SANSA
Every morning she would stand atop the walls facing east and scan the horizon for signs of wagons and horses returning and every morning she climbed back down the stairs in disappointment. She repeated the same ritual at sunset to equally disappointing results but was not to be deterred. If something had befallen Ser Jorah's rescue party, Bran would have been able to see it–at least, this is what she told herself as they came upon the ninth day with still no sign of them.
She was not the only one to show her agitation, for Daenerys could be seen checking the moors as often as Sansa, though never at the same time. The dragons appeared to pick up on their mother's unease and could be heard roaring more often than not which always sent the horses into a frenzy and set the inhabitants of the castle on edge. The Mother of Dragons feared for the safe return of her dearest friend and the whole castle knew it, but not everyone was privy to Sansa's fears concerning Sandor Clegane.
It was no small secret that she favored him, but only those closest to her knew because they knew how to read her. Tyrion, Jon, Arya, perhaps one or two more. They knew she awaited the Hound's return, though only Tyrion and Daenerys knew why even when she herself was not sure. Did she fear for her friend when the Hound claimed to have none? Did she fear for this man who clearly desired her in more ways than one if she could not admit to herself that she returned his feelings? Or did she just fear for him because she was a slave to worry?
The longer she mulled over these thoughts, the more clouded her mind became and the only way to remedy the constant battle inside her head was to keep busy.
With no one to practice with, she spent many hours alone at the archery station trying to refine her technique but far from finding herself alone to practice, she had attracted an audience in the form of a handful of Dothraki who seemed intrigued by this woman who had taken up the bow to defend herself. In their culture, such a thing was unheard of because women existed to serve the men (with Daenerys as the one exception). They muttered amongst themselves as they watched her but when she would miss the target, they did not laugh or mock her.
Wishing that Ser Jorah were present to translate for her, she could only interpret their inquisitive stares as their heavily lined eyes followed her every move. She knew that she saw lust in many of their gazes but was far too used to this expression on a man's face to let it bother her. None of them would dare touch her and even so, she did not fear them. They were her allies, more than Cersei and her men ever would be.
To her delight, she was joined on the fourth day by Theon Greyjoy who seemed to have been building up the courage to come and speak with her again. She supposed that such a long time in Ramsay's company had made it difficult for him to look someone in the eye, even now months after Sansa and Theon's escape. Even after she had forgiven him, he was still broken.
She gave him time, not speaking to him as he trained alongside her and his presence encouraged her to try harder, as Littlefinger's presence had. It helped to have competition, to push herself to do better and match the more skilled archer. Only, Theon was much, much better than Littlefinger and equally skilled as Ser Bronn and so Sansa had a much larger gap between her capabilities and his.
Her determination to hit over half of her targets grew with every bullseye Theon made and though she was seeing improvement in herself, she wondered if she would be just as determined and capable when she was faced with real targets. Men always spoke of how training for battle and actually participating were two very different things, of how courage often abandoned even the bravest in the face of danger. It was one thing for Sansa to claim bravery to save face when there was nothing tangible for her to fear but her doubts grew every moment she spent imagining the army of the dead spread out before her as she stood armed with only a quiverful of arrows and would more than likely waste half of them with her inaccuracy.
I am not fearless, but nor am I brave enough.
She had always, always feared death in its many forms but she had found ways to combat her fear in the form of escape. She fled from Joffrey and Cersei and she fled from Ramsay but it was far too late to flee from the dead now, even if she wanted to. The only way to defeat death was to face it, no matter how ill prepared she was for the encounter.
These thoughts plagued her during every waking moment not spent worrying over the seemingly never-coming return of the Hound and the Umber escort. As she silently ate her dinner, as she crawled into bed, as she walked the corridors of Winterfell, she could think only of the Hound and what would be following in his wake.
It was during one of these moments where she was lost in thought that she stumbled into what she had thought would be an empty corridor, only to find Alys Karstark backed against a wall with Euron Greyjoy bearing down on her with that maniacal look of hunger on his face.
"They make them prettier in the North than they do anywhere else but you're wasted up here with all those furs to cover the finer parts of you," he told Alys, placing a hand on the wall beside her face and leaning over her.
The poor girl's hands were limp at her sides, for she had not thought to draw steel against Euron, frightened as she was. Being hunted in this manner was something she would not have been accustomed to dealing with as a highborn daughter or a great lord. Her grandfather would have slain the likes of Euron Greyjoy for even looking at his granddaughter, but Alys was the last of her house with no one to speak for her and no experience in dealing with the uglier side of life beyond the protective walls of Karhold.
"Step back from her," said Sansa sharply. "You have no place speaking to her."
"You Northerners have enough rules as it is, now we're forbidden to talk to each other?" snapped Euron.
"Talking to her was the last thing on your mind and the last thing on hers, it would seem. If she had wanted an audience with you, she would have asked for it."
"She's a girl yet; she doesn't know what she wants."
"If you consider her to be a girl, you would know that she is far too young to be involved with men twice her age, but she is not just a girl. She is the lady of Karhold and perfectly old enough to know what she wants and she will do as she likes without a man to tell her what that is. And I believe what she wants is for you to keep your distance."
"Northerners are the same as any women, though. Hard to get, but worth it once I do."
"Shall I tell your beloved queen that you are disloyal to her? I don't imagine she would react kindly to the knowledge that her commander and consort is attempting to court Northern women-for lack of a better word."
"She knows that there is no leash for a kraken, not like your Hound."
"As little as this means to you, Sandor Clegane sees women as individuals capable of making their own decisions and not prizes to please him, and in doing so, he has earned the respect of the entire Northern army, something Cersei's army holds little of–if any–for you. You are a nuisance more than anything and are only tolerated because Cersei needs a commander, but make no mistake that you are not wanted by either army."
She had struck a nerve, for she could see Euron's eyes flash dangerously. He made a step toward her but then immediately retreated four steps as Sansa heard the heavy footfalls of Brienne behind her, accompanied by the lighter steps of Arya and the hobbled gait of Theon. No words were exchanged but Euron Greyjoy flicked his tongue out at his nephew and then gave Sansa a sparing look that promised her that his impure endeavors were far from over.
Once he had gone, Alys Karstark let out a shaky exhale and breathed, "Thank you, my lady."
Sansa felt a stab of both guilt and pity for the girl. She had condemned her for being the daughter of a traitor and had it not been for Jon, she would be nothing more than a young woman with a disgraced name-as Sansa had been. The girl was nearly Sansa herself in circumstance. At the age of sixteen she was now the head of her house and had at one point feared for her life in having to accept the consequences of her father's actions and was simply doing what she had to in order to survive.
Joffrey had toyed with Sansa for being the daughter of a traitor and here Sansa was discrediting Alys Karstark for the same fault. It had taken her far too long to see that she was repeating history, though this time she was not the victim.
Sansa strode forward and took Alys's hands between her own. The young woman flinched as if she had expected to be slapped and Sansa suspected that she had been at the receiving end of her father's temper more than once before.
"I must ask your forgiveness, Lady Karstark. When I suggested that my brother gift your ancestral home to one of the bannermen who was loyal to him, I meant you no ill will, but I once was made to atone for my father's crimes and I refuse to make others suffer as I did. For that, I am most sorry."
"There is nothing to forgive, my lady. My father served the man who wronged you as vengeance for my grandfather's beheading. But our fathers' and grandfathers' actions do not reflect our own. You were still angry, as you had every right to be, but I knew the anger was not directed at me. And I do not believe you are the sort of woman to condemn innocent children, evident in how you just now came to my aid."
Wherever this young wisdom had come from, Sansa envied the girl for not allowing herself to be misled by those who would claim themselves to be her counselors. She did know what she wanted and was therefore much less likely to fall victim to someone with ulterior motives. Here was a young woman who would never have believed the honeyed lies of the likes of Littlefinger and Sansa could only regret her own past actions as she considered what a strong ally she might have in Alys Karstark.
"I would highly advise that you only leave your quarters in the presence of a guard to avoid any further chance meeting with the likes of him," said Sansa with a jerk of her head toward the corridor down which Euron Greyjoy had hastily retreated. "I would not put it past him to do something unseemly when he thinks no one is watching."
"Duly noted, my lady."
"Theon," Sansa beckoned, and Theon eagerly stepped forward. "Please escort Lady Karstark back to her chambers and then find her someone to stand guard outside her door. If there are none of her own men available, assign a Stark guard to her."
With a curtsy, Alys followed Theon who seemed quite proud to be given the task by Sansa, leaving Sansa alone to speak with Brienne and Arya.
"Were you two following me from the beginning, or did you just happen upon me?"
"The both of us and Theon all noticed you were gone at relatively the same time," said Arya. "You slipped away from archery practice and between the three of us, we figured we had best band together and come after you."
Grateful though she was for the protection of her sister and two friends, Sansa could not help but feel a small measure of annoyance that she could not go anywhere within her own home without being followed and watched by someone. She knew she was a much-desired individual, but she found the constant company of a guard to be somewhat tiresome, as it allowed for little privacy. Daenerys was just as desirable as Sansa in terms of enemies wanting her dead and yet Sansa was marked as the easier target because she did not have dragons at her disposal.
"I am not entirely helpless, you know," Sansa told her sister, though even to her, it sounded like a childish admittance.
"Not entirely, but mostly," said Arya with a wry grin. "And whatever skills you have wouldn't have helped you to get rid of Euron."
"And he would try again even if you were as good of a swordswoman as your sister or me, my lady," Brienne pointed out. "He will try again."
"Then he will be in for a rude introduction to a Stark's fury when he does."
"He will try again, and he will try when there are no witnesses."
"Then you must take care to not stray far, Lady Brienne."
"It'll be easier when the Hound and Ghost return," said Arya knowingly. "Euron may not fear any one of us individually apart from Ghost, but with one of us always watching you, he's bound to slip up and when we catch him in the act, not even Cersei will be able to defend him."
Sansa said nothing. She doubted very much whether Cersei cared one bit about Euron Greyjoy's fate if he let his manhood do his talking for him, but Cersei did rely on Euron to lead a good portion of her army. He was her strongest battlefield commander, but also an unreliable and unpredictable predator. If Cersei could not keep him from pursuing his raging tendencies, no one could, and Sansa did not want to be present when Cersei lost what little control over him she had.
/ /
Another morning of watching the wasteland made by the coming of winter saw Sansa sitting atop the wall with her feet dangling over into the courtyard when she saw that yet again, the rescue party was not forthcoming. By now she had prepared herself for such disappointment, resigned to the fact that she would be taking up her usual archery post in lieu of mulling around with her anxiety. She was dressed in her archer's garb but could not bring herself to abandon her fur cloak with how frigid the morning air was. She did not at all look the part of the Lady of Winterfell but perhaps that was a good thing. Being a highborn lady had only ever brought her attention, wanted or otherwise, and being red or hair also meant she was difficult to miss. But being dressed in men's clothing was incredibly liberating in that she attracted far fewer stares than she normally would and she considered dressing outside of her normal attire more often.
She was not entirely unnoticed, though, for she could see Arya peering out from the confines of the blacksmith's station every so often and Theon would glance up at her from where he was instructing some novice archers nearby. At the bottom of the stairs was Brienne, guarding anyone who was not instructed to be on top of the wall from passing.
Before she set about to the day's practice, Sansa decided that now she would finally visit the godswood. She had not been into the godswood since Ser Jorah's company departed for Last Hearth, as Ser Bronn had heavily hinted that she avoid prayer for the time being. Taking his warning to heart, she had gone to Bran and found the answers she needed regarding Bronn and his current employer and decided that the gods would not begrudge her praying in her room instead of the godswood. Perhaps the gods had deemed it necessary to deny her what she desired most until she took her prayers to the weirwood tree, so now was as good of a time as any to pay her respects.
Coming down from her perch, she instructed Brienne to stand guard outside the godswood gate and to not allow anyone inside without invitation with the exception of her family or the queen. Anyone else who sought to speak with her could wait half an hour.
As the cold and the frost mingled with the heated pools scattered here and there throughout the godswood, a heavy fog rose, coating the forest floor in damp mist that swallowed the tree trunks and the leaf-strewn ground. Sansa knew the path to the weirwood tree well but she still had to take precautions to not misstep in the fog and take an unintentional dip in one of the pools. As the stretched, misshapen face of the ancient tree came into view, Sansa knelt, hands clasped before her, and began to pray to the gods whose names she did not know.
She had never before given much thought to how the old gods were nameless and the new gods were all given identities. Her time praying to the new gods had taught her much about the religions of her father and mother and she had come to the conclusion that the new gods were an invention of mankind to put a true face to what was worshipped. The new gods were given names and shapes to douse them in familiarity. It helped mankind understand his place in this world if he could make sense of the higher beings and give reason to that which plagued him. The Stranger was so named to bring meaning to death and shed enlightenment when there had been none before. The Mother was a way to link the gods' ways with the actions of humans, to compare a deity with something tangible and comforting. All created to make sense of the unknown, to keep death at bay. All lies.
The old gods had no name because those who worshipped them did not need to make sense of the higher powers, only praise them and honor them. The old gods did not require mankind to adhere to specific rules: chastity, moral goodness, mercy, innocence. The old gods just were and nothing more. But they were always listening, even if they could not always hear, and they had answered Sansa's prayers more than the new gods ever had.
The Tully in her had hoped that her mother's gods were true but the Stark in her, the blood of her father and grandfather and the First Men, it only vowed allegiance to the old ways and the old gods.
Her prayers were not profound and not eloquent but raw and pleading. She asked for safety and kindness, for victory and peace. And above all, she asked for a clear mind to sort out her thoughts and emotions and do what was intended for her.
Before she could close out her prayer, she heard the crunching of both leaves and snow underfoot and hastened to stand, whirling around to search about for the source of the noise.
She couldn't say she was in the least bit surprised despite all of her precautions as she saw the kraken approaching her from the other side of the largest pool. The fog had thinned, expelling him from its depths like an eerie spectre. Those rounded eyes that were far too wide, far too alert, bore into her as he drew nearer and he was not troubling himself to stay hidden.
Euron had done his part well in stalking her and finding a way into the godswood without needing to pass Brienne. Sansa vowed to put twenty men to work shoring up every possible entrance to the godswood in preparation for the battle since this was where Bran would be and if scum like Euron Greyjoy could so easily scale the walls, the dead would have no problem either.
"You're prettier when your eyes are closed," said Euron, running his tongue over his teeth in that provocative manner she so detested.
She could scream, but wondered if Brienne would get to her in time. If she screamed, Euron would most assuredly be quicker with what he intended to do, perhaps drive him to kill her to avoid a witness. He could overpower her, slit her throat, and disappear into the trees faster than Brienne could reach Sansa.
If she screamed, she was returning to the helpless child she had fought so hard to outgrow. That child had died and Sansa, Lady of Winterfell, had been born from those ashes. She was a woman who had taken it upon herself to try her best to defend herself in the time she had left and who was it that had first planted that idea in her head?
Bronn, when he offered her his personal weapon, a steel weapon. Not for the dead , he had told her.
"I will give you one warning to stay back," said Sansa without preamble. "You were not given permission to be here and so you must leave."
"But unlike last time, there's no one here to make sure I heed that warning. No giant bitch, no Hound, no wolf. And if you scream, by the time anyone comes, I'll already have planted a son in you," said Euron, stepping closer and closer still.
Sansa could go for her dagger now and give up her one chance to catch him off guard or she could wait until he was on her and hope that she had the room and the strength to stab him.
"I don't know why you keep resisting me. I may be ironborn and raping is in my blood but I've been with just as many who can't get enough of my cock. I'll try to make it pleasurable for you because I doubt you've ever been properly fucked."
"Choose carefully which hand you would touch me with, ironborn, because that is the hand you will lose."
With his thin lips curling back to reveal that awful toothy smirk of his, Euron licked at his teeth suggestively. "Cersei wasn't even this fun. I can tell already that I'm going to have such a wonderful time with you."
Sansa heard the padding of many feet on the snow, fast approaching and nearly upon her and decided to let Euron grab for her. The ironborn's hands closed around her shoulders and she reached inside her cloak to her side for the dagger Bronn had advised her to carry. It was close quarters but she managed to free it and drive just enough into Euron's hip to make him retreat for a moment and observe his wound. It was a shallow stab, enough to draw blood and little else, but it was indeed his blood upon Sansa's knife and it steamed as it came into contact with the frigid air.
"That little act of stupid bravery ensured that this will be anything but painless-"
Ghost's jaws clamped down on Euron's arm, nearly yanking the whole thing out of its socket as the wolf dragged him to the ground and began to thrash. Though he would deserve to face the wights short one arm and though she would have loved to have seen his cockiness and arrogance fade away as he realized how useless he would be against the dead, Sansa knew that she could not allow Ghost to harm him more than he already had. A trial might be had if there was time but he would have to face Daenerys's justice for breaking the peace just for the want of his manhood.
"Ghost, away!" Sansa cried over the sound of Euron's screams.
The wolf ignored her as he began to drag Euron from the clearing to make a meal out of him.
Sansa made to call him off again when instead she heard the command from someone else before she saw him.
"Away, Ghost, the fucker's had enough."
The Hound came running in the wolf's wake with his dragonglass sword at the ready and behind him came Ser Jorah, Ser Bronn, and Littlefinger. Not trailing far behind them was Brienne and a small host of Stark guards. Sansa quickly stuffed her dagger out of sight as her rescue party circled around the wolf and the kraken.
Ghost released the Greyjoy captain but stood bloody and snarling over him until the Stark guards had seized him.
"Escort Lord Greyjoy back to the Lannister wing of the castle," said Sansa, swallowing to conceal the shake in her voice. "He and I were speaking and he raised his voice to me, which Ghost took for a threat. Tell Cersei that if she wishes to discuss what happened here, she knows where she can find me."
"Are you hurt, my lady?" asked Brienne, shamefaced that she was almost last in line to come to Sansa's defense.
"No. I ordered you to wait outside without checking that the godswood was unoccupied first. The fault was mine but from now on, I will have a guard posted outside the gate, for I have no desire for a repeat experience. Lady Brienne, please find my brother and tell him to keep a watchful eye over Ghost until I have spoken to Cersei, for I know she will be wanting vengeance and she already had one wolf in my family killed because of the victim's lie. I will not lose another. Tell my brother that until he is able to come and take him personally from me, Ghost will remain at my side."
Brienne seemed reluctant to leave her now, even though she had both Ghost and the Hound for company and she knew it was because Littlefinger had returned.
"I am more than safe now, Lady Brienne," Sansa assured her, which sent her on her way.
"Are you certain you are unharmed, Lady Sansa?" asked Littlefinger with just him and his companions remaining.
"Euron Greyjoy didn't get the chance to touch me before Ghost was on him," Sansa lied. The fewer people who knew that she had been handled again by a man who wanted to rape her, the better.
"Clegane knew," said Ser Jorah. "As soon as we came up inside the gates, he knew and he sent Ghost ahead of us into the godswood. The wolf obeyed him as if Clegane were his master."
"Hounds and wolves are closely related," said Sansa with pride. "Was your mission a success? It pleases me to see you all safely returned."
"More successful than if we'd waited any longer, m'lady," said Ser Bronn. "The dead weren't far behind, but they had to pull up short at the Last River. The snows 'ave made it flood to three times its size and the dead were bein' swept away fast as they could fall into it. They'll have to go 'round, maybe buy us some time."
"I will have word sent to gather the council this evening where you will be debriefed in full. In the meantime, I would speak to Sandor Clegane alone for a moment, if I may."
Unless she was imagining it, Ser Jorah appeared to have an inordinate amount of command over Littlefinger who was absolutely loathe to leave her but who backed away with nothing but a stern look from the knight. She suspected that she would learn exactly why this was to be in a few hours' time when the council convened to discuss matters.
When they had gone, Sansa allowed herself to smile at the Hound's presence while simultaneously backing herself into the tree behind her to steady herself. Her chest rose and fell as she took several shallow breaths while allowing herself to process her most recent attack.
"What'd he do to you?" asked the Hound, stepping forward in concern but not too close.
"I'm happy to see you," Sansa deflected, still smiling as her heart pounded in her chest and flashes of a darkened bedroom, vicious grunts, and her own battered and bruised skin came back to her.
"I don't give a fuck if you're happy to see me, girl. Tell me, did he put his hands on you?" snarled the Hound.
Shaking, Sansa showed him the bloody dagger tip and he reacted exactly as she expected him to, so she was ready. He swore and turned on his heel to march right out of the godswood to kill Euron Greyjoy but Sansa grabbed him by his tunic and held fast.
"No, you mustn't touch him."
"Like he didn't touch you? Fuck off."
"He paid the price for laying hands on me, as I promised he would. I warned him and he tried anyway so I stabbed him and then he was Ghost's. He may well lose that arm, as he deserves, but it would only have been my word that he had hurt me if Ghost had killed him and then our peace with Cersei would be broken. If you kill him, we lose her army. She has no loyalty to him, but she will see this as a slight to her and I must be the one to mend it. Only I have that right to call for his blood and I will not so please, promise me you will leave him be."
"You leave him alive, he'll do this again," said the Hound darkly. "You don't give warnings to rapists. You take away their tools."
"Ghost took away one; you made sure of that. Euron will find it much more difficult trying to rape me with one arm."
Wiping the dagger on the inside of her cloak, she sheathed it and then grasped the Hound's forearm with her other hand just as a precaution so he could not go charging off without having to tow her along.
"I'll ask you what everyone else did and you'd better not lie to me; are you hurt?" he asked, large brown eyes boring into hers.
"He might have bruised me when he grabbed me, but he was unable to manage anything else before I stabbed him."
"That's not what I meant."
Dare she share that information with him? Did he have the right to know what sort of thoughts went on inside her head when she remembered those days of torture and rape at Ramsay's hands?
"It would have been worse if you had not sent Ghost to me, so you have my gratitude for that, truly. But how did you know?"
"You weren't there to greet us," said the Hound simply but somewhat sheepishly. "I knew you would've been if you could, but you weren't. The only place you go on your own is the godswood and I saw your sworn shield standing guard outside, so I knew. Didn't know what I'd find, so I sent the wolf."
Neither of them spoke about the fact that this was the second time she had been saved from rape by him but both of them had the thought heavy on their mind. When he was near and able, he came for her. The only time he did not was no fault of his and Sansa did not blame or judge him for it but now, as she held onto him and watched him recall that memory so long ago, she wondered if he blamed himself for what had happened to her since then.
"Where did you stab him?" the Hound asked to break the silence.
"Below the ribs."
"Next time, go for the heart." He touched one solid finger to the spot on her chest and she found herself holding her breath at the brief interaction. "If a man's not wearing armor, that's the best place to go for. You can try to cut his throat or shove a blade into his balls, but the heart is what will stop him in his tracks if you can reach it."
"Next time?" Sansa repeated.
"Aye, maybe not by him but if somehow you're still alive after all've this, there'll still be men who would want to hurt you and you'd best know how to stop them for before and after. And you'd best stab him like you mean it next time, none've that ninny swishing you girls like to do when someone puts a sword in your hand."
Sansa grinned, for she knew exactly what the Hound was referring to. Arya used to play at sword fighting in that manner, hacking away without ever getting close to the target and expending all of her energy. It was exactly the sort of thing the Hound would find irritating so Sansa made a mental note to never demonstrate what little technique she knew to him for fear of being reprimanded for "ninny swishing".
"I am happy to see you," she told him again sincerely.
"Don't do that with me; I fucking hate it when you do that."
"Do what?"
"Say your courtesies and pretty words."
"I said them when it was required that I say them. I spoke the same lie over and over: that I was happy and devoted to my beloved Joffrey, that I was happy to be in King's Landing in my new home, that I was happy to do whatever was commanded of me. Did I ever look happy to you then?"
"Never."
"And you always caught me in a lie when I said it. Do I look happy now?"
"Aye, but I don't see why. It's just me standin' here and I haven't brought the salvation of mankind with me."
"Yes, it's just you and just you are reason enough for my happiness."
The Hound stared her down, challenging her to blink so he could read her thoroughly and decipher her expressions. He did not believe her in the slightest which worked both for and against her. She needed his trust but he still thought she was lying to him. By the same token, there were some things she could not share with him, better to be kept private even from those who knew her best-and those who knew her best were so few.
"You're toying with me, girl," said the Hound distrustfully. "Whatever you're feeling right now, it's not happiness."
"Do you now speak for my emotions? Do you know me better than I do myself?"
"I don't know you."
The same argument as ever, the same grim reminder that too many years had passed for them to truly know one another and too few days remained for them to remedy that. Whatever they knew of one another, they would have to know with the time they had left but he was still fighting her on that front with his interior walls built to perfection, made to be impregnable.
Still, she had made some headway, small victories in small gestures like being able to touch him when before he had rebuked her for it. She alone could extend that gentle hand to him without fear of a dog's bark or bite and that triumph empowered her to know that of everyone in this world, she could break through to him in however small of a way.
They both came to the realization at the same time that she was still holding fiercely to him and he glanced down at her hands pointedly but she did not release him just yet.
"If I let you go, will you follow me calmly out of the godswood and be just as calm during the council meeting, or will I be receiving news of Euron Greyjoy's murder in the middle of the night?"
"I could do either whether or not you're holding me, girl."
"But you haven't. You are strong enough to drag me like a doll behind you even as I hold fast to you but you have stayed here at my behest."
"Only because I can't murder a man in broad daylight."
She spared another smile for him, stubborn as he was. He should have been born a Northerner. He had too much of the North in him to be born as a vassal of an ungrateful Southern lord. He did not like kneeling nor much else in the world but he had a Northerner's drive and spirit which was wasted on him during his time serving in the South. The only part (and perhaps the most well-known part) of him that was truly Southern was his mouth, disrespectful and untamed as it was. The Northmen did not speak so boldly because they did not have the humor the other lands had.
More than that, though, Ghost had taken to him as well as he did to any friend of the Starks, even more, and she took that as a sign that he had finally come home, the place he was meant to be. She had pardoned him for the North and in doing so, she had claimed him whether or not he was happy with that notion and he would just have to accept his new lot in life.
"Thank you," she said sincerely.
The Hound was no more comfortable and accustomed to accepting gratuity now than he was all those years ago when Loras Tyrell had him share in the Hand's tourney victory. He had looked so out of place and unsure of what to do with himself having never experienced the love of the people no matter how artificial. And now, he still had not learned…
"It is customary to say: you are welcome-in case you were at a loss for words."
"I know the bloody words, just never had to say them before," he snipped.
"You have to say them now."
"Why, because you think you can command me to?"
"Because you know I meant it when I said mine."
"Fine."
Suppressing a grin at his stubbornness, Sansa led the way out of the godswood. She would have more to say to him later but for now, their conversation was over. He fell in line beside her, brushing against her once or twice, and she knew it was an overcorrection on his part. Despite the fact that she did not blame him in the least, she knew he would carry the guilt of her near-rape with him for days to come.
In the courtyard, the rest of his travel companions were gathered waiting for them and at the sight of Littlefinger refilling his half-empty quiver, Sansa remembered the conditions on which she had sent him to accompany the Umber party.
"How did he fare?" she asked with a nod at Littlefinger, curious but not altogether concerned since he appeared to be unscathed.
"He's alive, isn't he?" said the Hound shortly.
"That could be because he ran while others fought. The fact that he is alive means nothing, nor does it answer my question."
"He's alive because he has at least one ball hangin' twixt his legs," answered Ser Bronn, shamelessly inviting himself into the conversation. "He dropped his sword but fired some arrows accurately enough an' got in a kill or two. It was on his mind t'run, but he couldn't or the big man here would've cut 'im clean in half."
Properly astounded that Littlefinger had not only fought but managed to kill an enemy, Sansa wondered where that sort of bravery had been hiding all his long years. Where was this courage when Littlefinger had set brother upon brother and made the greater houses battle themselves into extinction?
"You seem surprised, my lady," said Ser Jorah Mormont.
"Were you not when you saw it firsthand?"
"I can't say that I was. I saw what sort of warrior he might be when you had me duel him in this very courtyard and I did not see a man who would charge into the enemy but neither did I see a man who would flee from it. He stood his ground, he did as ordered, and Lord Umber owes him his life. We were lucky to have an archer with us."
"You did before he came along," said Ser Bronn.
"In that moment, we needed your sword, not your bow and without you and Lord Baelish we would not be having this conversation. We all did our part but Lady Sansa specifically asked for a report of him, not you. No one doubted your abilities."
"You did, though, didn't you?" asked Ser Bronn with a fine level of snark.
"I did not doubt your skill, only your intent. As well as your ability to keep your mouth shut on the journey," returned Ser Jorah bitingly.
"You wound me, ser."
"Oh, do shut the fuck up," snapped the Hound. "You can't just leave well enough alone, can you? You have to pick a fight where there isn't one."
"Isn't there?" Ser Bronn challenged.
"No, there is not," said Sansa. "I commend your prowess and your courage, ser, and you have my thanks in your part in rescuing those survivors of the Last Hearth. However, I have seen your bloodied sword before and I knew you would do well in battle. I had little hope for Lord Baelish, and so I would hear truthfully from you if he deserves the credit Ser Jorah gives him."
Ser Bronn chewed his lip for a moment as it obviously pained him to admit such a thing about a man whom he despised. "Aye, he does. He's still rubbish at fightin', but he did save that boy, an' he saved Mormont here as well."
"And Ser Jorah saved you," added Beric Dondarrion. "Funny how that becomes a cycle, isn't it?"
"Piss off," muttered Ser Bronn.
"I thank you all for your service to House Umber and by that extension, House Stark. You will find my brother and Queen Daenerys in the library, please make your report to them and then rest yourselves for a few hours before the council meeting. You must be tired."
"Rather hungry, m'lady," said Ser Bronn as his stomach gave a loud and timely gurgle.
"Go to the kitchens and tell the cooks by my order they are to give you an early supper."
Ser Bronn bowed gratefully and headed the small procession to the library, the sooner to be debriefed so that he could claim his meal.
As the Hound turned to follow, Sansa laid her hand upon his arm and said quietly, "I would speak to you again later, after you've rested."
"You know where to find me," he returned without a smile but with warmth in his gaze.
Now, only Littlefinger remained and he resentfully watched the Hound follow the others, something that did not go unnoticed by Sansa, though she did not care what he thought of her unspoken relationship with the Hound.
"They tell me you fought well," she said as a means to clarify that she did not wish to discuss the Hound.
Littlefinger arranged the arrows in his quiver rather unnecessarily before responding, "I heard. And they said no such thing: they told you that I stood my ground and did what I could to defend them. I fired my arrows and felled a wight or two, but I did drop my blade and I fought as well as a green boy."
He did not sound ashamed to admit it, but then again, a man who had done the things he had done with little to no conscience about it would not be a man who was familiar with the concept of shame. His gaze was far away as his mind took him back to that battle and Sansa wondered what he had seen and done but she was saved the trouble of wondering further as she watched Ghost come to stand before Littlefinger and lean slightly against him.
This was surely an act of the gods, for Sansa had known the Stark direwolves to share their masters' instincts, their likes and dislikes of certain people. If the Starks did not trust an individual, neither did the wolves. She had never seen any of the wolves greet someone who was so distrusted by the Starks. Ghost could surely sense her animosity toward Littlefinger and yet he showed no signs of aggression as he had done to Euron Greyjoy or indeed, any of the men who had journeyed north with Cersei.
Then, in an act that astounded her even more, Littlefinger subconsciously rested his hand atop Ghost's back and stroked his fur without looking at the wolf as if he had done this several times before. Now Sansa was not only curious but eager to know what had transpired on the road to Last Hearth.
"You are too modest. From what I have seen for myself and from what I have heard from Jon about Ser Jorah, he is an honest man and not one to scatter praise where it is undeserving and he spoke of your abilities with high regard."
"He would, because I did save his life. Once. He saved mine multiple times in that battle, as did the rest of them, including the Hound."
"Are you so adamant that I not see your potential?"
"I only wish for you to see me exactly for what I am. I did as commanded in rescuing your people."
"I did not give that command to you, you chose to go of your own accord and I commissioned it."
"And you ordered that I return and report to you on my findings. I have returned and I can truthfully say that felling wights is far more difficult than targeting men. The terror of potentially missing your target increases tenfold because your enemy is not just another man but a being that cannot feel pain and will stop at nothing to slaughter you. I surprised myself in my accuracy but I attribute it more to luck than skill. When the dead reach Winterfell, I do not think that you should be on the walls with the other archers. If I only narrowly managed to make a handful of kills, you will not fare much better. You would be better served being stationed elsewhere."
There it was again; that claim that she should be somewhere that was not in the heat of battle because she was inexperienced, a woman .
"I believe that I can make that decision for myself–"
"Sansa, this has nothing to do with pride, yours or mine. This has nothing to do with past grievances or my feelings regarding you or anyone else. This is my truth after what I saw. If you do not trust my judgment, ask Ser Bronn since I know you value his more than mine and many others'. That is an endless army and every single arrow must count if we are to stand any chance in defeating them and even then, it might not be enough. I make no account for your bravery or how you might act once you see them, but I know my own strengths and I saw the strengths of those who fought with me and every one of us was terrified. If the bravest of men such as the likes of Sandor Clegane and Jorah Mormont showed such fear, lesser men will turn and run when the dead come, and they will have every right to do so. Seeing that army for the first time plants fear in the heart that no measure of courage can stamp out."
The manner in which he spoke frightened Sansa, for here was a man who never allowed fear to rule his voice or his words. Littlefinger was renowned for showing no fear, yet what he had seen, what he had been forced to do, it frightened him greatly. Something that could terrify a fearless man was not something to be taken lightly.
"I cannot command where you will be during the battle, but I would beg you to not participate in it unless you absolutely have to."
"I have to," said Sansa, though she could not be sure if it was her Stark pride or her Tully resilience or something else that was talking. She wanted to fight for her people and she knew that every able-bodied individual was needed, but she also knew that she could very well be a hindrance or a liability and potentially cause the deaths of others with her inexperience. If she fought, others might die to protect her, but if she hid with the women and children, she was proving to her people that she was a coward.
If their queen was adamant about being in the battle, Sansa had to show the same resolve.
"I am grateful for your concern, Lord Baelish, but even with the little experience I have, it has to be enough. I must fight for my people, for all people, as must you. We shall resume our training tomorrow where I expect you to provide all the information you know now that you have put your techniques to use in battle. Go now and rest."
It was a measure of just how rattled the army of the dead had made him in that Littlefinger did not protest being dismissed or try to speak some honeyed lie to her as he had been trying to do at every opportunity for the past several months. He bowed his head to her, slung his quiver over his arm, and set off in the direction of his chambers.
She had not been standing alone in the courtyard for more than half a minute when she was approached by two Lannister guards. "Her Grace Queen Cersei commands an audience with you," the taller of the two said, though he did not seem at all keen to enforce his queen's orders as he watched Ghost who still stood loyally beside Sansa.
"Cersei may request to her heart's desire, but she cannot make commands to subjects who do not recognize her as queen," said Sansa brusquely. "If she wishes to speak to me, she can come find me herself."
The shorter of the two guards looked like he would very much like to argue that point, but the taller guard cast a glance down at Ghost's bared teeth and pulled his fellow away. Sansa only had to wait five minutes for them to return, as she suspected they would, but she kept close to Ghost all the same as she and the wolf vigilantly surveyed the courtyard. On the second attempt, the Lannister soldiers kept a fair distance away with no desire to come near Ghost again.
"Her Grace would speak with you now just over there," said the taller guard, gesturing toward the stables where Sansa could see Cersei's small frame outlined in furs and accompanied by her monstrous head of the Queensguard, Gregor Clegane.
As stupid as it would be in approaching Cersei with only Ghost for company, Sansa was feeling exceptionally fond of the wolf and confident in his abilities to protect her if Cersei should order Ser Gregor to attack. It was a reckless feeling of power that filled Sansa at the thought of what Cersei would say to her. Having more power than Cersei was something Sansa was unaccustomed to, and she planned to use it for all it was worth.
Fearing Cersei's bodyguard far less than was wise, Sansa made a great show of ambling toward Cersei with Ghost padding silently behind her. The stable roof offered shelter from the light drizzle that had come with the return of the Umber escort, but it did nothing to block out the chill and did even less to conceal Sansa from sight, making her meeting with Cersei quite public.
Before even acknowledging Cersei, Sansa let her eyes travel far up and come to a rest upon what had once been the most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms. Now he was the second most feared–thing. Ser Gregor had never looked upon Sansa while he lived but even dead with those hate-filled scarlet eyes, he looked nothing like the Hound. There was no human familiarity to be seen there. Even when he was human, he had been an animal with no sympathy for any other living being. He had shown himself capable of murder when he was just a boy, perhaps as young as twelve years old and now as this echo of his former self, all of his wants and needs had been replaced by only lingering hate and the need to kill.
Sansa had a fleeting thought of being locked down in the crypts, trapped between the dead outside and the dead within. She had no doubt that even if the wights overwhelmed the living and swarmed the crypts, Cersei would order Ser Gregor to see to it that Sansa died first by his hand so that Cersei could have the last laugh and outlast Sansa if only by a few seconds. This woman had the worst set of priorities in the history of the Seven Kingdoms and like her son, would be sure to pay the price for the affliction of complete and utter idiocy.
"You mock me by meeting me here with that beast," said Cersei as a form of greeting.
"You brought your guard, I brought mine," said Sansa simply.
"The wolf savaged Lord Greyjoy's arm."
"Because Lord Greyjoy's arm was where it did not belong and where it was warned not to be. He is lucky to be alive when the consequences of actions such as his would warrant the death of any other man but you will notice that I spared him that fate to keep the peace. And he is lucky that the wolf got to him before Sandor Clegane did, as Ghost obeys commands more readily than Sandor Clegane and can be called off much quicker."
"The peace that you and the Targaryen girl lobbied for has been breached due to that wolf's attack on a member of my party. It's a wild beast that should be put down."
"The peace was breached when Lord Greyjoy decided that he was above the parlay terms and he actively sought to rape me. Only he and I knew the truth of what happened in the godswood and now, so do you." In truth, the Hound also knew but it would do no one any good to have that bit of knowledge. "I have not told my brother or the queen, for which both you and he should be grateful, otherwise Lord Greyjoy would be hanging from the gatehouse or perhaps more appropriately, fed to the dragons And need I remind you that this is not like it was before; you cannot order the death of our wolves and certainly not Lord Stark's wolf."
"A bastard's wolf."
"He was naturalized by Queen Daenerys but he was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch before that and regardless of whose wolf it is, this is our house and our home and you may not command that our wolves be slain anymore than you can command that the dragons be slain. If you had allowed my wolf to live, she might be here now, aiding in the battle to come. If your son had not lied to Robert Baratheon, Arya's wolf might be here now. Thanks to you, all but two direwolves are dead and they are worth twenty soldiers which says a great deal when one man means so much to our cause. How very worthy and accomplished you must feel."
"You dare–"
"You will find that I am much more daring now that a sadistic man-child no longer sits the throne."
"The slight that this wolf's actions has caused to me–"
"You don't care in the least that Euron Greyjoy was attempting to rape me. You don't care how he spends his leisure time because you care nothing for him and we both know the child in your womb is not his. You do care that he would betray you to rape a Northern woman, and not just any woman, but the one you hate most. Even now, you are still rife with jealousy. Your fiercest supporter and consort attempted to dishonor not one, but two women of noble blood and yet this is still somehow my fault. That is stupidity at its finest."
"You think that having your Dragon Queen present grants you immunity and the right to say whatever you want, but you are no safer now than you ever were while you were a prisoner of the Crown."
"No, the fact that this is my home and I am the Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North which no longer belongs to the Seven Kingdoms is what grants me immunity and the right to say whatever I want," Sansa corrected. "You cannot threaten me here; you cannot touch me or hurt me. If anything were to happen to me, this wolf, or any of my friends or family, you will be held responsible and you can find the fastest horse to help you flee the castle but you would be mistaken in thinking you can outrun a dragon. If I were you, I would give up this grudge before it gets you killed. There is no place for your hatred with the eve of battle approaching."
She could see that through Cersei's eyes, her mind was reeling, working harder than it had in a long time to try and procure the last word, to threaten Sansa somehow, but Sansa had no reason to fear this woman any longer, even if she did have the undead Mountain at her side. As devoted as the giant was to Cersei, he was just one–for lack of a better word–man. Sansa had many more men and women who would come to her aid if Cersei set the Mountain against her.
"If we are to die in the coming days, you should try to devote your time to something that would make your life worth living. Try to find something other than hatred to motivate you. Your child deserves more than what you are currently giving it, regardless of whether or not it is ever born."
"I will not hear you speak to me of my child."
"Someone needs to. Someone should have spoken to you about your children from the start; they might have lived if you hadn't been so lax with them. All three of them died as a result of the enemies you made from the hatred you harvested. Should we win this battle and your child is saved, it would deserve a mother who is willing to own up to her mistakes instead of blaming others for them. The child would be your chance at redemption, but you have to be willing to see that it is your actions that have brought you to this. Everything that has happened to you is a result of your actions and if you cannot accept and admit that, you are dooming yourself to more pain."
"You still are that perfect little fool, aren't you?" said Cersei, sounding as loathing and resentful as she ever did.
"Far from it, but of the two of us, I'm the one who hasn't tried to kill the other and so that should tell you how I have let go of the hate I harbored toward you. My energies are better spent trying to survive an enemy worse than you and you would be better served devoting your energies to the same task instead of wasting them trying to do away with a current ally who is much less dangerous. But I can see that any reasoning I would give you would fall on deaf ears, so I will take my leave now."
Sansa patted Ghost just behind the head and added as a precaution in case Cersei's stupidity reigned supreme in the days to come, "Euron Greyjoy attacked me with the intent to rape me. Sandor Clegane set the wolf upon him and I called the wolf off. I told my men that Lord Greyjoy had spoken threateningly to me and nothing else. I am the one who spared the life of a man who stepped out of line. I am the reason you still have a kraken in your service because I am trying to ensure the survival of as many lives as possible, including yours. Do try to remember that I had the chance to ruin you and chose not to because of the mercy that resides within me despite you never having earned a drop of it."
To be able to speak to Cersei as freely as she wished fueled that fiery feeling of power within her. She had to tread carefully, though, for this was the sort of power that Cersei and her son before her had been drunk on and Sansa had no wish to share in their fortunes.