And The Long Night Takes All

by PaintedElectric

The dead are coming and winter follows in their wake. As Winterfell prepares for battle, Sandor thought not to catch the attention of the Lady of Winterfell when so little time remains. But always, other forces are at work and pieces are moving, regardless of whether or not the pawns are aware that they are players. Multiple character POV. Be aware of ratings.

8. Chapter 8: Decisions in the Last Days

JORAH

It was a solemn affair in having the remains of every Stark buried in the crypts be carried out to a small pyre built within the walls. Lady Sansa and Jon Snow stood at the head of the procession with their siblings on either side of them as an endless supply of bones wrapped in shrouds were brought out from below. The courtyard was cleared apart from those who wished to pay some last respects to the dead which included Jorah and Daenerys along with a smattering of others who stood to attention more as respect to their queen than to the remains.

Cersei was not present, nor were any of her people, as it should be. Cersei's house was responsible for four of the Starks's deaths and it would be an insult to their memory to have her in attendance. Tyrion, however, was given permission by Lady Sansa to attend, as he had done his part to earn forgiveness in those Starks he had wronged and trust in those Starks he had protected. And to Jorah's great surprise, Bronn of the Blackwater put in an appearance, also at the behest of Lady Sansa though the sellsword appeared uncomfortable about it at the very least.

The three able-bodied Starks lit the pyre once the last pile of remains had been brought up and then they wheeled their crippled brother closer to mourn in solitude and silence for a few moments.

Daenerys shifted beside Jorah, her gaze lost and far away.

"It must seem a strange custom to you, khaleesi," said Jorah quietly, "burying the dead in such a way."

"Not strange, but...different," said Daenerys. "I only once condemned a loved one to the fire. There is no grave for the family I never knew. An unmarked grave in the remains of Vaes Dothrak is where Viserys's body lies and Ser Barristan was buried in the tombs of Meereen half a world away. And as I burned Khal Drogo, I had already accepted his death when I smothered him. I lit the pyre myself but by then I heard only the witch as she screamed and I looked to you before I stepped into the fire, knowing what I was to do. I did not put much thought to the process of lighting the pyre."

"Every culture has its customs for sending someone to their final resting place. Most of the Northerners have always believed that for someone to join the halls of their fathers, they must be buried in their ancestral home. They do not believe that a soul is lost if the body is never brought home, but they do believe that the soul can never rejoin its family if it remains separated from the other bodies."

"You say 'they' as if you are not one of them," observed Daenerys.

"I was once, but I have not been for quite a long time, not since I disgraced my family. When I forfeited my name, I surrendered my house, my lands, and my people."

"You are still a Northerner," said Tyrion, speaking to Jorah without looking at him as he watched the pyre flames curdling skyward. "Your father believed so, anyway. He told me you had disgraced your house, but that it seemed to be more of your choice than anyone else's. He did not think ill of you. I believe that if anyone had a right to judge you and cast you out or accept you as a Northerner, it was him and you were still and always will be his son. You are your queen's sworn shield, and you are a Northerner and there is no one to say you cannot be both."

"Indeed. Lord Tyrion is living proof that a man can be a Lannister and his queen's Hand," said Daenerys in agreement with a small smile. "And so if you are a Northerner, Ser Jorah, do you believe in the same rituals as your people?"

Jorah contemplated a moment as he was unsure of how to answer her question. At heart, he did belong here in this frozen land among its stubborn and stoic people, but did he believe as they did? Most of them worshipped the old gods, some worshipped the new, and some worshipped nothing. He had not prayed in a long time to any select gods because he had seen horrors and wonders from across the world and if one culture's gods were in direct conflict with another's, how could they all coexist?

Of all things, Jorah knew to be true what he could see but as he had told Lord Baelish, he believed something other, something more, than fate had led them all here to fight the greatest of evils.

"I cannot say what I believe in terms of my religion, khaleesi, but I have always felt in my heart that the souls of the dead are able to find their loved ones in the next life, wherever they are and that where their mortal bodies come to rest is of no consequence. My father's bones are scattered somewhere north of the Wall. The men who betrayed and murdered him did not honor him with a proper burial or burning, and yet I believe he is with my mother, my aunt, and those who have fallen in service of our house."

Daenerys seemed pleased with his answer as if it applied to some unasked question of her own. For a woman who had suffered so much loss before she knew the meaning of the word and suffered even more once she did, she had to wonder where the souls of her family had gone. Religion was not something she and Jorah often discussed and the few conversations they had had did not delve into their true beliefs but Jorah knew she did consider souls and the afterlife quite often as the most dangerous and desired woman in the world.

"Do the Northerners believe that they will be frozen in a hellish wasteland if no one is left to burn or bury their bodies?" asked the queen, though it was with a note of underlying fear as if her own thoughts about the matter depended on what the Northerners believed.

"I cannot speak for them since that thought has never occurred to them," said Jorah. "But I find it difficult to believe that dying in this world has any profound effect on what happens to you in the next. When we die, the concerns we live with no longer matter. The dead do not concern themselves with the living."

What Jorah did not tell her was that regardless of what he believed happened in the next life, he was still very much attached to this one and absolutely feared how and when he would leave it.

/ /

The lords of the North had gathered that afternoon to discuss their numbers and ask the representatives of the war council if the amount was correct as well as to receive instructions on where their men would be positioned during the battle. Jorah stood to the side of the high table where Daenerys, Jon Snow, and Lady Sansa were all seated with various members of the council scattered about the room to observe.

This gathering had been going on for quite some time at which point Jorah was starting to feel the need to go and make water when the subject of recalling all banners to Winterfell cropped up.

"Lord Glover has been called but not answered the summons," said Jon. "We sent scouts two days past and expect them within the next two with news. The last northern stronghold that remains occupied is Last Hearth."

"Lord Umber," said Lady Sansa as she addressed the mousy-haired youth who made little difference from sitting once he stood up, "have you heard word from your people?"

"Yes, my lady, they are ready to make the journey here but for their lack of transportation. Can Winterfell spare any wagons and horses?" Lord Umber asked the question earnestly enough but he understood the gravity of what he asked as well as the consequences for his people if his request was denied.

Jorah's heart ached for the boy, far too young to be head of his house and watched with such scrutiny after the treachery committed by his father. Jorah's own cousin was of an age with Lord Umber and yet she was made of a different sort than this boy. A kind boy, a gentle boy, and not one yet ready for war. He was of the North, but he was still a child, and one who had not been exposed to the types of horrors Lyanna Mormont had. All that young Lord Umber knew was that he had to order his people to do as commanded by his liege.

"We will supply you with ten wagons and horses to bear them," said Lady Sansa. "Collect your people and bring them here with all haste. If you set your pace as quickly as the horses are able to go, the journey should take you ten days."

What she did not mention was that little Lord Umber was just barely going to manage the journey ahead of the dead. She was sending the boy into harm's way in the hopes of procuring his people and preventing more men from being added to the Night King's army, but already it might now be too late.

If it wasn't, however…

"I would go with him," offered Jorah. "For his protection and to speed the process along."

"You are needed here," said Daenerys immediately, though that was not entirely true. The Dothraki did not need him to act as interpreter to continue on about their work in preparation for battle and he was of little else use apart from training the green soldiers who had plenty of other swordmasters to learn from in Jorah's absence.

"I'll go as well," said Sandor Clegane.

Jorah, who had not expected such a willing and selfless volunteer in anyone and certainly not in Clegane, held the man's gaze to silently ask him if he was certain. Clegane returned his gaze in a manner that said quite clearly, Do I fucking look uncertain?

"Aye, and me," offered Bronn of the Blackwater, and about this Jorah was far less pleased. He had spent many hours the past several days in this man's company but Bronn was the rough, loud, irritable sort that delighted in antagonizing anyone he could make out as prey. Black of humor with a malicious streak within him, he would not make for good company even if he was a skilled fighter.

Beric Dondarrion and Tormund Giantsbane also stood up but before they could speak, Jon Snow brought the entire procession to a halt. Sensing that they were about to have too many volunteers and not enough men left to man the castle, Jon hastily dismissed the audience including Lord Umber and called only those who were members of the war council to the high table. He spoke urgently and in a low voice so they all had to pack in together to hear him.

"No one accompanying Lord Umber knows how close the dead are and if we are to avoid a mass panic as well as abandonment by those who do not possess the courage to bring their brethren here to Winterfell, that information must stay between us. Ser Jorah was first to offer his sword, and so he shall go but-"

"But what if the dead are already at Last Hearth?" asked Clegane. "Even if we turn right back around like a fire's lit under our arses, we'll still have the dead on our tails and d'you think those who've never seen the dead walking before will stand and fight or shit themselves and run? We don't know what's waiting for us at Last Hearth and the poor souls who have to make the journey will need fighters who will do what needs be done."

"Do we not know what awaits us?" asked Daenerys, appealing to Brandon Stark who had been wheeled to the table but the young man shook his head.

"The Night King knows I am seeking him out and he blocks my way. I cannot see Last Hearth."

"Anyone else got another reason why those who went north've the Wall should stay here?" asked Clegane.

"Seven of us have battled the dead and in the event that something goes awry, I would have that number split to give each side a fighting chance if either should encounter the dead before we are able to reunite," said Jon.

"My lady, allow me to ride north with Lord Umber," said Lady Brienne. "I will treat him as my charge and ensure his safety."

"You're supposed to ensure her safety," said Clegane with a nod at Lady Sansa. "Both've us aren't going, and I offered first."

"You were not given leave to offer," said Lady Sansa pointedly and the stormy expression of warning she gave Clegane did not go unnoticed by Jorah. In spite of himself, he had to suppress a smile that both were still adamantly feeding the ruse that neither wished to be involved with the other.

"I don't need leave," returned Clegane and the lack of title in his statement told Jorah just how friendly the two of them were if he felt comfortable speaking to her so plainly without repercussions.

"You do if you plan to go where my people might be your responsibility."

"Lady Sansa, to settle this dispute, send me in his stead," said Lady Brienne again.

"Lady Sansa will have sufficient protection here regardless of who goes with the Umber boy," said Theon Greyjoy.

"I will decide who goes," said Jon sharply before more arguments could be made. "I am not your king, but I am still Lord of Winterfell and the only acting lord who knows the North. I will send those we can afford to send because they are not needed here to act as envoys for their people or for battle preparations. If my queen disagrees with my decision, I would have her explain her reasoning to the selected party."

It was a warning to Daenerys that she could not hold back on sending Jorah to do what was right just to have peace of mind. Jorah never willingly left his queen's side, but he saw much of himself in Ned Umber, saw a boy left alone in the world and longing to be accepted. He was a boy of the North, made of sterner stuff than any child of the South and many men of the South as well, and he had a purpose to serve. Daenerys did not know the stubbornness of Northmen as Jorah did and so in this, she could not understand.

"Accompanying Lord Umber will be Ser Jorah, Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarrion-"

"I'd still go, if you'd let me," said Bronn.

Jon cast a doubtful eye over him. "No offense meant, ser, but regardless of what we would let you do, I doubt your queen would allow you to leave at such a crucial time when your services may be needed here."

"Aye, she'd have a right fit've it since she doesn't give a rat's ass about savin' a handful've Northern lives," Bronn agreed. "But even seein' that wight you lot brought to King's Landing, she has doubts. None've her people, her soldiers, have battled a wight so that threat's not yet real to her. If I go an' we see the dead an' make it back, she can't hide behind her little veil've fantasy anymore."

"You are indeed a bold man if you would say such a thing aloud," said Daenerys with the smallest trace of admiration for the sellsword.

"I don't pretend t'be immune just because I'm the best fighter she's got Your Grace, but I am the best fighter she's got an' if she'd kill me for sayin' she needs a healthy serving've reality, that's between the two've us. But also, if the dead're there, I'd like t'see 'em meself before the battle."

Jorah noted how Bronn had elected to address Daenerys as the queen while refusing to address Cersei as anything but a woman when the latter was not present. What that said regarding his character was still up for debate but he was not stupid, even if he was too bold.

"He's capable," said Clegane in Bronn's defense. "And I'll speak to that as well: he's the best fighter Cersei's got and I'd take one've him over twenty've those Umber men who all look like frightened ninnies."

"While Ser Bronn may be the best fighter she currently has, he is still her man and we do not possess the power to send him or allow him to be sent anywhere," interjected Ser Davos Seaworth.

"And we mustn't upset such a delicately tempered woman," said Lord Varys in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"When you lot decided to shut up and let me speak," barked Clegane, which promptly silenced all who were speaking or had a mind to. "If Cersei takes the sellsword's word and pulls her head free from her arse, she might be more useful in those war council meetings you all love to have. Short've the others who went north with us, I'll take the sellsword."

"Is there any objection to this?' asked Jon, though he seemed to be speaking primarily to Jorah who shook his head. He had not seen Bronn fight, but Daenerys had and according to her, he was a skilled opponent and had less fear than a man should if he was able to stare down the nose of a dragon both on and off the battlefield. Jorah did not trust him, but trust was not being called into question here.

"If there are no further questions or proclamations-"

"I would go," said Lord Baelish to the surprise of all in such a bold statement that even Jon Snow was rendered speechless. "I am not a seasoned warrior, so I can understand why those who are would not want me along, but I am not needed here and so no argument can be made for me to stay. There will be women and children returning in the wagons from Last Hearth and every man that can be spared to send for them should be allowed to go if he so pleases."

"The women an' children've the North have more bravery than you ever will," said Bronn. "They'll take up swords t'defend themselves an' you'll run away screamin' like the squealin' little pig you are. You're neither wanted nor needed on this mission."

"I do have some skill with a bow-"

"You're shite with a bow, I've see ya."

"And I have trained with him," said Lady Sansa, speaking for the first time since Jorah offered to escort Lord Umber. "Lord Baelish has trained me this past week and you have observed our sessions quite often, Ser Bronn. Do you believe I am rubbish with the bow?"

Now looking uncomfortable at being put on the spot, Bronn spoke to the floor. "Better than y'were when y'started, m'lady. I've seen many men who were downright useless with a bow and you've not come near that degree've awful-"

"I do acknowledge that I am no bowmaster. I never will be, but if I am a far cry from useless and Lord Baelish has more skill than that, he would fall into the category of accurate, wouldn't he?"

"S'pose so, never seen 'im shoot a man before."

"Let him go," said Lady Sansa tonelessly. "He is not needed here and has at least something to offer those who go with Lord Umber. I leave it to Ser Jorah as commander of this rescue party. If you wish Lord Baelish to accompany you, ser, he will but say the word and he will stay."

Though honored to be given command of the expedition, Jorah saw consequences to the position either way. Lord Baelish had dubbed Jorah his friend even if Jorah did not reciprocate those feelings and for him to deny the man's assistance now during the first and most likely only time he would offer it, Jorah might be stabbing himself in the foot.

This was clearly something Baelish wanted and after their brief conversation regarding Lady Sansa, Jorah knew very well why. He had been honest and true when he told Baelish that the only way he could earn forgiveness was in utter selflessness and this was an opportunity the lord saw and could not pass up. What could be more selfless than leaving the protection of Winterfell to possibly walk right into battle with the dead with only a handful of warriors and all at the off chance that some eighty men, women, and children might still be alive. People that were not his, people he cared nothing for but would risk his life to save if it might please his lady.

Jorah could allow him to come along to grant Baelish that chance at redemption but if he did let Baelish accompany him and the lord turned out to be a hindrance that got them all killed, what then?

With all eyes on him, Jorah was open to their scrutiny as he delivered his decision. "I have also seen Lord Baelish at practice and have heard the Dothraki judge his skills. I trust their judgment in this matter and they have said that he is a fair archer for a Westerosi. If it's his wish to put himself forward for this mission, let him come. I will take responsibility for his actions and his fate."

He had just made himself an ally in Petyr Baelish and possibly an enemy in others, though it was hard to say with how all the faces looking at him seemed shocked more than anything. Even Baelish himself appeared surprised since he obviously was expecting Jorah to decline his invitation but that surprise gave way to subtle gratitude in the form of a brief nod with eyes that never left Jorah.

"Lord Baelish," said Lady Sansa, "I charge you with relocating the last of our bannerman here. Assist however you can and woe betide you if I discover you tucked tail and ran if you should encounter the dead. You will depart immediately. Gather what belongings and weapons you need and the Umber garrison will meet you in the courtyard."

Lord Baelish bowed and with Lady Sansa's order, they were all dismissed to prepare for immediate departure. Jorah, however, knew that his queen would take him to task for readily leaving her side.

Clegane clapped Jorah's shoulder with a forward and uncensored remark of, "Commander or not, if your arse isn't outside in twenty minutes, we're leavin' without you." It was a message to not idle his time away in talking to his queen but Clegane obviously did not know her at all if he thought she would let Jorah leave without a proper lecture.

Jorah followed Daenerys out of the hall but then took the lead as he made for his quarters where a warmer cloak waited for him. Since provisions would be provided, he did not need to pack anything else and was about to start for the blacksmith to exchange his steel sword for one made of dragonglass along with a dagger or two when Daenerys blocked his way to the door.

"I cannot forbid you from going now that you have command of the mission, but I would hear you tell me why now, of all times, you decide to abandon your queen."

"Abandoning you would suggest I had no intention of returning to you and I have every intention of returning. It is not my plan to die."

"The dead do not care for your plans," she said sharply. "And when they are so close, when what might be the end is so close, you have no right leaving in this manner to go on some fool's errand to save less than a hundred men who would make little difference in the battle to come. When there are thousands upon thousands of wights, some eighty-odd people would hardly sway the battle and a good handful of those people are women and children who have never wielded a sword in their life."

Now he knew just how terrified his queen was of losing him if she could not see the good in rescuing a handful of people. She was a woman who tried to see the good in all, who gave each and every person a chance, but her fear of this unbeatable enemy far outweighed her resolve to save as many lives as possible. Her fear of facing the impending battle alone was greater than her need to do good at this moment.

Still so young with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Still so vulnerable if losing one friend could break her.

"You don't believe that," Jorah assured her in her moment of weakness. "Every living person is worth at least ten of the dead and we proved that north of the Wall. Each of us who stood in the middle of that frozen lake felled at least fifty of the dead apiece because though we were outnumbered, we knew how to fight and fight well. The dead have no tactic, no skill, and no motive other than to kill. Your dragons will be an asset we cannot afford to lose but I believe that people will be the deciding factor in this battle and we need every last person we can get."

"And there are others who could bring those people here, others who also volunteered to do so."

"They are not expendable, khaleesi. None of us are, but this was my decision to make for my reasons. I have done everything in the past years for you and to benefit you. This is a choice I make for myself and for my people. You and Tyrion reminded me of who my people are, that I am a Northerner and that the decision to reclaim that identity is my own."

"You are my sworn shield-"

"And I always will be as long as you will have me but at my most bare, at my first and foremost, at my core, I am a Northerner, I am a Mormont, just as you are a Targaryen more than you will ever be a queen or a mother of dragons."

"You swore to protect me, obey me-"

"I am, I have, and I will continue to but you are not in danger at this very moment; my people are. If all that stood between you and death was me, both of us would have died a long time ago but of everyone and everything protecting you, I am the smallest and the least. I have never asked you for anything, my queen, because I have been content with my life and the path I chose. I ask this one thing for myself now as we prepare for the great battle."

It should have saddened him, but it flushed him with warmth to see his queen so concerned for him in such a manner. Twice before she had looked at him with such trepidation and twice he had come back to her against greater odds than this. If thrice a venture foretold a bad omen, he had never heard of such a thing before. Usually the third attempt proved to be the most bountiful and rewarding.

"I have always come back to you, khaleesi, and I do not intend to disrupt that tradition now but this is something I must do, as a Northerner. I belong in your service, but the North made me into who I am and I left it as a disgraced man. My father died without an apology from me and of everything I have done to dishonor my people, this brings me the most shame. This is how I must redeem myself if I am to claim this land as mine, these people as mine. I have done nothing for my people to be worthy to call myself one of them but with this task I can so please let me try."

"But what if you fail?" said Daenerys quietly. "I am speaking in the most realistic terms I can: what if you fail? What if the Night King has already taken Last Hearth and you find yourself trapped or unable to outrun the horde?"

"If you insist on finding the bleakest outcome then I will answer with the bleakest solution. You faced down the khals in Vaes Dothrak all on your own, took each and every remaining rider as yours all on your own, and have done much more by your own hand without my advice or interference. You are strong and capable on your own and you never needed me for any of it. I have counseled you but I never made decisions for you. If I were to die out there beyond these walls, you would still fight this battle and win or lose on your own. I am your friend and your protector, but you have other friends, other protectors, and you have dragons."

He reached forward and took her hands, abnormally cold when he was so used to them being warmed by the never-setting sun of Essos. "But as I said, it is not my plan to die. I faced greater odds than this beyond the Wall and I have more than twice that number going with me now. I will have Sandor Clegane with me as well as Beric Dondarrion and Ser Bronn and while I do not trust Cersei's sellsword, I have spent many hours working alongside him to train the castle's youth and his claims that he is the best swordsman Cersei brought with her is no false and arrogant claim. I am in good hands, as are you. And I promise you that I will return before the long night. Do you trust me, my queen?"

She wanted to. She always had except when she had good reason not to and he had earned back her trust in a battle that was hard won. Now, she had never been less certain of his promise, so she lied.

"I trust you."

She did not follow him to the blacksmith, instead choosing to wait with Jon Snow as the rest of the Umber party gathered for departure. Jorah watched her speak in hushed tones with Jon but felt only a slight pang of jealousy where he once would have wanted to kill a man for earning his queen's favor. Jon was a good man and perhaps the only other man in the world who would so readily give his life for Daenerys, which was why Jorah felt secure in leaving her under someone else's protection.

Choosing two daggers and a short sword for himself, Jorah carefully tucked the weapons within his cloak when he was joined by the sellsword who came to select a sword and curved dagger of his own.

"Lighter than steel, but a bit off, if y'know what I mean," Bronn observed. "Takes some gettin' used to, eh?"

"Skilled swordsman like you, you should master dragonglass in a day or two," returned Jorah.

"How'd the First Men fight white walkers with what amounts to little more than shiny stones? You'd think steel would make quicker work've it."

"Valyrian steel can."

"Well, seein's how I don't have a lot've Valyrian steel lyin' round, that's not much use t'me."

Jorah grabbed the sellsword's arm as the latter attempted to mount up. "Do not make me regret allowing you to come along on this venture, ser."

Every time the man smirked, Jorah grew to hate it more and more and this was no exception as Bronn leered at him. "You didn't say anythin' for or against me, did you? T'was the Hound who spoke for me. You only spoke for Littlefinger so it seems t'me that you didn't care one way or another if I came along or not. I thought it was because you were finally startin' t'like me."

"I don't like you at all, nor do I trust you."

"Well, that saddens me."

"If you can't take this seriously-"

"That's me takin' this seriously. I'm not gonna ride all the way there t'get a glimpse've the walkers an' run me arse back here. Why would I spend near on two weeks roughin' it out there when I could be sleepin' here with a warm hearth an' a comfy bed unless I meant t'truly help? Piss off, y'crusty cunt."

Jorah held firmly to Bronn's arm even though he knew it would trigger the sellsword to consider sticking his newly acquired dragonglass dagger in Jorah's gut. "I have no assurance that you will guard my back out there other than your word."

"Sorry if that's not good enough for you 'cause that's all I have t'give. I'll have your back. That's my word for you an' your queen. She made it clear that if you don't come back, neither do I so believe me when I say I'll have your back so tightly you won't be able t'take a shit in peace."

What a strange and bewildering place the end of the world was where his queen entrusted a sellsword to protect her sworn shield on the off chance that the enemy might beat them to Last Hearth.

/ /

SANSA

She had given the order for young Ned Umber to retrieve his people because it was a necessity to gather every Northman. She had given this command to young Lord Umber but she had been unwise in sending Umber men as escorts, untrained and untried in fighting the dead. She was more than relieved when Ser Jorah had offered to accompany the boy but not at all prepared for the Hound doing the same and for Ser Bronn and Littlefinger to also throw in their lot with the departing, she found herself quickly losing control of the situation.

She had commissioned the task and could not very well rescind it once individuals she knew well were involved. Backing out would show the nobles that she favored others of no Northern birth over her own people, that somehow her own people meant less to her than a few men of the South. Backing out would show that they would be right to believe that because despite her best efforts, she did favor these men of the South or at least, she was very much involved with them.

She had not been prepared to send all three of them off on what very well could be a suicide mission and now had conflicted feelings about it even as she stood in the courtyard watching them saddle their horses. What was she supposed to say to any of them? That she feared for their safety? That she wished them well on their journey? That she had made a mistake and that those poor souls left at Last Hearth were already fated to become part of the Night King's army because she would not risk sending any of them?

"You're thinking about it too much," said the Hound in her ear and she turned to see him leading his horse out to join the others. "You made a strategic move in asking that little lord to go get his people and you can't take it back just because you're afraid of the consequences."

"You leapt at the opportunity to leave," said Sansa as indifferently. "Was it to assist your friend Ser Jorah or to be rid of me for a short while?"

"You know better than to ask me that."

"And nothing I say can make you stay?"

"Depends on what you say in the next two minutes."

Even now, he was infuriating, pressing her to say more than she could give him. He knew good and well what she would like to say, but she would not because he had not earned those words and his brash behavior was not reward enough for them. It would be his return and the manner of his return that offered him the prize he wanted.

She did not wish to have the last words spoken between them be ones of haughty uninvolvement and so she said carefully, guardedly, "I suppose that kindness we spoke of will have to wait until you return."

"I'll manage, somehow. Try to find something more interesting to talk about for when I get back."

"See that you do come back."

"Don't look at me like that," reprimanded the Hound, for she had not realized she had been both frowning and staring at him in trepidation at the prospect of an uncertain future for him.

"Don't scowl at me," she returned quickly.

"That's my face; it always looks like that. You're looking like the weepy little girl I knew in King's Landing."

A somewhat transparent but nevertheless encouraging bit of advice to her to not let her emotions regarding his departure be seen on her face in case others who might be watching would use that against her.

"I know you would not accept a token of good fortune and so I leave you only with this, Sandor Clegane: I have things yet to discuss with you and as your lady, I expect you to return so that we may speak about them."

Take that as you will.

And he did, for Sansa saw a glimmer of something that looked suspiciously like hope in his eyes. The small inhale and lift of his chin in anticipation of what she could mean made him bend slightly at the waist in courtesy to her.

As he made to back away, Sansa felt Ghost's hot breath on her arm and called out once more to the Hound. "I do gift you with one more token of parting."

"I'll not have anything of the sort, girl."

"Take Ghost with you. He seems ready enough to go and I've watched him follow you around. He likes you, and he will help in whatever is to come."

"If you mean him to protect me-"

"I mean him to protect those who might need protecting. He's seen the dead before and he doesn't fear them. Please, take him with you."

"He's the one I was counting on to keep an eye on you."

"Lady Brienne, Theon Greyjoy, my sister, and my brother on top of all the Northmen are more than enough to shield me from anyone who might do me harm."

"Aye, maybe, but I don't trust them like I trust him."

"I believe he's already made up his mind," Sansa pointed out as Ghost circled the Hound and then went to stand expectantly beside the wagons.

The Hound gave Sansa one last lingering look of annoyance and then swung himself up onto his horse. He said nothing to her in the form of farewell, as was beginning to be their custom. When last they had parted ways, he had only left her with a naught but a simple fact and now he was leaving her with little more. Goodbyes often prolonged the suffering that followed so it was better not to say them, as the words spoken before held greater meaning.

"My Lady Sansa."

Littlefinger came to her with a courteous bow and a rather smug expression. He was dressed warmly, but efficiently as well for possible battle in boiled leather and a fur cloak. She had never seen him in such garb before and to say the look did not suit him would be a lie. Over his shoulder was a quiver filled to burst with dragonglass arrow tips and at his waist was a short sword made of the same material. In his hands was his bow, though he looked more at home with it than he ever had.

Once he had told her that so many men risked so little and spent their lives avoiding danger before they died. If he had said nothing, if he was not preparing to go to Last Hearth, he would die as one of those boring men who risked nothing, yet here he was risking everything. For what? To get what he wanted in the only way he knew how, the last way he could think of.

"I hope to return to you a battle-proven man-"

"If you should return, I will expect a thorough explanation on how you fared and what techniques served you best in battle, Lord Baelish," said Sansa brusquely. She knew he would be expecting a longer, more heartfelt farewell, but she had nothing to give. His reasons for putting himself forward for this task were not wasted on her, so if he so desperately wished to try and earn her forgiveness and admiration, she was not one to stop him.

"Sansa, I-"

"You should be on your way before the wagons get too far without you."

Realizing he had been dismissed with much less of a farewell than the Hound had received, Littlefinger strode away to find his horse.

Not a moment he had been gone and Sansa heard, "M'lady," as Ser Bronn approached with a nod and a bow at the chest.

Smiling warmly at him, Sansa had kinder words for him than his predecessor. "Mind that you take care, ser. You are one of the only voices of reason between your queen and mine and it would be a terrible shame to lose you at this crucial time."

"Aye, I'll be back, m'lady. But if I'm not and he is," Bronn nodded toward Littlefinger's retreating back, "Pitch that fucker off the top've the walls."

Despite herself, she laughed just long enough to humor him. There was no amusement to be had in his statement but what little time she spent with the Hound reminded her that he and Ser Bronn shared in their temperament and as vulgar as they could be, she found the carefree way they spoke about things to be entertaining.

"I make no promises, Ser Bronn."

"I do. I'll be back an' I'll make sure to bring your Hound as safe as I can." He spared her a knowing wink before adding, "Until then, I wouldn't pray as often as y'do." He said it in an off-handed manner, but seemed to be trying to hint at something he could not say aloud. A warning, as he had warned her before about arming herself. He knew something he was forbidden to discuss but was doing everything in his power to tell her all the same.

She did not know him well enough to guess if he had ulterior motives but she knew someone who did and she intended to seek him out just as soon as the rescue party departed.

With Ghost in the lead, the wagons pulled out of the courtyard and not one man in the thirty of them looked back either with much confidence that they would return or fear that if they looked back, they would abandon their cause.

Presently, Sansa was joined by Daenerys who was watching the wagons with the same uncertainty that Sansa felt so strongly just now. No doubt the Queen would be climbing the wall every day to await the return of her knight just as Sansa would await the return of the Hound.

"Lady Sansa, will you walk with me?"

Not that she had much choice in the matter, Sansa gave a curt nod and allowed Daenerys to lead her where she hoped she would. They stood abreast on the wall, watching Ser Bronn and Beric Dondarrion's horses as the last in the wagon line disappear into the fog.

Daenerys let out an exhale, not altogether steady as her breath rose on the air.

"You fear for Ser Jorah," Sansa observed. "But he will come back, of that I am sure. Of all the men who just left in the caravan, he will most definitely come back."

"And you fear for Sandor Clegane," said Daenerys, though not without appreciation for Sansa's faith in Ser Jorah.

"I do, but not in the same manner that you do for your knight."

"No, I fear for my dearest friend and you fear for a potential lover."

If it had not been the queen who just spoke those words, Sansa might have struck out at her or at the very least, given her a stern telling off.

Daenerys's smile was warm and experienced as stared out across the moor in a tactful approach at letting Sansa wipe the emotion from her face.

"I have been a woman sought after by every man who fancied himself powerful enough to propose himself as my equal and I know when a man wants what a woman has or what a woman is. From that day I called him to trial, I have seen how Sandor Clegane speaks to you, how he looks at you. He would never make the motion on his own, but he desires you because of who you are, not what you are and certainly not for what you have. That is a man who cares nothing for titles and claims which is quite a refreshing change from the sort of men I have had to deal with for several years."

"If he desired me, it would be because he is a man, not because I have anything he wants, but he doesn't."

"Come now, Lady Sansa, all your years at court surely must have taught you to lie better than that."

"I'm not-"

"I do not ask you if you love him. I already know, but I will let you answer yourself in due time. And I tell you this: I do not think you care about titles anymore than he does. You have been betrothed to a bastard king, a bastard lord, and a man with a disgraceful claim in his family's name. I was sold to my first husband and I bedded a man of low birth and now I am with a bastard son of the man who was once Warden of the North. We chose the men we desire, not the other way around. We have been promised to men because of our claim, sold to appease the highest bidder to give them a better chance in wars created by them. But when this war with the dead is over, the war with the living will be finished by women. We will take what is ours and what we desire. So if you desire him, you had best tell him before the battle."

"And if I do not desire him?" asked Sansa, not knowing the answer, not having considered it for even a moment until now. She had only had a discussion concerning men once before with Margaery Tyrell and never even entertained the notion of desiring a man in the way Margaery meant. She had never felt desire for Tyrion or Ramsay or even Joffrey for that matter. She had not thought even for a moment of the burning passion that one person could have for another because she had been a child who wanted the finery that came hand in hand with marrying the future king of Westeros. Not until this very moment had she thought that she could ever bring herself to yearn for a man in the way she was supposed to, the way a woman should.

And of all men, Sandor Clegane? Why would she want him? What could he give her? What had he given her?

The truth, always the truth. Uncensored, raw, brutal truth. He was blunt with her bordering on cruelty but not in the sense that Joffrey was. The Hound had had to be unkind in his deliverance because she would not heed compliments and false courtesies. He wanted her to remember how evil the world really was without ever committing an act himself. In essence, he had prepared her for everything she would face after the Blackwater and she never forgot his words or those few moments of kindness.

The things he did for her he did because he wanted to, because he could not help but concern himself with her. The handkerchief he had used to dab at her bleeding lip, the cloak he cast about her shoulders to preserve her modesty, the men he had slaughtered because they sought to hurt her, the stern look to calm herself when he had caught her trying to shove her mattress into the hearth after she had first flowered. Kindness where there had been none before in a place where no one offered it to her. He had shown it to her first and every day since his return to Winterfell, she had been trying to repay the debt without knowing why.

Why? Why would she go to such lengths to offer him what little she had to give unless there was some part of her that desired him? Did she? How was she supposed to know when she hadn't the faintest idea what desire truly was? How could she label an emotion that she had not experienced before?

Margaery had told her that most women did not know what they liked until they tried it. Sansa had tried Joffrey: a king and a sadistic coward who never once wanted anything but to hurt her. She had tried Ramsay: a man of the North who had stolen her maidenhead and never once allowed her to come to her own pleasure. To a degree, she had tried Littlefinger: a man who promised all and who could give her everything except the trust she needed. None of these men had anything she wanted any more. Her immaterial wants as a child had blinded her to what she truly needed and now her wants were so few and yet so unobtainable.

She wanted her family: her mother and father, Robb, and Rickon. She wanted her innocence. She wanted the safety of her people from Cersei if they won the war against the dead. She wanted to never have to worry about anyone seeking her claim to Winterfell, never having to worry about being sold to the next eligible candidate for control of the North. Her greatest desire was some semblance of normalcy and happiness but none of this was possible and no man could give it to her.

"If you do not desire him, you had best tell him that as well. It would be an unkindness to send him to his grave without knowing or with false hope and I gather that he is a man already exposed to much unkindness in his life."

"He is, as are many of us."

"Take this time to reflect and prepare for what you will say to him when he returns. He goes for reasons of his own, but he will come back for you."

"He has no reason to, Your Grace. He and I are still strangers to one another after all these years and we have precious little time to become more than that before the dead are upon us. I do wish to be his friend before the end, but there is little more I can offer him."

"That is what you tell yourself now," said a new voice, that of Tyrion as he joined them, his head just barely able to see between the ramparts. "Forgive me Your Grace, my lady, I did not mean to intrude, but I had come to have a word with Lady Sansa and I heard enough to be confident in speaking my mind on the matter in what I observed, if you will permit me."

Tyrion knew the Hound long before Sansa did, perhaps even knew him well, and he was the only person here who could lay claim to such a thing besides Cersei but Sansa would never have this conversation with the woman who hated her.

"We cannot know exactly when the Night King will arrive because he clouds your brother's sight, but his forthcoming is inevitable and in desperation, many of us may say and do things because we feel like we have run out of time to do so. You may or may not have any affection for Sandor Clegane, Lady Sansa, but if you do and if you are so emboldened by the end of days to tell him, let it be what you want. Do not let the end of the world pressure you into doing anything against your will. You have never been able to make decisions for yourself, such important decisions as this, so let your last days be yours entirely."

"I would wholeheartedly trust Lord Tyrion's judgement, Lady Sansa," said Daenerys. "As women, we have often had to hold our silence and observe. Lord Tyrion is the same in that regard. He observes and he remembers and his judgement is true, more often than not."

"I do recall his honesty and goodness, Your Grace," said Sansa, though not irritably. "I was once wed to him. He was my only friend in King's Landing once Sandor Clegane had gone, but it took Sandor's leaving for me to find his friendship. His and my handmaiden's."

Tyrion's face twisted at this statement and after a hard swallow, he asked, "Might I have a moment alone with Lady Sansa, Your Grace?"

"Of course." Daenerys made to leave but at the last moment reached out to lay a hand on Sansa's arm. "My lady, I know that my presence is unexpected for you and difficult to accept. You believed that your brother would rule as King in the North and did not want or need me to take that title from him, but I do hope you will believe me when I say that I care very much for him and by that token his family. Whatever happens following this great battle, I will do everything within my power to ensure your family's safety and your legacy. I know nothing in your life has come easily to you and you have suffered much, but I would wish for us to be friendly with one another, if not friends. Please, come to me if you have need of anything until your Hound returns to you."

Sansa would have liked to have stated that he was not her Hound, but if he was caught in anyone's company nowadays, it was hers, and no one could dispute the fact that she had favored him since his first day back in Winterfell. Littlefinger had noticed it, as had Brienne, Euron Greyjoy, and now Tyrion and Daenerys as well and if they had, the Hound most certainly had. He probably knew Sansa's motives concerning him before she knew them herself and he was still allowing her to pursue or neglect him at her own pace. A choice, her choice, which was more than any man had ever given her before.

Tyrion twisted the ring set about his index finger as he anxiously wrung his hands. "Sansa, you say I was your only friend-"

"You and Shae," Sansa corrected.

"Then prepare yourself, my lady, because what I am about to tell you might very well change your views on the matter. I tell you this because you deserve to know, not because I hope to gain anything from it. I placed Shae in your service to keep an eye on you but also so I could keep an eye on her, keep her close to me. She was-she was with me, if you take my meaning. I brought her with me when I came to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King in my father's place and I feared to leave her in a brothel or somewhere else that I did not have quick access to so I made her your handmaiden."

Though this was surprising news to Sansa, she hardly felt that it was worth Tyrion asking to tell her this alone. Only, he wasn't finished.

"I could see she grew to care for you. She genuinely did want to protect you, but once you and I were wed, she grew jealous despite my insistence that you and I had never and would never share a bed. I was unwilling to force that on you but I also wanted to remain loyal to her. But I was pressured more and more by my father and Cersei was informed of who Shae was when one of Cersei's spies spotted her leaving our chambers, so I sent Shae away. I scorned her to make her leave, to save her life. After Joffrey's death, after you fled the capital, I stood trial and Cersei called her as a witness to the terrible plot you and I had concocted to murder the king. She lied and humiliated me at court and dragged your name through the mud as a co-conspirator all because I would not marry her."

As a Northerner, Sansa knew the cold well but the ice she felt in the pit of her stomach just now was a sort she had not experienced before. She wanted to call Tyrion a liar for suggesting Shae would ever do such a thing but in truth, she knew close to nothing about her handmaiden. She had only accepted that the woman was there to help her and had not been assigned to her by Cersei and confided in her due to that fact. That affection Shae seemed to have for her, though, that had been real. It had to have been real. Sansa could not bear the thought that her closest confidant had also been a liar and an enemy.

"My lady," Tyrion continued with pain etched into his features both on her behalf and his, "I do truly believe that she cared for you. And since you had fled, I think Shae believed you were beyond reach and nothing she said could harm you further. But she was jealous, as I said, and she was malicious in hurting those who wronged her. As a reward for lying to condemn me, my father took her to his bed and offered her gold and when I escaped my cell, I found her there. She attempted to kill me because she knew what I had come to do to my father and I killed her. I would say it was in self defense but I've thought about that night many, many times and I know there was some part of me that hated her for what she did to me, that felt justified in killing her. She went for the knife first and I could have left her unconscious, but I killed her."

The tears would not fall from his eyes, but Sansa could see such pain there, pain she had never seen even when she knew he was hurting from being cast aside and discarded by his family time and again. He had loved that woman and he had killed her and he had to live with that fact.

"Know this, my lady; had it not been for her affiliation with me, had I not sent her away, she would have continued to serve you for as long as you remained in King's Landing. She would have been tortured and killed after they questioned her concerning your whereabouts, but she would have died silent because she had no hatred for you in her heart until my actions planted it there. And in that sense, she was a better friend to you than I ever was, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Shae had been her friend, even when Sansa and Tyrion were wed. It was not until after Joffrey's death, once Sansa was free of the city and the Lannisters, that Shae betrayed her and even then-to hear Tyrion tell it-she betrayed him, not Sansa herself. Shae spoke lies to hurt Tyrion because the lies could do no harm to Sansa if she could not be found. True, Sansa might have been dragged back to King's Landing and beheaded if she had been captured on account of Shae's testimony, but Shae could not have been thinking of Sansa then when she appealed to the court, only Tyrion and how much she wanted to hurt him.

Often, a woman's wrath was far more dangerous and disastrous than a man's. Cersei was living proof of that and it was Cersei's actions that drove Sansa to try and set herself apart as a ruler. She would not be remembered for being a hateful, spiteful, loveless woman who cared only for the family members she chose. Cersei loved her children and her twin brother and no one else in this world but Sansa loved plentifully and often, as was her curse.

Cersei had warned her on that front to never love anyone but her children because the more people she loved, the weaker she would be. Both Cersei and Joffrey had exploited that weakness many times over but Shae had not and neither had Tyrion or the Hound. The man standing across from Sansa proved how two people from the same womb could be so different in life and he was the reason Sansa was alive to ponder any of this at all. She felt that just now, he deserved comfort even though he had come to bring some small measure of it to her.

"I have not had to kill someone I love," Sansa told him, "but I have had the option to do so. I have had the decision presented to me to kill someone I believed cared for me and I chose not to but I live in the uncertainty of that decision. I question it every day, wonder if I did the right thing in sparing the person who betrayed me for their own personal gain, and so if you doubt yourself where I am concerned, I would tell you that you never betrayed me. No Lannister spies ever found me, only Lady Brienne, and that was a duty given to her by my mother. Even if you did know where I had gone, you wouldn't have told them because you were the only one who truly cared for me. Did it ever enter your mind to hurt me?"

"Never intentionally," said Tyrion, not meeting her eye. "After the many conversations with my father I did have thoughts of what pain I might put you through to break your maidenhead and put a child in you. I thought of how I might hurt you if I ever tried to do more than hold your hand, as you seemed such a frail and delicate child. But everything I did, I did to protect you as well as I could."

"Joffrey was never able to beat me again once we were wed. His Kingsguard was never able to touch me. I suffered no more than a parchment cut after I became your wife. I could see you were trying, however much it pained you, and I wanted to be grateful but with the murders of my mother and brother, I couldn't. But I never hated you and I was always grateful. I still am that you would go to such lengths to preserve my maidenhead and my well-being even at personal cost. Even when you had every reason to hurt me, betray me, call me murderer, you never did. Why?"

"Because...I suppose...I loved you. I saw myself in you or rather, I saw you as an extension of myself. Your family was killed and mine denied my relation to them as much as possible. You were alone, as was I. I pitied you so very much, but I saw goodness in you that you couldn't help but show. And those precious moments where you allowed yourself to be yourself, I saw the incredible woman you were always meant to be and I loved that purity and goodness you displayed. I loved that you were able to be your true self with me, if only sparingly. I grew quite fond of you, so perhaps love is too strong of a word."

"No, it isn't. What you felt for me was purely platonic, but it was love. No person would do the things you did for me because it was the right thing to do. You have to feel something for someone you would sacrifice so much for. And I gave you almost nothing in return but for a few moments of levity. All those months and I never expressed how grateful I was to you."

"You had no reason to then, nor do you now."

"But I do. I would never have survived without you. I took for granted the fact that my marriage to you was a sacrifice on your behalf to save my life because I was just a tool for Cersei to use to gain what she needed or wanted and though you didn't want to marry me, you still did. Not out of fear of your father, but because you wanted to protect me. Me, a silly little girl who you didn't know, who would never trust you and never want you. You did that for me and I want you to know that I never hated you, not even for a moment. I feared you for a little while, I resented you for not being the man I wanted to marry. But I never hated you."

"Well," said Tyrion with a wry but pained smile that made it look like he was having trouble passing something from his bowels, "I will certainly take 'not hating me' over anything else."

But no, she could give him more than that. If she knew that he had loved her as much as he ever could in the manner that he could, he deserved to know the same now that they had put a word to any existing affection between the two of them.

"I could not call it love at the time, but I can say now that I did love you, and I do. For a time, you were all I had, and I have never forgotten the peace you gave me when I had nothing else. You were my friend, as you remain, and you need to know that I return that platonic love. As my friend, and at this point one of my oldest surviving friends, you are always welcome in my house."

Slightly taken aback and even ashamed that her words had brought him close to tears, Sansa looked away to give him time to dab at his eyes and then felt his hand in hers. He laid a kiss upon it and squeezed it tightly.

"For what it's worth, that does mean a great deal to me now."

"I wish I could have told you when it might have mattered more," Sansa apologized. "I wish you had known before Joffrey's wedding."

"I don't think you would have recognized it for what it was back then as you do now. We often come to the realization of many things once it no longer matters or it is too late to do anything about it so I am grateful that you had the opportunity to tell me this while we still have time. And I would hope that you have the courage to say what you want to to whomever still needs to hear something from you."

They had arrived back at Sandor Clegane and Sansa was no more ready to address the subject now than she was ten minutes ago.

"I don't know what I would say to him," she said somewhat truthfully.

"And that is quite alright. You have time to think about it, just enough time before that window of opportunity closes forever so between his return and the dead's arrival, try to think of something to say to him that will make amends for any wrongdoings, put to rest any grievances, or fuel hope into any wants you or he might have. As I said, you have never been able to make these decisions for yourself before, my lady, and you absolutely deserve to now. You already have, by my account."

"In what way?"

"Your sanction of the mission to rescue the Umbers, for one. Your decision to take up archery in these last days. Your proposal for Ser Bronn to lead Cersei's army."

"What is your opinion of Ser Bronn?" asked Sansa quickly. Now that she finally had Tyrion here to ask what she had intended for the past hour, she needed to know his viewpoint.

"Are you asking in terms of how I personally feel or felt about him or the sort of man he appears to be to everyone else?"

"Do you trust him?"

"That is a term best not used when referring to someone who works for my sister."

"Did you ever trust him?"

"I did, at one point. I trusted him to protect you within the Red Keep. While I was your husband, I was no match for any Kingsguard who might have wanted to come for you at Joffrey's behest and so I often stationed Bronn out of sight but within reach of you for your own protection. And the only reason we ever drifted apart was because I was sentenced to death and he knew better than to affiliate himself with the condemned. I was surprised to still find him serving Cersei to the degree that he does when I expected him to be holed up in a castle that she promised him but he does tend to surprise me every so often."

"Were you surprised that he volunteered to safeguard the Umbers?"

"No, because it is a smart move on his part and something I expect of him. What does surprise me is that you seem to be favoring him lately. Why?"

"If I knew why I wouldn't have asked you if you trust him."

"I don't think I ever fully did but I have always liked him from the moment we met. Do you find yourself liking him?"

As a child, no. Sansa understood that he was there on Tyrion's orders but that he was paid to be and would give her up for better coin to those who would seek to harm her. As she grew older, she feared him less and found herself catching on to his humor when he and Tyrion would quip. Now, she could not say. He had been the first to initiate communication with her which he had no business doing if he wished to keep his head, yet he spoke with her all the same. He advised her on protecting herself, mentored her in archery, and now had gone off on her orders but not before leaving her with a warning.

"He intrigues me," said Sansa at last. "He is...different from how I remember him."

"Everyone is different from how you remember them if you go long enough without seeing them."

"You aren't. You're exactly the same as I remember you, just with a beard."

Tyrion chuckled and scratched at the reddish-brown whiskers on his chin. "I have been meaning to remove this. But I digress, Bronn has proven himself to be more than anyone expected of him. A sellsword from the Riverlands who found himself as a Lannister champion in trial by combat who became Commander of the City Watch, an anointed knight, personal swordsmaster for Jaime Lannister, lord of a castle of his own choosing, and now commander of a large portion of the Lannister army. And to my knowledge, he is not being paid for that last position."

"His experience is impressive, but that is not why I find interest in him."

"No, you find him interesting and confusing because you have discovered that he likes you," said Tyrion knowingly. Before Sansa could deny the allegations, he waved them aside. "Not in the way you think and not in the way someone else does, I might add. No, he's fond of you, impressed I would even say. He admires your spirit as a woman who wants to fend for herself and he appreciates your gentle hand when it comes to ruling. You are everything Cersei is not and I would go so far as to say he is regretting having thrown his lot in with her. And perhaps that is why he asked to be a part of the Umber garrison; he hopes to earn your favor."

While Sansa appreciated Tyrion's insight, she did not believe it to be the whole truth of the matter. Yes, Bronn did seem to like her, but he was also trying to warn her of some impending danger and was not at liberty to say so. He could not tell her, she could not ask, so how was she to know what to be wary of? She did not have foresight; she could not see what had happened to lead Bronn in her direction.

But she knew someone who could.