Thank you all again for the lovely reviews. They really are so appreciated. I've had a lot of free time recently (hence the rapid onslaught of updates), but this is probably the last chapter that I will be uploading for a little while. You may notice that some of the timings of events and placements of characters are slightly (or very) wrong, but please bear with me as it's difficult to move the plot on otherwise. Similarly, I have tried as much as possible thus far to leave Sansa's age ambiguous, as I know some people prefer her age to be concurrent with that in the books, whereas others think she ought to be older. Personally, I tend to imagine her as around sixteen, but I don't want to push that on others. Finally, I apologise for the rushed and slapdash nature of some of my last chapters - pure procrastination getting the better of me. I'm pretty unhappy with Chapter 12 in particular, but we'll see. Also, I honestly have no idea where this story is going so forgive me for possibly ridiculous plot points. Thanks again! X
The night was cold, and the tears fell fat and hot upon Sansa's cheeks. They had been riding for hours now. It seemed to Sansa that she had been on a horse for most of her life. But now, instead of the great black destrier, she was perched upon a skinny mare, with the big yellow-cloaked soldier behind her. She hated the stupid horse, and she didn't care much for the soldier. Up ahead, Beric Dondarrion led the group of outlaws, and to his right was Stranger, with Sandor slumped across him, swearing and spitting with every breath.
They'd wanted to take Stranger for themselves, but the Hound was too big for any of their bandit's horses to take his weight. That was something, at least, thought Sansa. In the dark, the brotherhood sang songs and called to one another jovially, making jokes and cursing the Hound. Sansa remained silent, and glared at Lord Beric's back.
If it hadn't been for the sigil of forked lightning which he wore upon his chest, she never would have believed it was him. Beric Dondarrion had been young, and comely - and this man was neither. He seemed to have aged decades in the time since Sansa had seen him last, and looked like as not to fall from his horse with sickness. He was scarred; everywhere he was scarred, and he wore an eye-patch now, half-hidden at times by his grizzled hair. Would that Jeyne could see him now. Jeyne had fancied herself in love with him, and would pinch Sansa's arm whenever he had passed, grinning. Oh, Jeyne.
A rough, guttural cry roused Sansa from her reverie. It was the Hound. His horse had made a small leap over a little stream, and landed hard. He had dropped in and out of consciousness throughout the ride, but woke screaming each time his horse mis-stepped. Still, Sansa said nothing.
Back at the mossy shelter, when they'd been taken, none of them would give her a chance to speak. Lord Beric kept telling her she needn't be afraid, and that the Hound would be brought to justice; and the one called Lem kept insulting him. There was another one, small and old with brown hair and a pointy nose like a rat, who plucked a harp and told her that a maid as beautiful as she would be perfect for a song. "And with a story like yours, oh!"
Sansa hadn't been able to tell him that songs weren't true stories, though, because the Hound had spoken first. He had said terrible things. He had called them all whoresons, called her a whore, told them he had taken her forcefully from King's Landing and that he'd do it again, told them that he'd wanted a reward and that he'd wanted her for himself, told them that he'd kill them all and kill her after he'd raped her bloody, and finally told them that Sansa was so stupid that she'd actually thought that he would keep her from harm and deliver her to her family with no trouble. And then he'd laughed, and it was nothing like he'd laughed before - it was sinister and wolfish and terrible.
Sansa hadn't stopped weeping in the hours that had passed. The brothers had told her she was safe now, that they would see she was well-rested and fed and then they would deliver her to her Aunt Lysa. When she'd only wept harder at that, they shook their heads and ignored her, preferring to call to one another from their horses. Sansa sat in silent shock, berating herself. Stupid bird, she thought. Life is not a song, haven't you learned? 'Florian and Jonquil' flashed through her mind for an instant, and then - "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." That made Sansa weep harder. He'd been ready to kill her, he would've killed her, and even still Sansa had trusted him in her naivety. And yet. It did not feel right to Sansa. But she mistrusted her instincts now, for hadn't they betrayed her in the past? It was her instincts that had told her to run to Cersei and tell her what her father meant to do, and it was her instincts which had made her set fire to her bedding and make sure everyone in the capital knew of her flowering. So now she could not even trust herself. Sansa closed her eyes, and prayed to the old gods and the new for help.
Suddenly, there was a long, low whistle from up ahead, and all at once there were lights floating out from the ground towards them. It took Sansa a moment to realise they were men, and that they had reached the mouth of a cave. Lord Beric dismounted and spoke briefly to those who had come out to meet them, and then they made their way to the Hound, who was tied wrist and ankle and roaring at them all. Roaring like a lion. With a great effort, he was lifted by the men and disappeared into the cave. The big soldier riding with Sansa dismounted and lifted her down, and then led her to the cave. Nervously, she entered. Where else have I to go?
Lem took her arm as she fumbled at the walls of the cave. It was warmer than she'd been expecting, and far longer, though she couldn't see much in the dark. They walked for some time, Sansa's hand meeting mud and stones and tree roots, until finally they emerged into a cavernous hollow in the earth which could have easily sheltered thirty men. A fire burned in the centre of the makeshift hall, its flames dancing and stretching to touch the blackened roof. Seated around it were men who appeared to be of varying levels of birth and position: some appeared to be peasants, while others were clearly soldiers. There were a few whose previous life Sansa could not have guessed at. And there in the corner, bound and grimacing far from the flames, was the Hound. A grey-haired man in faded red robes bent over him, tending his shoulder. Sansa turned away.
"Lady Sansa," called Lord Beric. "Allow me to re-acquaint you with one of my brothers." A stocky, clean-shaven man stepped forward. "M'lady," he inclined his head.
Sansa smiled as realisation dawned. "Harwin!" she cried. A thousand years had passed since she'd seen him last, back when she was still a child. He had been her father's man.
"I was sorry to hear of Lord Eddard's fate, M'lady. And of your Lady mother and Lord Robb."
Sansa bowed her head. "Thank you, Harwin," she whispered.
She was promised something to eat, and a bed to rest in, and she leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed, her face turned away from the direction of the Hound. She might even have fallen asleep, if a voice hadn't roused her. "M'lady," said a handsome, black-haired youth of an age with herself, "Beg pardon, M'lady, but I'm Gendry."
Sansa smiled blankly, not feeling much inclined toward pleasant conversation.
"I knew...I was with your sister, for a time. With Arya."
Sansa sat up. "Arya's alive? You know Arya? She's alive?"
Gendry sat next to her, looking uncomfortable. "She...she was, m'lady, when last I saw her. That was some time ago now."
"But where was she? What-what do you know of her?"
He took a breath. "After your father was executed, she- Yoren, he was of the Night's Watch, he picked us up and took us away from King's Landing. She was pretending to be a boy then, and had all her hair cut off. But he was killed in an attack, and we escaped, Arya and me, and Hot Pie and - and Lommy…"
Sansa looked confused.
"...And then we were captured by Lannisters, by the Mountain and his men, and taken to Harrenhal, and served there for a time. But then...then we escaped and the brotherhood found us. And we stayed with them awhile until...until she ran away."
"She ran away?" What was this place, that Arya would escape from it and risk being captured by the Mountain and his men - or worse - rather than stay?
"Y-yes, M'lady. That was a while ago now. But… But I never met anyone like Arry for surviving. She'll be alright, Lady Sansa. Mayhaps she made it back to Acorn Hall, or to the Eyrie." His words came out with a strange sort of force, and his eyes were clouded with something that Sansa could not quite identify.
"Mother have mercy," she whispered. It was too much to be hoped that her sister was still alive. And yet.
They supped together, on a watery stew which had little subsistence, but at least it was warm. Sansa had lost her cloak back at the shelter, and was given a new one now, heavier and uglier than the last, but warm. The Brotherhood Without Banners were cheery men, and passed the evening in telling ribald tales and swapping jokes about one another. From time to time, Sansa looked over at the Hound. The arrow had been taken from his shoulder, and the red man, Thoros he was called, had covered his wounds in some sort of poultice. Each time he caught her eye, he would scowl at her, until Sansa was afraid to look at him once more. Once more before she slept, she tried to get his attention. This time, he gnashed at her, causing her to drop her eyes hurriedly and blink back tears. Still, she could not understand it. She had been so sure.
She was given a place to sleep, and bid goodnight by Lord Beric. "Fear not, my Lady," he said quietly. "The Hound will be tried for his crimes upon the morrow, and will die for them."