It was grey in the half-light of the morning, and cold. Though the snows hadn't yet crept this far south, Sansa knew it wouldn't be long now. She could smell it on the air. Winter is coming.
The mist rolled back to reveal sparse trees as they rode. Many were bare. Some were scorched. One had a dead man propped against it, too cold to stink. Sansa stared straight ahead, drawing the scratchy cloak tighter about her shoulders. Behind her, Lem picked his teeth, and Sansa shuffled forward in the saddle, disgusted.
They had only sent three to escort her. Only three. Lem, Gendry, and Tom O'Sevens. It was worrying and comforting at once. Nobody really cared what happened to her, not any more. I don't, either. They had set off as soon as the heavy blackness of night had begun to lift, with the horses walking. Lem had swung her up into the saddle in front of him, and whispered: "Do I need to tie you, now, or will you be good?"
Sansa refused to turn round, but she could hear the grin in his voice. She longed to wipe the smile from his face, longed to look him in the eye and tell him that she'd killed one of the Mountain's men and so he would tie her if he was clever. But she didn't. That wasn't the same thing. So they rode, and said nothing, and Sansa wondered what the Aunt in the Eyrie would say when she saw the dirty, tangled mess who had been a Princess, and a King's betrothed, and was nothing now.
Somehow, after Lord Beric had died and been brought back, Sansa had expected to be forgotten. She had imagined living with the brotherhood: working, going unnoticed. But Gendry had shaken her awake minutes after she had finally dropped to sleep, and she'd been mounted again almost before she knew what was happening. Not for the first time, Sansa swore to the Old Gods and the New that, if she survived the winter, she would never sit a horse as long as she lived. At least the Hound had ridden such a huge horse that there was room for them both. But oh, Gods, don't think of him.
It had taken her by surprise. She hadn't meant to do it. But she had been shocked, and scared, and alone, and so, so tired of all of it. She had wanted desperately to escape her cage, and to break his. She didn't know what she had wanted. To comfort, or to be comforted; to wrest control - just for a moment - from the hands of those who would do her harm and to take it for herself. It was something soft and pure in the midst of the terror. But it had been a madness, quickly recovered from. A Little bird, fluttering back to the rafters. It was best left alone.
The silence yawned out into the wood before them, broken occasionally by a screaming crow or Tom's voice, making some joke or other. Sansa ignored him each time. It was long hours before they met them, as they followed a muddy track skirting the trees. Only two, and travel-weary; Tom and Lem did not seem concerned. Sansa stiffened a little, but merely sat up straighter. The two men were not moving. Sansa thought they might have allowed the brothers to pass on without a word, but Lem seemed to catch something in the intensity of their gaze, and pulled the skinny mare to a halt, confident.
"Like what you see, sweetheart?" he called.
Sansa blinked: She'd been wrong, it was a woman. She stood taller than Tom and probably even Gendry, with battered armour and a crop of straw-blonde hair. At close quarters she could see that in fact neither of them were men - the second was a boy. She pushed forward a little. Was his face familiar?
Her musings were stopped in their tracks by the big woman's speech. "No, Ser, I do not." Her sword was drawn. "I must ask you to relinquish that maiden to my care."
There was a silence. The mare snorted. And Tom and Lem exploded into laughter.
"Take yourself off, woman. This one's ours. Does your husband know you're playing at knights?" Lem laughed, wiping an eye.
The two travellers exchanged glances. Even to Sansa, their case seemed hopeless. The boy wasn't even armed.
"I am under oath to protect that lady."
Sansa turned sharply, surprised. "I've never seen you before, you swore no oath."
The woman bowed. "No, my Lady. I swore the oath to your mother, Lady Catelyn."
She felt sick. "You lie. My mother is dead." Her eyes flicked towards Gendry, who looked bemused.
The woman bowed again. "Yes, my Lady. I do not consider myself free from the oath I swore to her, however. She asked me to find you and your sister, and to protect you. I am Brienne of Tarth, and this -"
Sansa and Tom spoke at the same instant.
"My sister's dead."
"Seven Hells, woman, we ain't giving her up, even if she would go with you! A pretty ransom she's to fetch, and -"
"Shut your fool fucking mouth, Tom." Lem's eyes were narrowed.
Brienne was quiet, her fingers reaching for something at her side. She produced a fat purse, and held it aloft. Her hand did not shake.
"Take it. It's more than you'll get for her at the Eyrie."
Tom and Lem exchanged glances. Sansa's head whirled.
"What's to stop us taking your purse and keeping the girl, eh?" Lem did not seem concerned by the gold, but he had shifted behind her.
Brienne closed her eyes for a moment. "You may try, if you like."
Tom had steered his horse so it stood close to Lem's. "It is more than we'll get for her at the Eyrie. Take it and let her go. The Gods know I don't bloody care what happens to her."
Gendry moved as though to speak up, but Lem silenced him by speaking to the woman.
"Hand it over, then."
Sansa met Brienne's eyes for the first time, making no effort to conceal the panic.
"Let her down from the horse."
Lem did so, leaping from the mare himself and lifting Sansa down after him. Brienne bowed to her once more, and tossed the purse to the big soldier, who was already back in the saddle.
"We've robbed you," he chuckled, and motioned to Gendry and Tom. "I mean to try to drink some of this gold before Beric gets hold of it. Hurry up, will you?"
Tom gave another crack of laughter, and dug his heels into his horse. Gendry turned to Sansa. She nodded gravely at him. "Luck."
"And you, Lady Sansa."
The jingle of his horse died away quick as he moved through the thick trees.