I want to first thank all of you for reading my story,following it, reviewing it, etc. You have helped me develop a love for writing I never thought I had. Thank you to all the reviews! They keep me going. :)

Second, I want to apologize for the ridiculous amount of time between updates for this story. Things have been extremely busy at my college; I haven't had much time to write at all. But I will definitely be updating sooner now.

Now, for the update! There are more in store for our Lady and her Hound; new places and characters will also appear. Keep in mind that this fanfic diverges from the original storyline; everything ahead is new, except the original characters.

Again, thank you! Please read and review!

Enjoy.

It was a beautiful horse, copper spots breaking through the white hair. Sandor had made sure he was thoroughly trained. His head was several feet taller than mine; the first time I approached the horse, He slowly stepped toward to meet me. His clear eyes focused on mine. I touched the spot in the space between his eyes, feeling his veins course and continue through his body. He nuzzled at my hand. I named him Sun and he was mine.

He was going at a slow pace, climbing both of us through a dark clearing of tall grass. I held steady on the reins as my mind was entirely somewhere else.

It had been three months since I arrived at the camp of refugees. It had been three months since my mother and older brother were murdered.

My mind kept repeating that one night, the night I proclaimed what needed to be done. Ser Andoros, Ser Edwarthe and Ser Smithson had listened patiently at my proposition. Sandor was in the corner, appearing as a crow, looking over the map in front of us.

We needed to move quickly; every moment we were not in motion, Joffrey's hold was creeping nearer. I remember hearing stories when I was a child about the East, about the dark and mysterious lands and cities waiting there. It was our last hope.

We would be safer there, away from the reaches of the Lannisters; fighting a beast is difficult, but a lion as twisted as a Lannister is to be feared.

I had discussed this with the Knights, trying my best to appear confident.

The knights did not ask questions at first. They silently weighed the consequences of the journey, of moving these men and women across the wilderness and sea. Ser Edwarthe told of the rough sea in between our lands, to my dismay. Crossing a sea with this many people would be suicide, he proclaimed.

How would we do it? I had nothing but my blood as payment. Perhaps I could owe a debt or two.

My mind was finding any way of achieving this. Ser Andoros stepped into the discussion; he was from the port city of Talioro, east of Winterfells borders. We were not too far, he stated. It would take time, but we could find ships to take all of us. Ser Andoros had connections, he proclaimed to me positively. It seemed he had ties with the Stark's and the men of Talioro.

After hours of advisement, I knew there was not much choice; no matter how we would do it, we must move.

Word spread throughout camp quickly; soon after, I stood before the refugees stating the plan. I was standing in front of them as their leader, as a child, or whatever they might think of me. They stared at me, empty, even disappointed eyes.

Could I be their leader?

I told them they could do what they wanted; they could be go wherever they wanted. I would treasure their loyalty, no matter what they did.
They did not truly need me. I knew they would probably be safer without me.

Yet, I would take care of them. I wanted them to trust me. I wanted to keep them safe. I could not keep my family safe, but I could change. This would be my family now. Until I could find Arya, Bran and Rickon, and even Jon, this would be my family. I could become stronger, a warrior.

The eyes of the men and women had changed, however.

The next morning, the silence could be heard inside my tent. There was not that usual bleating of goats, or children playing.

I walked out to see the camp nearly empty. The women with the children had left. There were no animals, and the fires had died.

There were only three people still loyal: the man I had helped with the hay, Lutheas, his wife, Merris, and Katherine, who nursed me back to health.

I did not blame them, nor was I hurt. Things had changed. I was not a real queen. I had no power.

But the East was waiting. I would ride and sail no matter who would follow. And I would keep everyone safe this time. I would not cower again.

It was not too much later that we left the abandoned camp, riding during the night, slowly leaving the cold of the north. Ser Andoros led.

Sandor rode Nero next to me, his beast neighing aggressively. The man, named Lutheas, rode on his donkey with his wife, while Nurse Katherine rode on a small chestnut mare. Ser Edwarthe and Ser Smithson rode behind our small caravan, keeping guard behind us. Ser Edwarthe kept the silence away by telling his stories and legends of Essos, our destination. His greying hair swayed energetically as he told stories of cities shining like gold.
Sandor grimaced as he grew ever so bored with this man. I, however, had a sense that Ser Edwarthe was holding us together.

...

My injuries had healed perfectly, as my hair was growing quickly. I kept it in a braid, swaying around my neck swiftly. It kept my neck warm during the nights.
Sandor insisted on traveling by the light of moon. If there were any enemies, they would assume we would travel in the daylight. I prayed he was correct. I prayed we would be safe.

I could feel Sandor's dark eyes on me; he would not stop watching, keeping my horse close to his. He watched me and I looked upon the stars. I felt something in me stir.

There were not many clouds above us. A crescent moon was our light.