Here we are, chapter 15 at last! What with the Easter holidays underway in the UK, hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly again, and who knows... maybe even finish!

Chapter 15:

She ran her hand slowly over the stone. It was only the very foot of the outer walls of Winterfell, but it was home just as her own chamber was, and the very feeling of being so painfully close made Sansa want to weep. The last time I saw Robb and Mother, and Bran and Rickon was inside these walls. They are mine. They belong to me, as I do to them. Before her memory could betray her she felt hands on her hips, warm breath on her neck and a rasp in her ear:

"Time for that later, little bird." Sandor gently ushered her forward. They had tied the horses right underneath the shadow of the wall and were now following Arya's lead, searching for the hidden entrance into the crypts blanketed by darkness. The feel of Sandor's hands of her hips made Sansa blush, but she was thankful no one could tell. She went to Arya who turned to her with a silent glare.

Focus, if you wouldn't mind, her eyes yelled. Then, turning back to the stone, she suddenly stopped. The other three held their breaths. Arya beckoned Sandor and Brienne to her, and soundlessly gestured for them to push. They placed their hands on the stone colder than the winter it stood for, and slowly it moved backwards. For a few seconds Sansa dared not hope that it led into Winterfell. With one look into the blackness beyond the stone she could have sworn she could make out a face. She half expected Joffrey to appear and say with a vicous grin,

"Going somewhere, my lady?"

The touch of someone's hand startled her. Arya was stood in the archway of the hidden door, a few steps below ground level, and was pulling her down. Taking one last look up at the moon, Sansa stepped down into home.

The light had been shut out of the Stark fortress. I know we are Northerners and winter is coming, Sansa thought, but surely it has never been this cold. As the four of them gingerly felt their way down the steps Sansa could see the crypts as if they were filled with light. The ground evened out, and she knew they were among the statues and the bones. We are here. We've come home.

Father was down here now, as was Lyanna, the one King Robert had gone to war for. It was because of that war that Father is down here in the first place. If Robert had never been King he would not have made Father his hand. Then Sansa scolded herself. Robert was a drunk but he was Father's friend. Joffrey is to blame. I hope he is not resting, wherever he is.

A sudden glimmer appeared up ahead of them. Brienne took a silent step forward, her hand on her sword's hilt. Sansa wanted to run to Sandor and never let go of him, but he was stood next to Brienne as if they were two soldiers, ready to draw his own sword. For all their slandering and insulting they do make a formidable pair.

"The light is just coming from the yard," Arya's whisper made her flinch in the darkness, "I don't think anyone's coming down here."

"Nevertheless…" Brienne's voice was nearly inaudible as she and Sandor crept forward. The girls came slowly behind them. Sansa took a look at Arya and saw she had drawn her sword. Without realising she had placed her own fingers on Wolfsong's hilt. The grip was good and it was the perfect size for her hand. Father chose well the day he made Mikken a smith of Winterfell.

"Where would Greyjoy be?" Brienne whispered. They were now at the bottom of the steps leading upwards.

"The dungeons most likely," Sansa replied. With a silence more uneasy than that of a snake, they began the ascent up to the world. Sansa glanced back at the monuments of her ancestors. When I next come down here it will be as the Lady of Winterfell.

They came upon the two direwolf statues that guarded the entrance to the crypts. Sansa looked at the snarling, frozen teeth and for the first time understood their viciousness. She couldn't help staring at them and then at all the walls and balconies and fires and then imagining a direwolf sigil flying above them. It will happen. I will make it happen.

She and Arya led Brienne and Sandor along the side of the yard, hidden under shadows and behind crates, keeping away from the light of the patrol's fires. Sounds of music and roars of laughter came from the direction of the great hall. There were Bolton men scattered along the upper walls, and some watching over the open space of the yard the way Lord Eddard Stark had done the day he had learnt King Robert was on his way.

They dare to Lord it over Winterfell. Their very sigil is a man bound to a cross. They were meant to be imprisoned.

Sansa suddenly felt Sandor's hand on her shoulder, telling her to go no further. She looked in the same direction as he to see Arya creeping onward, and knew she was seeing if it was safe to continue. Sansa focused on Sandor's hand on her shoulder and tried to calm herself. They were making good progress. At this rate they would reach the dungeons without any kind of trouble. But if Theon wasn't there…

Arya suddenly gave a small yelp. Sansa felt her throat seize up in fear. Peering out from where she was hidden she could see a Bolton guard had spotted Arya and was now chasing her. Brienne was upon him before he could get out a whole shout for help, and he made a terrible choking sound as she slit his throat from behind.

"Down there!" The yell shot through the night. Sansa knew they had been spotted. She drew Wolfsong only to find her hand trembling. I am no warrior. What was I thinking? Sandor suddenly gripped her arm and was yanking her along towards Brienne and Arya.

"We'll have to split up," Brienne said suddenly. The thud of boots on the wooden upper levels told them guards were quickly approaching.

"No!" Arya nearly screamed. Sansa could feel her heart pounding violently in her chest. Wolfsong was cold in her hands. I am a Lady, not a fighter. Why am I holding a sword? I was not meant to have one!

"We must," Brienne was saying, "The girls should search out Theon Greyjoy, they know Wintferfell better than you or I, Clegane."

"Alone with these Bolton pricks running around?" Sandor spat, "You want them to get caught?"

"The Stark daughters are wolves, and look at those swords," Said Brienne, "No one is catching them."

Time was running out. If Sansa and Arya were going to chance a run to the dungeons, it had to be now. "We are their shields," Brienne's voice was stern but urgent, and Sansa knew the argument was won, "We give our lives for theirs by the old gods and the new."
"Piss on that," Sandor replied, "I'll give my life for her because she deserves better, not because of some buggering god."

But there is no one better, Sansa wanted to shout, however sense held her tongue.

"Run my ladies," Said Brienne boldly, "Find the Greyjoy boy. We will hold them off. Get out the minute you have him and make for the Wolfswood. Asha Greyjoy will do the rest."

Sansa could feel a tear coming into her eye. For god's sake you are a wolf! Stop crying like a child and take back your home!

She looked back at Sandor, wanting to kiss him desperately, but fought against it. She grabbed Arya by the wrist and together they ran.