Direwolf
She vomited, a slimy white fluid spilled over the grass, along with bits of her breakfast, salty goat cheese with a slice of olive bread. The acrid smell of death was in her nostrils and mingled with the bitter taste that the vomit left in her mouth. Robb lives this life od death and injury.
"Lady Sansa", Ser Barristan Selmy regarded her with a look of sorrowful eyes. "Maybe it is best to take you back to your pavilion. The air by the river is fresher, every next step will be harder for the eyes and mind, for a restful sleep it is best to shut your eyes. Men cannot unsee field of death".
"No, Ser Barristan", she gave the knight a gentle look, "I have a duty to my father's bannermen". Robb's bannermen, she remembered that her father was no longer of this world, as soon Medger Cerwyn would not be. Jovial and mild, Lord Cerwyn visited Winterfell more than any other northern lord, for his castle was so near. His son Cley was older than her, but younger than Robb, like all the lordlings who were guested in Winterfell, Cley played at manhood and chivalry before her, trying to win her hand in marriage. Annoyed by his vanity, Sansa would spurn his advances, for, after all, her destiny was to wed the son of a great southern lord or even a prince, to give him sturdy sons who would grow into knights. Old dreams sent shivers through her body. If she were back in Winterfell, maybe she would let Cley take her hand, or one of the Karstark sons or even Smalljon Umber. The world would be simpler. She could live out her dreams of life at the southern court in White Harbor, where the Manderlys kept the faith and customs of the south. Better a plump husband than a cruel one.
As they crested the hill, the stench gave way to raw horror, a vast canvas of death and despair. The warriors who had fought with pride and honor now lay still, their corpses scattered across the hill. The air was thick with the foul pungent smell of sweat, blood, and rot, blending with the anguished cries of the wounded and the incessant cawing of crows gorging on the fallen. On the carpet of corpses, three small hills filled with crows dominated. The remains of three elephants, whose meat and tusks were taken by their former masters. The crows were now feasting on the meat and bones remains.
Only a few paces from her mount lay a Lannister soldier, his face ashen and blue, his gaze frozen in the moment of death, with mouth agape and eyes wide, gazing at nothing. He could not have been much older than her. He looked so vacant, like an empty husk, Sansa tried to find a man in his eyes, but there was nothing there. Though the boy had white teeth, she noticed. Thousands more lay inert like this Lion. Some in gold, most in red. War was not a weave of beauty and valor, she once believed, but a harsh, merciless furnace where lives were broken and dreams lay in ashes. She knew that now, mendacious world, false galore at courts, false glory on the field of battle.
Shrieks echoed from the small hill, where a makeshift hospital for injured Lannisters was erected near the ruined sept. Battle lost was as savage as battle won. A crow flew past Sansa and landed on the body of a Golden Company soldier and began to peck furiously through the gap of his helm, ripping off a long strip of flesh. Sansa wanted to puke again, but her belly was empty and she only felt a pain in her stomach that was clenching.
Down the hill, the field was more bustling, as thousands of living plundered the earthly spoils of thousands of dead. Crabb men were belted with Lannister swords, clad in Lannister chainmail and armor, with Lannister shields strapped to their backs. Uninterested in armor, some men carried several pairs of boots tied to their chests, three or four pairs.
One bearded man was carving the cheek of a Lannister and Sansa turned her head and shut her eyes, wishing it would all disappear.
"What is he doing?", she asked in a tense voice.
"He is pulling teeth. Some have gold teeth, but even healthy teeth are precious, they sell well, teeth are costly or they save them for old age. Better to replace lost teeth with real ones, than with wooden ones", the knight answered.
The ratched scene was broken by a man's sobbing, "Please, don't, I knew nothing of the Mountain til autumn". His pleas met no ears, as a man with a Mooton coat of arms sewn on his surcoat fastened a noose around his neck, and two Dornishmen held his arms to keep him steady. "Have mercy, I've a wife and daughter, how'll they survive the winter without me hands", the man begged, turned around on the horse, when the noose was ready, Mooton struck the mare and she moved a few steps forward, leaving the man hanging. Now with free hands, he tried to loosen the noose from his neck, but soon gave up, still it took him a long time to die, his body twisted, Sansa did not know, whether by or without his own will.
Hanged men was not the only one, the shadows of the trees hid others, soon Sansa could count two or three men on every tree, every branch sturdy enough to hold the weight of a corpse was taken.
"Pillagers", ser Baristan murmured, "men who served Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. The Dornish hang them for vengeance, though most are too young to have served the Mountain in the Rebellion, the Golden Company hangs them because they are fewer mouths to feed, any reason is good enough"
"Do you think they deserve to die?", Sansa gazed at the hanging bodies, weary of the grim reality, weary of dread. The sky was blue, the sun bright, but the day was still dismal.
"I do not question they do. Foragers often kill and rape, in the homes of those from whom they take food and livestock. What you cannot carry, you burn so that the enemy cannot have it. The ways of war are ruthless, but I need not tell you that."
Behind the treetops, now a hanging graveyard, which split two hills, a sea of Lannister soldiers sat on the muddy ground of an open plateau, more than Sansa could count, thousands mayhaps, surrounded by a golden ring of soldiers of the Golden Company. Naked men, the sight brought her back to the moment when Petyr Baelish tried to mock ser Baristan with words. Without armor and helms, most wore red tunics and black breeches, but more than anything on their filthy and sometimes bloody faces they wore worry and uncertainty. They wonder if a tree awaits them. Not far from them a hundred or more carts were laden with their armor and weapons. The column of Lannisters were tossing armor on the carts, among Dornishmen on beautiful sand steeds. The skin of the horses glittered in the sun, their long necks and muscular bodies trotted proudly.
All over the plateau, long shallow graves were dug, by Lannister men, more people would perish before they buried those who now lay still. The Lannister camp was nearly deserted, the large red pavilions bent like roses in the Winterfell's glass garden. The pavilions were now taken by Crabb's and men of the golden company. Some of the tents were a jail for captured nobles, there were many, Sansa knew.
"As battles go, few escaped", said Haldon halfmaester the night after the victory, "there was no orderly retreat, at least not successful one. There are no more Lions beyond the West". The whole night was filled with revelry, Sansa could not sleep even if she wished to, with drunken singing, clapping, cheering and toasting. Septa Lemore had gone somewhere and did not come back, and Sansa could not see Aegon anywhere. Around midnight she left her tent and wanted to go back inside immediately, overpowered by crowds of drunkards. Bendorf Brune and his younger brother Eustan or son, Sansa did forgot what it was, were merrily singing holding a banner with a blue rooster of House Swyft. Eustan boasted that he captured Lord Swyft himself. Not far from them were Mooton men with their own lion banner. It seemed that everyone had captured a banner.
Ser Barristan and Sansa rode up to one of the large pavilions where Stark people dwelled. Like Sansa, they had moved from the captivity of one king to the hands of another. Wylis Manderly and Harrion Karstark waited in front of the tent, encircled by spears of the Golden Company, though there was not the same fearful doubt in the air as with Lannister prisoners.
"Good riddence, my princess", ser Wylis said in a plain voice, "please accept my condolences. Lord Eddard was a great man, honest and true, greater than the fate that befell him". Princess, she did not miss the word, the chains on their wrists did not diminish their loyalty to Robb.
"You are very kind ser Wylis. It is good to see familiar faces. How many of you are there?", Sansa said politely, on the men's faces she saw the North for the first time, her home, for the first time since her father's death.
"Here, about thirty, though Lord Cerwyn is dying, and Flint boy fled in the chaos of the battle. The lord wished to see your face before he joins the old gods", Wylis replied, he had a serene face, his worry cleverly concealed by his large walrus mustache.
Harrion was more candid, fatigue and starvation showed on his face, "there were more of us in the dungeons of Harrenhal, but after the fire, the Lannisters deserted the monstrosity of a castle and headed south. At least two hundred Northmen were left behind, lowborn, likely put to the sword". They died to save me, and thousands of others with Robb.
"I will pray for them", she did not know what else to say. A few faint candles burned inside the tent, the light scarcely enough for a man to know where to go. She sat next to Lord Cerwyn, a friend of her family who smiled at her, wrapped in heavy furs.
"My Lady", the dying Cerwyn did not mind new titles and statuses, Sansa was for him what she was in Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Stark, when they last met at the grand feast in honor of King Robert's arrival. Sansa embraced him gently and his feeble arms held her. The jovial lord she knew was gone and a face of bones and skin smiled at her with joy. The visit was brief, spent in silence.
"Oi, one o' ye lads 'as to venture to Riverrun, bear witness to what ye've seen 'ere, and beseech yer king to bend the knee!" outside said the bearded serjeant Caspor Hill, to the present Northmen.
"None here will ask that of the King", Harrion said fiercely.
The tone did not vex the serjeant, "I've a care less than elephant dung for any o' it, mate. Jest head up north, tell yer pals 'bout how we gave them Lannisters a good beatin' and what me captains be after. Then, scurry on back 'ere, to resume yer captivity".
"Princess Sansa should go", said Donnel Locke.
Hill laughed, "She ain't no princess, and non o' ye are as important as she. I'll send ye, and that's five men for escort. For her, it's ten times that for guardin', and no captain'll have it any way. She's worth like all of ye".
"Harrion, you lost both of your brothers, it is only proper for you to go and see your sire", Wylis said. The young Karstark nodded his head.
"And Lord Cerwyn too", Sansa interjected.
"Nay, axe lord still lives".
"But, give them a cart, a small one, enough for one man, or I will personally tell Lord Connington that you defied me". Sansa did not know if she had the same sway with the griffin lord, as she did with Aegon, but the sellsword did not know that. Cerwyn would die anyway, surely before he reached her mother's home, but it was better that his own buried him.
Reluctantly nodding his head, Caspor Hill agreed, "I don't care, I don't care", he grumbled in his long beard.
The return to Aegon's camp was easier and quicker, as all returns usually were. She tried to sleep, but the eyes of the men dead, men cut down in battle did not leave her alone and she lit a candle, so they would not haunt her in the darkness of the tent.
"You have to sleep", septa Lemore said, when she finally came back to the tent, even in the dim light Sansa saw that her face was weary, tearful and hopeless.
"Where is he?", Sansa asked with more edge than she intended, "Septa?"
"I have no leave to tell you that or anyone for that matter".
"I am not anyone", she nearly wept now, "if he is hurt I need to know"
Septa gazed at her for a long while, struggles of thoughts on her face, every time she wanted to speak, she would got quiet and return to the old balancing of choices. She dropped her gaze to the floor of the tent.
"In the pavilion to the right of Haldon's, with a blue trim at the entrance".
Sansa dressed quicker than ever in her life and swiftly went out. Ser Barristan was sitting by the entrance, on a wooden crate. The knight rarely slept. "The older you are, the harder to sleep is. These days I seldom sleep at all", he said to her once.
"My lady, it's an hour of the wolf. By the customs of gods and men, a person should not be out at this time".
"I do not care for the customs of gods and men. Not tonight."
Her shield and sword trailed her, the winds roared through the rows of tents like wolves. The clamor, drunkenness and festivity of the previous night had vanished, except for the guards no one was outside, the camp was once more the old calm and tidy one.
Ser Rolly Duckfield, Thunderex and five other men guarded the tent.
"Not a step further", Ser Rolly ordered, but without much heed Sansa proceeded to the entrance. The knight moved to bar her way, but Thunderex placed his mighty arm in front of him.
"Only Lady, Andal knight not", the summer islander said.
The air in the tent was almost as frosty as outside, Aegon lay still on the right side, only in breeches. A white linen square was fixed above his collarbone, blood was oozing slowly through the fabric and tinting it in several shades of red. The Targaryens were pale, yet Aegon looked like someone had robbed the color from his body. Sansa gazed in shock at the scene, her heart clenched, and her mouth parched. Even if she wanted to say something, she could not.
Haldon sat in the corner, with a grave look and dark circles under his eyes, he did not seem angry about her presence.
"I do not know", he replied to the question on her face, "I stemmed the bleeding but the fever... a fire rages in him, consuming him from within. If... if... it does not abate in a day or two... he will not live".
She felt muscles tighten on her face, and a salty heat around her eyes.
"I will leave you alone, you can change his cold compresses, on the table is everything you need". After that he left the pavilion. Sansa quickly went to the table and began to soak new cloths in a bowl of water, where large cubes of ice floated. Her hands turned red from the cold water, but she endured. Tears that spilled from her face fell into the water. She wept as she changed the compress on his forehead, he looked like he was sleeping, though she could scarcely hear his breathing. Her breaths made small clouds of cold air, his did not. On his muscular body dozens of scars formed a mosaic. On his face he had only one, under his ear, the same one he got when he tried to save Eira.
Sansa kissed him on the cheek, the fire that burned under his soft skin overpowered the warmth of her kiss. A man's shadow cast over Aegon's bed and Sansa saw Oberyn Martell standing at the entrance.
Sansa gasped in fear.
"I thought wolves howled at the moon, not at the sun", said Prince Oberyn, with a melodious accent of Dorne, like the clinking of copper. She was silent and looked at the slender body of the prince, his clothes revealed too much, too much for this weather.
"Are you not cold?", she asked
"The North is not always the coldest place on the continent. Summer nights in Dorne are so icy that they can kill a man, as is true for almost everything in Dorne. We love death", he answered.
"Dorne is beautiful, I have heard".
"Hardly so, only a Dornishman can love a vile thing that Dorne is. Hot and cold, sandy and salty, but above all love, it drives a man to make love in bed and on the battlefield"
Sansa felt uncomfortable listening, the intimate parts of love were for marriage she was taught by septa Mordane. She held on to that, at least until recently, when thoughts began to haunt her more and more. She wanted Aegon to take her and hold her, like a men, to be the fuel for the flame of her passion.
"We are the same then. Foreign to the Green lands. I was seldom long in the south, yet they never forget to remind me that the North is desolate and savage. Distant, with wrong gods and customs. Although, Dorne seems much more queer than the North", she said and earned a smile from him.
"Only wrong thing in the world is to stay the same, to breathe the same air, to look at the same sun, even love comes in all shapes and forms", Prince Oberyn said, then looked at Aegon, "he is the only thing left of my sister. His face is from Rhaegar and Targaryens, but his soul is of Elia and Dorne".
"He never spoke about his mother, or his father even less", Sansa said quietly.
"Their's is no tale of love. The cruelest destiny that can be, she loved him, he gave her only duty. And then, left her for another woman", he cast Sansa a look and she instinctively lowered her gaze.
"...and raped her", she said.
"He raped the kingdom with war and hunger. Your aunt, well, men talk what men talk. They hide what they know, and lie about what they don't. All men that knew are lost to the stranger, including valiant and brave Rhaegar", his voice betrayed slight irritation with the name of dead prince.
"Aegon is nothing like him", she said with faint anger.
"No. For one thing Aegon lives and will keep living. But also, you are not like your aunt Lyanna", the prince matched her anger, and his calm and assured tone gave her hope that Aegon could survive. Arya was like Aunt Lyanna, everyone always said that. Sansa was a Tully.
"I am not worth a realm, or a war", she said with an old memory, for the first time in her life she willfully destroyed a castle made of summer snow, in the Winterfell Godswood. Sansa would play at being a princess, and Jayne Poole would be her lady in waiting. The ruined castle brought a smile to her face.
"Clever girl. Kingdoms are boring, no crowns on heads or cloths of thread are needed for passion. We make love naked".
His words were too bold and free, but they exposed what she wanted, what had stirred her heart for months. Gods, I am turning into Arya.
"I do not want to be his queen", she said confidently, "I just want to be his, wife or lover, matters not."
"You have to fight then, against him and others, many daughters in the realm will crave a golden crown upon their head. I heard that some roses want to blossom in autumn. I knew the Fat Flower, who wanted to soar higher in the sky, than his heavy petals allowed him", he chuckled at his own jest. Sansa did not know who the fat flower was. "Fight for him to live and be yours. You are here, another woman would have already left, seeking another beast".
She will, and she must.
"We found a little scorpion", said a voice behind them. It belonged to a Dornishman of brown hair and a face more fair than Oberyn's.
"He is not venomous?", Oberyn said and the young man grinned.
"No, harmless like most Lannisters. He hid in the forest and soiled himself while we dragged him out of the hollow trunk. It seems scorpions north of the Red Mountains poison people with shit. Last time I am extracting poison out of them".
The prince laughed, "Nothing dreadful Daemon. We had a good talk lady Stark, but now I must go, you see, I have a man to torture".
He left the tent, with her puzzled look following him. Queer people, indeed. She noticed that it was time to change the compresses again. The pieces of ice had melted in the bowl of water, so she added new ones. Next to the table stood Aegon's black armor, the red dragon shone under the candlelight, while it seemed that the black steel of Blackfyre absorbed the light. The ancestral Targaryen sword was darker than Ice, her father's sword. Valyrian steel does not need a whetstone, so there was none on Aegon's belt, but she noticed something else, a handkerchief hidden in one of the pouches. A black handkerchief with a three-headed silver dragon, one of the heads in the shape of a direwolf of House Stark. She lost it the night when Aegon was attacked. He took it. Sansa laid it on his heart.
She kissed his forehead, then put the compress on. His lips were now parted.
"Call Haldon, quickly", she shouted to the men outside.
Her heart beat fast, the muscles on his face began to loosen slowly. He muttered something she did not understand, vague words soon became words of a foreign tongue, louder and louder. High Valyrian, the language of his forefathers. He swiftly uttered a word after word, Sansa did not comprehend anything, he looked like a small geyser from Winterfell, which would spout thin streams of water into the air. The pressure built up and the hissing water in the hole, in the form of high valyrian words, burst into one sentence of common tongue.
"Burn them all", "Burn them all", he said incessantly, until he gave in and went back to a motionless sleep.
When Haldon opened the flap of the tent, Sansa noticed that dawn had come.