Sansa was a wolf once more, with her pack hot on her heels, turning up the soil with their claws at their intense pace. There was a scent, unfamiliar to her-it was not the warm smell of the two-legs who lived in the stones, or of any animal whose blood she had tasted. She could only think of finding its source, and ripping whatever it was to shreds. Her sisters (her mothers? Her pups?) did not mouths capable of eating away disaster.
Even through her fur, she could feel the cold, a cold that set the canals of her nose aflame and brought tears to her eyes. Sansa dug down with her paws to force a quick halt, and her faithful pack followed suit, crowding around her and sniffing the air and dirt with furious intent. As much as it felt like ice was forming in her chest with every inhale, she kept her nose up and her eyes open. It was close. Instinct kicked in, and her lips drew back in a terrible snarl. Now she could see it, two points of bright blue a few yards in front of her. For a moment, she could not comprehend, until they blinked at her. Eyes. Sansa barked sharply, her saliva dripping down and hitting the ground with soft clinks, frozen solid.
It emerged at a steady pace from the trees. While it stood on its hind legs like her strange family, it bore little resemblance elsewhere. Despite its lack of hair, it wore barely anything, and the skin exposed was whiter than the snow. Every cell in her body was telling her this thing came to hurt them, so without another second wasted on observation Sansa charged, leaping at the creature with her jaws wide for its throat. She got an arm instead, and the flesh under her teeth was not soft-pain shot up her teeth but she held on, shaking her head madly to try and rip the limp off. Her pack surrounded them and pulled it down by its legs, showing her same resilience; the thing did not bleed, though, nor did it cry out. After showing little resistance, it threw Sansa off of it with such force that, when her body hit the tree, all the snow fell from its branches and almost buried her.
It was hard to breathe and even harder to see, but she could still smell blood, and hear the frightened yelps of her companions. Stay still, Sansa whispered to her wolf's body. Stay hidden. The sound of scattered pawsteps through snow, and then nothing. It seemed like it was taking every drop of power that Sansa had to force her limbs to stop twitching and her breathing to slow. The corners of her vision were going black, but she knew if she closed her eyes she could faint and freeze to death under the snow.
Sansa was close to giving up when something began to dig through to her. She was too weak to fight but still managed to open her eyes to see the creature that would kill her.
Instead, it was a warm-blooded face, with pink in its cheeks and dark eyes, like those cubs that used to play with sticks and stones. It cleared her body off and leaned back on its haunches, to give her room to struggle to her paws. Sansa shook the wetness from her, despite the pain that caused, and gave her savior another curious look. She knew this face, did she not? From a dream, or a memory? She could sense that this skinny youngling meant her no harm, however.
"Hello, Sansa," it spoke, and Sansa felt sharp shock at the sound of her name. How could it know her, who flited so often between shadow and light that she could no longer say which she belonged to? This voice... She could remember hearing it before, on the shell of her ear, like the urgent calling of a babe. This...scent... "You don't have much time. You have to wake up now." That frustratingly familiar mouth smiled at her. "I'll see you soon, sister. Tell Jon I'm sorry I saw the Wall without him. I know he promised."
If she could speak, she would scream it, but she could only keen and wail as a wolf.
Bran.
Sansa awoke in a flurry, shoving her furs to the ground and sprinting out into the pitch black night without even a robe and slippers. The animal was still inside her-she wasn't aware of the snow under her feet or the tears streaming down her cheeks, only her destination. "Jon!" she cried outside his door, pounding her fists desperately in the hopes of waking him. "Please! Please let me in!"
It took only a few seconds for her half-brother to appear before her, looking disheveled but very much awake. "Sansa," Jon said with alarm in his voice and on his face, noticing her dramatic appearance. "What has happened?" He took her by her arms and pulled her inside gently, maneuvering her to sit by a dying fire in his hearth. While he poured her a glass of wine to calm her shaking hands, there came a hesitant voice from further back in his chambers.
"Jon? Whatever is the matter?"
Despite her frazzled nerves, Sansa still jumped to her feet at the sight of Daenerys emerging with a silver robe tied loosely around her waist. "Your Grace, I-" Sansa looked to Jon with wide eyes, her tongue suddenly too swollen for her to speak. Her young king let out a small, quiet sigh, gave Sansa her wine, and moved to take the dragon queen's elbow in his hand.
"My sister needs to speak to me. I'll be back in bed shortly. Please, don't worry yourself," Jon whispered, beginning to lead Daenerys back to where she had came from.
"No!" Sansa objected, taking a step towards them as if she meant to follow. They looked at her with surprise. "No... Her Grace needs to hear this as well as you. It is of the upmost importance."
The lovers exchanged a glance. "Let me fetch you something to warm you up, Lady Sansa," Daenerys offered, slipping away from Jon, who watched her go with an expression akin to embarrassment. When he sat down next to his sister, she took his hand and gripped it, wanting to comfort him and needing it herself. "Here." The queen gingerly handed Sansa a lovely purple cloak.
She wrapped it around her shoulders and gratefully sunk into its fur-lined warmth. "Thank you," she said. The wolf was starting to retreat-her knees stopped trembling, her expression calmed into something less frantic. Sansa heard the soft clip of Ghost's claws on the stone before she saw him, and reached down without looking to stoke his fur. Considering the queerness of her dreams, she did not doubt that the direwolf was sensing the beast in her chest. I am as much a sister to Ghost as to Jon, Sansa thought, and that idea sent her into shivers again. "Your Grace, I pray that you do not think me a mad woman after I am done speaking," the princess whispered, neglecting, for once, to meet her eyes. "I know that it sounds mad-it is mad. For the past few years, my dreams have been...prophetic. I dreamed I would stand inside Winterfell again, and that a great enemy would fall and die. I dreamed that Sandor Clegane would return, the night before he appeared in my hall. And..." Sansa tucked her ankles together and curled her toes tight under her skirt. "It is not just that I am seeing. I am present, there witnessing it at the same time that it is happening, like my soul has left my body behind. But sometimes-sometimes I am not myself. I am not anyone at all. I am a wolf, digging through dirt and killing rabbits and deer. I will taste blood in my mouth all the next day."
"Sansa-" Jon started, sounding incredibly concerned, but his sister held up her hand. Ghost looked over at him as well, as if to say Listen.
"I have never told you before because I know exactly what you are thinking, Jon. I would not have told you now, had I not seen what I have seen."
"You aren't mad at all, my lady." It was Daenerys, and Sansa finally looked at her with eyes wide with surprise. "I've received visions of the future in my dreams all my life. It was how my children were born. You are not the only one with such a gift, and would you say that I'm not sound of mind?"
"No, Your Grace," Sansa replied quickly.
"Tell us, then, what you saw that frightened you so much."
Hesitantly, she recounted her encounter with the white creature in the woods, describing it in detail. "Everything about it was...cold. Like its body was made of ice." Sansa remembered how it had felt when she had bitten into its arm, and resisted the urge to start quivering again.
"White walkers," Jon growled, standing. "That can only mean one of the Night's Watch's castles has fallen. Dammit!" Her brother started to pace, and Ghost watched him with growing interest. Sansa kept her hand on the direwolf's back, taking great comfort from his closeness. "I thought there would be more time. Why have I not received any news from the Wall?"
There was a brief silence, heavy with unsaid knowledge, before Daenerys spoke again. "You must ride out now and find this monster. If it is scouting, then we cannot allow it to survive."
"I know," Jon growled, already eyeing the door as if expecting an attack at that instant. "Both of you are to remain." His voice was firm, and directed mostly at the southern queen-Sansa could see her lips thin at her brother's tone but she did not retort. "Your dragons would just burn down the whole wood. Sansa, can you tell me anything more? Which direction should we go?"
"Depart from the eastern gate," she replied, her mind's eye following the trail her and the wolves had left behind. "Continue deep into the woods, towards Long Lake."
Her brother had already left the two of them alone before Sansa realized she had not uttered a word about Bran.
"Must you go?"
"The smaller the force, the better, little bird. Your king brother can't afford to lose men and we both know I'm worth ten by myself."
"I know it's silly to worry for you-"
"Seven hells, girl. You're bloody right, no need to scrunch up that pretty nose. I'll admit, though, I like you fluttering over me..."
"Don't tease me, Sandor."
"I thought you enjoyed it when I tease you."
"That-that's entirely different. Stop trying to distract me!"
"I'm not trying. It's so fucking easy to get your face blushing pink. Still such a proper lady."
"Stop. Look at me. You are coming home, unharmed and safe, or I'll be very cross with you."
"I wouldn't dream of riling you up, little wolf."
"I can tell how much you hate watching them go," Daenerys said quietly next to her, as they both stood vigil for the men they loved. "I feel it, too."
"It is not fair," replied Sansa, forcing her back to remain straight and her eyes dry. Sandor would not like to see her weep like a girl over him. "We have this fire in us, just as much as they do. Why are we not allowed to let it burn?"
"Maybe it would consume us," her friend said, her gaze becoming far off and strange. "Neither of us have clean hands, my lady. Are you untouched by everything that you had to do?"
"No," Sansa admitted simply.
"Even if they deserved death, it is still no trifling matter. So many men tried to murder me, and they ended up in the dirt-I can still see some of their eyes, though. Always so imploring, as if begging my 'womanly' nature to spare them. It infuriates me and saddens me. I do not want to live in a world where I have to abandon compassion in order to survive."
It seemed like days to Sansa, but the small party returned before the sun had fully set. She was sewing in her solar, concentrating on making her stitches as clean and tiny as possible, when Arya burst through her door to give her the news. Her sister had a wilder look than normal, like she had barely any time to dress herself and run out the door. She was panting, and Sansa had no doubts that she actually had run across the whole keep. "They've returned?" Sansa implored, though she knew there would be no other reason for Arya to seek her out. "Jon is all right? Sandor?"
"Come and see for yourself." The younger princess' voice was full of glee; Sansa almost threw her half-finished tunic to the side at the implication of good news. She gathered her skirts in her hands and chased after Arya as quickly as she could, feeling like a little girl for a second.
Bran. Bran. Bran. Bran. She knew that it was him, she could almost smell him. Tears were already making her cheeks uncomfortably cold before she even saw him, wrapped up in furs and looking like a young man instead of a young boy. It was one thing to see him through the eyes of a wolf. So many details had been overlooked in her animal state-his hair was long and matted, the ghost of a beard was on his long jaw, the leathers that he wore looked old and were ripped at the shoulders and elbows. He had spent all the years he was supposed to be learning and playing on the run, and there was no trace of the inquisitive, moody child that was Brandon Stark. He held his mouth firm and tight, and his eyes were much more like a bird's than a wolf's.
Her heartbreak over his lost childhood could wait. She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, ignoring the dirt and snow that would ruin her dress, and took both his hands in hers. "Hello, Sansa," Bran greeted. "I told you I would see you soon."
"How did you know it was me?" Sansa whispered, trying to rub the cold from her little brother's fingers in vain.
"Your eyes," he answered. "It was a pair of human eyes looking back at me, not a direwolf's."
"We found him holed up in a cave just a few paces away from the lake." Sandor's voice behind her, and Sansa's body warmed at his proximity. "Your brother's wolf sniffed him out. And her, as well."
Sansa blinked to notice a girl standing behind Bran, covered head to toe in fur and looking like a skeleton. There was a bow and quiver on her back, and a dagger strapped to her waist. "You kept him safe, didn't you?" Sansa asked, giving her the kindest smile she was sure the girl had seen in a long while. "You have my sincerest thanks."
The girl did not respond immediately, then gave a short curtsy even though she had no skirts on. She heard Arya let out an appreciative snort behind her. "Can you please show her inside and get her warmed up?" Sansa cast a glance at her sister, who eagerly obeyed, no doubt jumping to ask the girl what combat experience she had. The girl glanced at Bran with obvious hesitation. "We are his family," Sansa assured her. "I have no weapon but I would kill anyone who dared try to hurt him. You have no cause for fear. Please, go and rest."
"Don't worry, Meera," Bran said. "We're safe here."
The girl named Meera finally relented and followed Arya away and inside. They all watched her go before Bran explained, "Meera Reed. She's protected me from everything, to wild animals to wights. If she's skittish, it's only because she's been in the wilds for some time."
"She's allowed to act however she likes, as far as I care." Jon finally spoke up, dismounting from his horse and looking at Bran like he could not believe he was real. "She brought you home."
"The last time I saw Winterfell, it was rubble." Bran took a moment to observe the courtyard. "Theon destroyed it. But he's still alive, isn't he? A half-man, but alive."
"The people who hurt us and tore down our home are dead now," Sansa said with pride. "No one is ever tearing us apart again."
an: theon's not dead btw that's just a general statement