. The men stood by Asha Greyjoy were no doubt used to women taking control but no one had ventured on an 11 year old girl being a part of the battle plans. "You get us there, we'll tell you how to take it. How to get in without completely destroying it. How to find your brother without getting caught."

"And when this is done," Sansa finished, "You'll have all the men and everything you need to get back to the Iron Islands safely, and an alliance with Winterfell."

"Stronghold of the North…" Asha mused, her finger trailing across the ink trees to the word Winterfell, "You want to go home. So do I, but not without my brother. You tell me the best points around the castle, then with a band of my men you go in and find Theon."

"They are not to be a part of the fighting." Sandor Clegane's voice cut across the table with fierceness.

"The Starks won't be," Greyjoy told him, "Sansa and Arya know Winterfell the way a direwolf knows the Wolfswood. They take a band of men into the fort in silence and absolute secrecy…"

"Us, and us alone," Brienne suddenly said, "Too many would be too difficult."

Sansa would have felt safer with a few more guards with them, but was thwarted when Brienne continued, "I would feel better knowing Lady Catelyn's daughters were outside hidden in the woods as we went in and returned as quickly as possible."

"I'll not leave her alone here," Sandor leaned in to say to Brienne in a low rasp, but Sansa heard it.

"The four of you will go, return my brother to me, and then I will march on Winterfell and drive out the Boltons for you," Greyjoy announced, "But that is it. Once Theon is safe with me I ride for the Iron Islands. Any men who choose to follow you do so of their own choice. The Starks made Winterfell, they can rebuild it."

"They will." Arya replied, her voice hard.

"It is agreed then," Sansa said, and walked around the table to offer her hand to Asha Greyjoy. Sansa could feel her own nerves give her away as the two women shook hands but Greyjoy's shake was firm and strong. She knew the danger that was coming but she told herself not to be afraid. The danger was the risk, and Winterfell was worth the risk. And she had Sandor. Arya had Brienne. None of them would go down without a fight. And Sansa would fight for any of them.

Sansa was walking along a stream in the Wolfswood with Sandor beside her when Arya suddenly appeared in front of them, dangling from a tree.

"Will you watch what you're fucking doing?" Sandor snarled at her.

"No." She said simply, and vanished up amongst the branches once more. As Sansa looked up after her she suddenly realised she had always known someone like Asha Greyjoy. Brienne must be back at the camp, she thought. Arya would have had to ask her to let her be alone- Brienne would not have left her otherwise. Nevertheless Sansa couldn't help but wish Arya was not above them, able to hear anything she might want to say. But if I don't do this now, when will I?

"It was so noble of you to offer to protect me," She ventured slowly, already knowing how she wanted this conversation to end.

"You called me awful once, don't go changing your tune just because I offered to keep you safe." There was no emotion in his voice. Not like this. Why does he make everything he does sound so…worthless when it means everything?

"Why are you being so cold towards me?" Sansa asked him, her voice taking on the tone of the stubborn child for the first time in a long while.

"Little bird, this is how a dog is to its master."

"You are no dog, I am not little, and this is not how it should be between…us." That could not have gone any worse. Here I am making an alliance with one of the most powerful women in the North and I can't even talk to the man I call my shield.

They had come to a halt more awkward than any in the past. Sandor had turned away from her, his gaze fixed downward on the stream and his eyes hidden underneath the burns and a few limp strands of his hair.

"Perhaps I was wrong to accept you as my protector." She said coldly, as loudly as she dared. With that she turned on her heel. The sudden steel clutch of his hand on her arm made her gasp as he yanked her around to face him, his eyes full of that harsh emotion they had the night of the Blackwater.

"I am cold, girl," He hissed into her face, "I am a cold and fucking bitter dog who has had enough of fire, enough to just wander into the snow and fucking die. Then I took your bloody sister and realised she was a way to you. Then I woke you up from your nightmare and you started what happened in that inn, and I knew it was just like in a fucking song. One of those songs they taught you to sing, one of those songs… I forced from you."

Sansa could only look at him, astounded.

"You…" She tried to speak, but no words formed. Sandor grabbed her other arm and marched her backwards until she was against the trunk of a tree, with his arms encircling her against the bark. And her heart began to hammer inside of her.

"I thought I could leave you for your own good when you reached the wall," He was now saying, his rasping low and urgent, that seemed to hide another kind of yearning, "Just turn my back and get away from you, but then you wanted to come West for that Greyjoy bitch who wants to throw you right into the thick of the fucking danger. And when I heard you crying in your sleep in that buggering bed and brought you into my arms…" Sansa could hear a quiet breathing in his throat as he took a deep breath, "I just wanted to keep you there and stay like that. I could have died like that, little bird. I believed I could watch you from afar, just like one of your buggering knights who loves a fair maiden that can't be his, but I fucking can't. Even when you were stood in front of that fire talking to all those men about retaking Winterfell all I could do was stare at your back and remember my hands on it and how buggering soft you were. If I go to the seven hells when I die I'll laugh in their fucking faces because I died happy, I died protecting you, doing anything for you. I'm yours, little bird. And you're mine."

Again, Sansa could not speak. I had no idea… anything, say anything!

"You're mine…" She repeated softly. He would have died protecting her. Thinking on it now, with her lips inches from his, she realised it had always been that way. Joffrey could have had him executed when he told the Kingsguard to stop hitting her. The mob could have torn him to pieces. No. He wouldn't have let them, because he was protecting me. She liked the idea of being his, though she couldn't say why. She had never belonged to Joffrey, thank the seven, and she had never belonged to Petyr Baelish, despite posing as his daughter. But having a man who would die for her and had already come close, yes, that was who she wanted by her side when she fought for her home.

Sansa could feel her chin lifting, and once again she found herself wanting to kiss him. Looking into his softening eyes she knew it was going to come. But before it could, a gentle thump hidden behind Sandor suddenly alerted the two of them. Sansa looked behind him to see Arya standing a few feet away, with leaves in her hair and anger in her eyes. Traitor, her expression screamed silently yet Sansa could hear it as if Nymeria were stood beside her mistress howling at the sky with all her might.

I'll let you all in on a little secret: for one wild moment as I was writing the last few lines, I really wanted to do a proper twist George RR Martin style and have Arya stab Sandor from behind before he and Sansa could kiss, and then have her walking off muttering the names from her prayer to herself as Sandor dies in Sansa's arms and have the whole thing end there. But then I laughed hysterically to myself and rewrote it. Enjoy! x