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Chapter Text

Sansa

She couldn’t keep still while waiting for the men to come through the gates of Winterfell. Though she tried to keep from standing on the point of her toes and sticking her neck out, everyone noticed and smiled about it. Arya was dressed in breeches, tunic, leather boots and a warm fur cloak around her. Needle, her sword, was visible sticking out from the clothes.

She hasn’t seen him since he gave her that sword, Sansa thought, smiling at her sister. And now she’s to greet him with it.

On her other side was Bran on his wheelchair, also warm in furs. But he wasn’t as excited as either sister. Actually, he wasn’t excited at all. He just stared out the gates, expecting something at all – not his brother.

Sansa took a deep breath and smiled through her worries. It was snowing, and she embraced the cold with happiness. Ever since her return North, the winter became a part of her – something that she distasted as a child, dreaming of the warmth of the South. But now there was no place safer than Winterfell, where her family and friends were, and where the bones of the Starks slept in the crypts. She never should’ve left Winterfell. And now the damage was done, and she would never leave the North again.

Finally, their brother was coming home. With the Targaryen queen. He had sent a letter not four moons before warning them of his return and also announcing the company of Her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn and her dragons. That gave them enough time to supply the castle, even though they were rationing for winter. There was wine, meat and fire and she hoped that was enough.

Finally, they heard the horses. And them a loud, scaring sound coming from the above.

Sansa trembled. “Dragons”, she whispered to herself as a smile filled her lips. Although terrified, she was so excited to finally see the dragons in person.

“Open the gates!”, one of the guards yelled out.

The storm of hooves broke into Winterfell and the entourage reunited at the front of the castle. She could see Jon on top of a horse, alongside his men, safe and unharmed. She looked to the side to seek her sister and didn’t find her there. Looking back, she found her behind herself.

“Arya? What’s wrong?”

She just stayed still, like she hadn’t heard her.

She’s scared. She didn’t remember ever seen Arya afraid.

Sansa turned to see Jon dismount. Then, he looked at her. His smile was luminous, he was finally home. She ran to his arm and embraced him with all she had. He held her the same way, taking her feet of the ground.

“Welcome home, Jon”, she said while unlocking her arms.

“It’s good to finally be back”, he said with that same smile, though tired.

“There are some people here to see you”.

At that, a beautiful woman of long silver hair came on top of a white horse, followed by men on foot holding spears. She didn’t have to take a guess to know who that was.

“Well, I also brought someone for you to meet”, he said.

But then, his eyes went somewhere behind her. When she looked back, she could see Arya standing next to Bran, both of them looking at Jon. His smile faded and his lips trembled. He reminded her of when they were younger. Sansa smiled and released Jon’s hand.

He ran to their siblings, first taking his hands to cradle their heads. Then embracing them both. She saw Arya hiding her face in his cloak, and even Bran held his brother close.

“Gods, I can’t believe you’re both here”, he said while laughing and crying at the same time. “I thought you both dead, I...”

“You shouldn’t have lost your hope, brother”, Arya said while laughing. “You told me to stick’em with the pointy end, didn’t you?”

The he looked and Needle hanging from her hip. He laughed out loud for the whole keep to listen.

He kept embracing them and kissing their heads and saying how much he missed them. They would have a long conversation to tell al their stories. And Sansa would like to be there as well. Arya hasn’t told her everything, she noticed. Always keeping secrets and telling half-truths. In her defense, Sansa hasn’t told them everything either.

Silence fell upon Winterfell then. Sansa turned to see the Queen standing before them all. Everyone bent their knees in respect of the last Targaryen. All but the Starks, the Kings and Queens of the North.

“My Queen”, said Jon. “This is my Family. Lady Sansa Stark, Lady Arya Stark and Lord Brandon Stark, daughters and son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark.”

Lady? Lord?, thought Sansa. Seven hells, Jon, what have you done?

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my Ladies and Lord”, Daenerys said with a soft, yet firm, voice. “It is my wish to reconcile with the North once my rule has begun.”

“The pleasure is all ours, Queen Daenerys”, said Sansa smiling all the while. She didn’t know if she should trust the small queen, but her voice was honest enough.

In her times in King’s Landing and the Eyrie, Sansa had learned how to detect liars and falsehood. And she knew the tale that haunted the Targaryen line. Her father was mad and, as far as she knew, her brother was mad. She just hoped Daenerys wasn’t.

A woman standing next to Daenerys took a step foward. “Meet your Queen Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.”

Yet another uncomfortable silence fell upon everyone there.

But then Sansa decided to cut it.

"Queen Daenerys, you’re welcome to stay here as our guest”, she said, remembering the words that were taught a long time ago. “I swear that you will always have a place in my home and at my table. Now, please, let’s go inside where is warm and celebrate.”

Everyone laughed – even the Queen – and the castle started moving again. Horses were being tended and crates were taken to the castle. The Queen entourage was led through the massive wood doors to the entrance of the keep, while Jon led the Targaryen queen himself to the main hall.

They seem very fond of each other.

Sansa then saw Lady Brienne approaching with a timid smile. Sansa smiled wide for the lady Knight.

“Lady Brienne, it’s so good to see you again”, Sansa said, from the bottom of the heart. “Please, you have to tell us everything of your trip.”

Arya was then beside her. “Yes, I want to know everything about that shithole called King’s Landing.”

Sansa was getting used to Arya’s coarse language by now and didn’t reprehend her.

“Of course, my queens”, Brienne bowed.

Then, looking behind the lady knight’s shoulder, Sansa recognized his scars. And then his eyes, that were staring right at her. He was as tall and strong as ever. But this time, he wasn’t wearing the white cloak from the Kingsguard, nor there was blood covering his face and clothes. And the world wasn’t burning green. This time, his gray eyes were softer, without all that rage that used to haunt her dreams – although his fury was still there. He wore a warm cloak and leather armour. Snow fell on his shoulder and hair. He looked so much like a northerner, like he belonged in Winterfell.

He’s alive, was all she could think. It’s really him, he’s alive.

Arya also saw him. But her wild sister wasn’t frozen at all.

“HOUND?”, she yelled to everyone to hear. The other men that were around him turned to see her little sister approach the infamous non-knight, former shield of King Joffrey. And then Sansa recognized them too. There was the wild Tormund Giantsbane, Lord Beric Dondarrion and the Onion Knight, Ser Davos.

She looked back to him and he was still looking right at her. A shiver ran through all of her body, leaving her unsettled.

It’s been so long.

Only when Arya was directly in front of him, did he look down upon her sister.

“Wolf bitch”, he grinned.

Sansa was holding her breath as if a single breath could break that dream. For a long time, she thought him dead. But she was wrong. He was there standing right in front of her, just a few steps away. And yet, she was afraid of getting close – just as he was afraid of getting close to the fire.

She kept staring at him and watching her sister Interact with the group. She even made Lord Beric laugh.

What the hells is going on?

“My Queen?”, Brienne called her.

Only then she noticed the knight has been calling her for a while.

“Yes?”, Sansa answered finally, a little breathless.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Brienne, thank you. I’ve just recognized some of the men.”

Brienne looked back at the group and nodded.

“Her Grace Arya also seems to know them very well”, she said.

“Yes, but how?”

“My Queen?”

“How does she know those men?”, Sansa then turned to Brienne. “I understand Lord Beric, he was in King’s Landing during the Hand’s Tourney. But how is she talking so effortlessly to him? And how does she know him?”

“You mean The Hound?”

Sansa hated that nickname. He’s not an animal.

“Yes.”

“As I understand, he was also in King’s Landing, was he not?”

“Yes, but Arya hated him. Wouldn’t stop swearing vengeance on him after he killed the butcher’s boy when we left Winterfell”, she said almost angry. "Now they look... friendly."

Brienne nodded. “I do not know, my Queen.”

Sansa then turned to enter the castle. “Come Brienne, let’s get warm.”

“What about the men?”

“I’m sure Arya will be thrilled to show them around – and also meet the Queensguard”, and then she head for the hall, holding everything she had in herself so she wouldn't look back.

Chapter Text

Sansa

Night fell upon Winterfell and a feast was held to celebrate the return of their King and brother, Jon Snow, as well the visit of Queen Daenerys. No politics or alliances were discussed that evening. But she knew she had to talk to Jon as soon as possible. She couldn’t get over the treatment he gave their family in front of the Targaryen queen. They were the Kings and Queens of Winterfell, not subjects to the Southern crown. Jon shouldn’t have bent the knee. Couldn’t have.

But now it was a night to celebrate. There was ale and wine for everyone, and the cook had killed a few of the livestock to feed all the guests. It almost felt like the feasts her parents held when she was a child. Jon and Arya were talking non-stop and Daenerys gracefully listened to them and even threw a few questions to her little sister.

She could tell Arya admired the young queen and yet was still suspicious. Sansa still hadn’t had a chance to talk to her sister, about the Targaryen as well as her fear upon seen Jon arriving though the gates. Maybe this night they would talk about it. Some nights, both sisters would sleep in the same bed - usually when Sansa had a nightmare or when they simply wanted each other’s company. They were never close as children, even disliked each other then. But now, all she wanted was a female company, and from her sister.

At her other side sat Bran, looking at the crowd with interest. She could tell he was aware of everything around them, the guests, the queen, the men. It gave her some sense of safety to know his eyes were everywhere – even though she didn’t comprehend them. She also missed Brandon. They had left for King’s Landing while he was still abed and didn’t bond with him often before that. Now it was her chance to reconcile with him and Jon, who she never treated as a brother.

“Are you enjoying yourself, little brother?”, Sansa asked after seen him laugh at something in the hall.

“Very much, sister”, he laughed again. “I believe I am happy.”

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat at that. She closed the distance between them and kissed his head.

“Tell me.”

He looked at her then.

“This feels like home. I think I forgot what that felt like.”

“I know.”

“And can also see our father and his brothers and sister running around the castle.”

At that, Sansa froze to her seat.

“What?”

“This was their home too”, and looked back to the crowd. “Father always had that same stern look.”

Her eyes filled with tears – whether from happiness or sorrow, she did not know.

“What was he like?”, Sansa whispered.

“Small for his age. Uncle Brandon was much taller and stronger. Really serious all the time. They called him The Quiet Wolf.”

Sansa smiled then.

“I’ve heard them call him that before.”

That seemed to be a tradition of sorts in Winterfell. Every Stark heir received a nickname to show the appreciation of the people towards their liege lords – now Kings and Queens. It didn’t take long for them to gain new names. Arya got hers the same day of her return: the Wild Wolf, of course. Jon was the White Wolf, because of Ghost who always stayed at his side. Bran was the Wise Wolf – a gift from the maester of the Night’s Watch after seen him at the library. And Sansa, simply the Red Wolf. Some would say the name was due to her hair, others for the blood she spilled in vengeance for her family. She didn’t mind either backstories.

Before that, I was just a little dove. Or a little bird, she thought, smiling to herself.

Just as the thought ran through her mind, Bran held her hand.

“Talk to him.”

Sansa startled and then closed her mouth. She squeezed Bran’s hand, looking right through his eyes. I should stop being so surprised.

“Who’s talking right now? Brandon Stark or the Three Eye Raven?”

“Couldn’t it be both?”

She looked at him then. He’s was sitting below the dais, talking to Tormund who sat in front of him. Though the wildling seemed to be the one doing all the talking. His face was soft, not angry at all like he used to. She noticed he hadn’t drunk any wine or ale. Only water.

She was not afraid of him, that she was certain. It’s been a long time since she felt scared of the Hound.

And he’s not a monster, I’ve met the real monsters.

But still, she feared something. She was a child when they met, a child that couldn’t look past the image of the infamous Hound. She realized after a few years that he was her only friend in a pit of lions. But did he also see her as an ally? Or did he hate her for her misjudgment? She couldn’t tell.

“I can’t”, she finally whispered to Bran. “At least not yet.”

He simply nodded.

Suddenly she felt really tired and sad. All she wanted was to retire and sleep until the sun rose.

“I’m going to bed. Please, tell Jon and Arya that I would like to speak to all of you in the morning”, she kissed Bran goodnight. “In private”.

Bran seemed to understand. Daenerys wasn’t requested.

“Goodnight, brothers and sister. And goodnight, queen Daenerys.”

“Goodnight, my dear”, she answered. It didn’t pass Sansa the informality of that treatment. But she held a sigh and left the hall.

Brienne followed Sansa to her quarters, the ones the were once her old bedroom. The fire was already lit and the many furs in the bedding guaranteed a warm night.

Before she closed the door, Sansa turned to Brienne.

“Thank you for not telling Jon of Arya and Bran”, she whispered softly.

The lady knight simply smiled and nodded.

That had been a recommendation of her youngest brother. He said that Cersei shouldn’t know of the survival of both youngest Starks and their return to Winterfell – at least not while the King of the North was in enemy territory, in King’s Landing. And, most importantly, if Jon had known while he was marching, he would’ve turned around and come back home to meet with his siblings.

Jon had sailed to Dragonstone to gain the support of both the Targaryen queen and the false Lannister queen against the Night King. And also win the alliance of Daenerys so that if the North fought to win her the Iron Throne, she would let the Starks with their own throne in Winterfell and the northern lands. That seemed to have been a flawed plan, since her brother bent the knee.

I will deal with this tomorrow, and Sansa closed the door to lay on her bed.

Chapter Text

Sansa

It wasn’t a calm sleep. It had been a few moons since her last nightmare. Usually, she dreamt of Joffrey, Cersei or Petyr Baelish. But his time she dreamt of the beating in the throne room, when Meryn Trant stripped her of her dress and beat her with his sword.

Then came Sandor Clegane. He stopped it all and covered her with his white cloak. But as soon as the cloak touched her skin, it caught on fire. The flames licked her flesh and hair, burning in agonizing pain. The non-knight then embraced her and burnt with her.

Sansa woke up in a sitting, breathing heavily and unevenly. She looked around and saw her room, the fireplace and her belongings. Then, a hand touched her shoulder and Sansa practically jumped.

“Hey, it’s me”, her sister’s voice whispered lightly. “Are you well?”

Sansa covered her face with her hands and controlled her breathing.

Gods, why is this happening?

“Yes”, she said after a few moments. “Just a nightmare.”

Arya got up and lit up a candle.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, but I would like to talk all the same.”

They dressed in their robes and went down to the kitchens. It was the hour of the wolf, and the castle was dead in sleep. They were the only ones awake and wondering around Winterfell.

They made tea and sweetened it with honey and spices. Then sat down in one of the tables in front of the hearth. For a long time, the sat quietly just sipping their drinks. After Arya finished hers, she sat the cup on the table and stared at Sansa.

“Is everything alright?”, she asked, worried.

“I believe so”, Sansa murmured. “Just a lot to take in.”

“We need to talk to Jon”, Arya whispered. “He bent the knee, didn’t he?”

“I believe he did. Now I want to know why and if there’s any chance of undoing it.”

Arya whispered something that sounded like stupid and covered her face with her hands.

“Why did you hide?”, Sansa asked her sister. “Today, when Jon arrived.”

Arya then looked at her seeming almost scared.

“I…”, she started, but then shook her head. “I’ve changed some much. I was afraid… I was afraid he wouldn’t like who I’ve become.”

Sansa stared at her with eyes open wide.

“Oh, Arya…”

“It’s stupid, I know. And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking if he would be happy knowing all the things that I’ve done.”

Sansa, once again, noticed how she had no idea of all her sister had gone through. Arya didn’t seem ashamed or guilty of her journey, but also didn’t seem proud.

“You never told me about yourself, about what happened to you while we’ve been separated.”

“The same with you”, was all she answered.

Sansa nodded. And the same with Bran, and Jon.

“I’ll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours.”

Arya laughed at that.

“Deal.”

Sansa smiled then.

“Alright. Who starts?”

“You do.”

“Why me?”, Sansa asked while she put her cup down.

“You proposed this game.”

“Alright”, Sansa murmured, choosing her first secret. It wasn’t hard, considering she just dreamt about it. “Every time Robb won a battle, or ambushed the Lannister army, or even when he trapped Jaime Lannister, I received a beating. I still have marks on the back of my thighs from when Meryn Trant spanked me with his sword.”

She looked up to see Arya staring at her, angry.

“And nobody did anything?”

“Only a few people ever did”, she said thinking of Tyrion Lannister, but mostly Sandor Clegane. But that was another secret that she would tell only later. “Now it’s your turn”, she said hurriedly, wanting to change the subject and the focus of the conversation.

Arya still looked mad, but she nodded.

“I had a list of all the people I wanted to kill.”

So that's it. Her sister whispered names every night before she went to bed. Usually, she would whisper them low enough so Sansa couldn't listen. But one time, she heard her sister say Cersei Lannister before falling asleep.

“Who were on your list?”

“Many people. Cersei, Joffrey, The Mountain, Twyin Lannister, The Tickler, Polliver…”

“Did you succeed? Did you kill any of them?”

“A few”, Arya answered. “Including Meryn Trant.”

At that, Sansa stared at Arya, without anything to say.

“I’m sorry, Sansa”, Arya whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t kill him before it was too late.”

“Don’t be”, Sansa’s eyes were filled with tears that she didn’t want to spill. Not now, at least. “There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“Maybe, maybe not”, she whispered. “I shouldn’t have gone to Braavos, I should’ve stayed in Westeros and found Jon and you.”

“Braavos?”, that was news to Sansa. “You went to Braavos?”

A little grin appeared in Arya’s lips.

“That’s another story. First, you need to tell me another secret.”

Sansa laughed at that.

“Well, let me think.”

There were so many things she wanted to tell her sister. Arya already knew that Littlefinger had killed their aunt and, before that, persuaded her to kill her husband, Jon Arryn. All of that became very clear in his trial and execution. But she still hadn’t told her – or any of her siblings, for that matter – of the abuse and the stolen and unwanted kisses. Of the manipulation and little games he liked to play at the Eyrie. Those were scars not yet healed.

But there was one story that didn’t leave marks on her – at least not directly. But in this case, she would’ve liked to have taken the credit.

“Tyrion didn’t kill Joffrey, of that I am certain.”

Arya eyed her suspiciously.

“How do you know that?”

“Well, first, I was there the day he died”, she felt like laughing. Poisoned at his own wedding. “Tyrion never had a chance to slip the poison on Joffrey’s cup. Second, Baelish told me.”

“Who then?”

“The Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna Tyrell.”

Arya started laughing at that.

“I can’t believe it!”, and laughed even louder.

Sansa laughed too.

“Ser Dontos had given me a hairnet with purple stones to wear at the wedding. He was one of Littlefinger’s little birds. Lady Olenna took one of the stones and put it in his wine.”

“Oh gods, I wish I was the one who killed him”, Arya said.

“Yeah, me too”, Sansa whispered, remembering the day she almost pushed him from the battlements. But Sandor stopped her. But that was another story.

He was always there, wasn't he?

“Now, I want to know about Braavos.”

Arya breathed heavily and looked at the contents of her cup, thinking of her story – and maybe what she would let out this time.

“I took a ship. I had an iron coin that was given to me by Jaqen H'ghar. He told me that if I showed this to any bravoosi and said the right words, they would grant me safe passage. And they did.”

“What words?”, Sansa asked, curious.

“Valar morghulis.”

Sansa recognized them. Arya said that every night before she slept, right after whispering the names – which she has just found out. But she always said that louder than the names.

“What does it mean.”

“All men must die.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

They were waiting for Jon in their solar – which was from their father, while he was alive. Now, it was their space to discuss politics, alliances or simply talk. Ned Stark’s desk was still there, pushed to the wall, and a round weirwood table was placed in the center. They ruled equally, no sibling above sibling. Decisions were discussed, debated and then made. That was an agreement between Sansa and Jon when they took back Winterfell – and now Bran and Arya were part of the ruling.

While the three siblings waited on Jon, they broke their fast and talked about mundane subjects, mostly about the feast. Apparently, everyone was really tired after the long journey North and since everyone retired early to bed, there was no confusion late in the night. Arya started rambling about the Brotherhood Without Banners and the men to which she talked to the day before. While that was still something Sansa wanted to discuss with her sister, she decided to leave the topic to their new secret telling moments. Bran already seem to know all about it though, given by his unsurprised expression.

“Dondarrion sure looks like he’s got more scars”, she said while biting down an egg.

At that, Jon entered the solar.

“Good morning”, he said while yawning and smiling at his siblings.

“Good morning”, they said in unison.

Jon then threw himself at the chair and kissed both the heads of Arya and Bran, closing his eyes. It looked as if he needed to touch them to know they were real and that they were safe, that they weren’t going anywhere. Sansa knew it because he treated her the same way when they were reunited, and herself sometimes held Bran’s hand or ran her fingers through Arya’s hair just to make sure they were there, that it wasn’t just a cruel dream. She didn’t want to wake up just to find that her family was no longer by her side.

She smiled at them, silently thanking the old gods and the coincidences in her path for giving her family back.

“Tired?”, she asked after seeing him yawning for the third time since entering the room.

“Yes, it was a long night”, he smiled at her and then started eating.

She hated to break the good humor that was surrounding the family, but she needed to know as soon as possible how they would proceed.

“Jon, we want to hear about your travels. But before that, we need to talk about Daenerys.”

His eyes went wide at that. He knew this moment would arrive at any time, and maybe he was fearful of it.

“Alright.”

Sansa didn’t waste any more time.

“Did you bend the knee?”

He looked around the table before taking a deep breath and settling down his fork.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we need her support, we need her dragons.”

“You went to Dragonstone to win her alliance”, Sansa noticed she was getting mad. She spoke softly once more. “Not turn us into subjects of the southern crown.”

“I know, but she left me no choice on the matter”, he answered defeated.

The silence that fell on the solar was uncomfortable and cold. Sansa didn’t like it. It felt like they weren’t family, but just negotiators.

Arya seemed to sense that too and decided to break it.

“What were her conditions then?”

“She didn’t have any. She simply wanted the North to bend the knee. She wouldn’t accept a simple alliance.”

Bran then decided to speak.

“But she agreed to help you beyond the Wall.”

Jon was surprised at that. Sansa reminded herself that he didn’t know yet about the whole Three Eye Raven development of their little brother.

“Yes, she did. We were able to convince her of the threat of the Night King. And once she helped us, she surely left me no choice.”

Arya grabbed Jon’s hand and made him look at her.

“What the hells happened beyond the Wall?”

His face fell at that. Surely whatever happened left its mark on him. Brandon once again knew it all, turning his face to face the window, to the north.

“We lost Thoros. And we lost one of her dragons.”

Sansa just stared at him, without any words left for her to say. She remembered when Lady was taken from her, a sweet young wolf that had never done any harm towards her master or any other person. Arya would also remember the night Nymeria left her. She still didn’t know what had happened to Summer, but if he wasn’t by Bran’s side, surely he was dead. Did Daenerys suffered as much as Sansa after losing her dragon? But that left on more question, which Sansa was too curious not to ask.

“How did it die?”

“The Night King”, Jon whispered. “He threw spears at us, ice spears. And one of them hit Viserion.”

Viserion, Sansa thought to herself. She remembered her lessons well. Wasn’t her brother’s name Viserys?

“What else happened there?”, Arya asked, softly this time.

“It was hell. His army is massive, bigger than any…”, he stopped and took a deep breath. “If it wasn’t for Dany, we would’ve died.”

Dany?, Sansa questioned. Arya seemed to have also picked that up but didn’t say anything.

“She took the men away in dragon back, in Drogon’s back, and the Night King almost killed him too.”

“What about you?”, Sansa asked, holding her brother’s hand.

“I almost drowned. She left me behind and then…”

Bran turn to look at him then.

“Uncle Benjen.”

Everyone turned to Bran, who was smiling sadly.

“Yes”, Jon whispered. “How do you…”

“What do you mean?”, Arya pleaded. “Did you see him?”

“Yes”, he smiled at her. “I did. He stayed behind to save me from the Others.”

Sansa felt the tears stinging her eyes. It’s been so long.

“He’s dead”, she stated.

Jon just nodded.

They remained quiet in a silent prayer for their uncle, who they knew so little.

Sansa stood up and paced around the room for a while. She was thinking hard about all that Jon had told them. He bent the knee and she understood why now. Still, the northern lords would not be pleased about it. They still needed to guarantee some sort of independence, or even a northern kingdom subject to the crown. But they wouldn’t be able to do that without approaching the Queen herself.

I am the Lady of Winterfell once more.

“We will be her allies then”, she said turning to her siblings. “Maybe overtime we can guarantee our sovereign. But now, I want to know her.”

Jon smiled at her.

“I’m sure you’ll like her.”

Sansa smiled back.

“And”, she added before grabbing a lemon cake from the table. “I want to meet her dragons.”

Chapter Text

Arya

“Your Grace”, Sansa called after Daenerys.

The Targaryen Queen looked like something out of old Sansa’s books. She had never seen hair so white or eyes so purple. She was dressed in white fur, she couldn’t tell if it was wolf’s or not, and a long braid in the eastern fashion. Daenerys and Sansa looked like true Queens, one of summer and the other of winter. Arya thought about if she ever felt jealous of her sister’s beauty, and of the queen, but decided to put those ideas aside. She was beautiful, just a different kind.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Arya”, Daenerys answered softly.

“How are you enjoying your stay at Winterfell?”

Sansa always had a way of welcoming people, even when they were children. Though at the time Arya thought it useless. Now, it was a valuable resource, just as swords and armor.

“Very much, I thank you”, she smiled at the sisters. “I’ve never seen snow before and I’m finding it very pleasing – even though I still prefer the warmth of the sun.”

“I’m afraid we can’t say the same”, said Arya stepping forward. “But we’re glad to know that you’re happy here.”

They were at the battlements of the castle, facing the northwest. From there, they could see the Wolfswood, that stretched until where the eyes could no longer reach. It was snowing, of course, but there were no harsh winds that day. A little later, they spotted one of the dragons, the black one, flying over Winterfell.

“They’re amazing”, whispered Sansa at her side.

“Indeed, they are”, said Daenerys smiling fondly at the woman. “They are my children.”

Arya turned to look at the queen then and found that she was no longer smiling, but with a look of sorrow on her face.

“Jon told us what happened”, Arya said. “With Viserion.”

The small queen looked as if she was holding her tears.

“We’re sorry for your loss”, Sansa whispered, placing her hand on the queen’s back.

“Thank you, my ladies”, then she turned to look at the green dragon who was flying above the tree line. “He wasn’t as big as Drogon, but about the size of Rhaegal. White as milk, with golden scales and bright eyes. He was beautiful.”

“I would’ve liked to meet him”, Sansa said. That surprised Arya. She never thought her sister would be interested in dragons.

Daenerys smiled at them.

“Well, you can meet them now.”

“Now?”, Arya asked, a little too excited.

“Yes, why not?”

She held the Stark sisters’ hands and led them through the stairs and the gates of Winterfell, followed by Dothraki guards. They were at an open field, covered in snow. She let go of her hands and stepped forward to yell something at the skies in a language Arya heard before while in Braavos.

The dragons screamed back at their mother and started their descent. When they landed, it seemed as if the ground would collapse before their feet such was the strength of those creatures. But it didn’t. The dragons looked at them, staring right at their eyes as if it recognized them. They were frightening creatures, but so wonderful and so fantastic that Arya couldn’t look away.

“This is Drogon”, said Daenerys, touching the black one’s nose. “He was named after my late husband. And this is Rhaegal”, she said while scratching the green one’s ear. “Named after my brother.”

Arya was a little struck at the magnificence of the beasts. Sansa apparently not – she was enchanted by them. She took a step forward and stretched her hand to touch Drogon’s neck. When he let her, she smiled brightly. Seeing no danger, Arya did the same to Rhaegal.

“He’s so hot”, Arya thought out loud.

“Yes, they are”, smiled Daenerys. “They’re made of fire and blood.”

A shiver ran through Arya’s spine. This was by far the most dangerous thing she had ever done, even though it was fairly safe with the queen beside them. She thought how the Hound had climbed in Drogon's back, afraid of fire as he was. She couldn't even began to fanthom, since she was terrified herself of both dragons' breath and teeth. Arya had fought knights, killed Frey men, battled for her life at Braavos, crossed the Narrow Sea… None of these things could compare to touching a real dragon. Arya had never felt such thrill. She was giggling like a child and didn’t even care. At one point, Drogon breathed on her face and she just smiled at the beast.

Soon, the dragons got tired of waiting by the ground and took flight. After they were up at the skies, the three women decided to return to the castle.

“Your Grace”, started Sansa. “Would you like to drink some tea with us? We have something we would like to talk to you.”

Daenerys eyed them curiously.

“Of course, my ladies. It would be my pleasure.”

They walked through the halls until they reached the Stark solar, the same one they were just having breakfast. But now the table was cleaned, and their brothers were nowhere in sight. They took their seats in front of the fireplace holding steaming cups of tea. When the heat start flowing through Arya’s body, she sat her cup down and waited for Sansa.

“So”, said Daenerys. “What did you want to talk to me? I assume since you brought me up here, it was something private.”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Call me Dany”, she answered happily. “After all, we’re allies now.”

“Dany, that is exactly what we wanted to talk to you. Alliances.”

The queen finished her drink and placed her cup among the others. Then crossed her legs and straightened her back, looking as regal as ever.

“Alright.”

Arya could see Sansa was nervous. She was too.

“Jon told us he swore fealty to you. He didn’t tell us he was going to do it. That put us in an uncomfortable situation.”

“How so?”, Daenerys didn’t miss a second before asking.

It was Arya’s turn to talk.

“We govern the North equally”, she answered firmly. “Jon’s decision wasn’t his alone to make. He needed to have consulted my sister beforehand – given he didn’t yet know Bran or I were still alive. Beyond that, we needed to consult the northern lords and ladies who swore fealty to us.”

“What are you saying? Are you taking back the oath your brother made to House Targeryen?”

“Never”, Sansa answered fast and firm. “We have every intention of keeping Jon’s vows. You and your army will help us defeat the Night King and we will help you take the Iron Throne.”

Daenerys seemed to relax at that, even if just a little.

“Continue.”

“All we ask”, Arya said gathering every last bit of backbone her mother and father had passed towards their family, every bit of honor. “is that when the time comes, you’ll reconsider giving the Stark family their seat in Winterfell as Kings and Queens of the North. As an independent reign.”

Daenerys stood up and walked towards the fireplace, staring right at the flames.

“Are you planning on betraying me?”, she barely whispered.

“Never!”, Arya said, standing up as well.

“As we said”, Sansa continued. “we have every intention of keeping Jon’s oath to you. His vows are House Stark’s to keep.”

Daenerys turned to them and stared them right in their eyes. After a few moments, her shoulders seemed to relax.

“I thank you, my ladies, for your honesty. I hope you understand that I cannot compromise the North right now.”

“We would never ask such thing…”, Sansa started, but then the Queen raised her hand.

“But I can promise you that I’ll think about it. I’ll discuss it with my counsel and with my Lord Hand and, when the time comes, you’ll have your answer. The Stark’s loyalty is not taken lightly, not by me.”

Sansa and Arya smiled happily at each other and then at the Queen.

“We thank you, Your Grace”, Sansa replied softly, slightly bowing her head.

Arya then walked to her father’s table and pulled a bottle of wine from one of the drawers. She knew Jon had hidden it in there before sailing to Dragonstone, after she went through her father’s documents. Apparently it was some Arbor gold. How Jon had found it during the war, she had no idea. 

“To celebrate”, she said laughing with the two women and serving three cups.

They toasted and drank their wine, sitting back on the chairs.

They remained quiet for a while, enjoying the peace that came after the discussion. Arya felt as a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and from her head. Maybe her family could find serenity after all this was done. After the battles in the North and the battles in the South had been won. She remembered Nymeria then, her young wolf who was part of the Starks just as much as Arya herself. She missed her terribly, even more so after meeting her on her way to Winterfell. She felt some tears starting to gather in her eyes and began to focus on something else.

Gladly, Sansa gave something to focus on.

“Your Grace, who is your Lord Hand? You mentioned him now, but I don’t remember seeing him in Winterfell.”

Daenerys look at Sansa as if she was surprised, or maybe intrigued was the right word to describe that expression.

“Indeed, he is not here. Yet. He’s on his way as we speak.”

Why is she not answering? Who is he?

“Your Grace?”, Arya tried.

“Call me Dany.”

“Dany, who is your Hand?”, Arya asked again, trying not to sound irritated.

Daenerys looked at Sansa then and said with the softest of voices.

“Tyrion Lannister.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

When Joffrey had died, Sansa thought she was finally free from having a terrible marriage. For a few seconds, she actually believed one day she would find a loving and kind husband – just like the one her father had once promised her before he was executed. Lord Baelish told her it would be Harrold Hardying and she believed him. Only for a second. Once she heard the stories from his bastards, reality fell upon her. She once again had to learn the world for what it really was.

And since then, she never forgot.

She didn’t forget while Baelish touched her, while he stole kisses from her, while he squeezed her body like no father should with his own daughter. Now she understood the violence that she suffered, even if it didn’t leave bruises in her skin. The scars ran deeper. She didn’t forget when he pushed her aunt down the Moon Door. Or when she found out he was poisoning her cousin Sweetrobin.

And she didn’t forget when she was sold to Ramsey Bolton, while he raped her and scarred her. Or when the bastard killed her little brother and his wolf. The world was not a song, even for the Queen in the North.

But it damn sure felt like a song to kill Ramsey.  

She felt powerful, she felt invincible. The Hound had once told her that killing was the sweetest thing there is. She didn’t know if all kills were like this, but her vengeance sure was. Intoxicating, addicting. Sansa had never felt anything like it.

And then Arya had Littlefinger executed.

She couldn’t stop smiling after his death, his body still bleeding on the stone floor of the main hall of Winterfell. Sansa just wished she was the one who had cut his throat.

She didn’t mind when the stories ran through Winterfell, that she had killed a lord with his own hounds and then another by the hands of her own sister. That she had a thirst for blood. The Red Wolf. And she was still thirsty for more. Cersei was next in line.

Maybe she should start keeping a list of names, just like Arya did. So far, she had avenged her family with two names. She didn’t swear them to the Lord of Death, like her sister had, but to herself and for all the Starks betrayed and murdered by their enemies.

Since becoming Queen in the North, Sansa had found peace and happiness once more. Because of Winterfell, because of her men, because of her family. She still worried, of course. There was still a war to be won – two if you looked beyond the Wall. But she grew fond of managing the castle, of partaking in the war councils. The northern lords learnt to respect the Stark women, who had more steel in their veins that many of the men gathered there.

In the meanwhile, Sansa hadn’t stopped to think of marriage again. And she was glad her siblings never asked her anything about it.

But of course, she was reminded once more of the reality of the world.

Her husband was alive. Well, former husband. Their marriage was annulled – since it was never consummated – by the command of Littlefinger, so she could marry Hardying. But he could claim her, and he was the Hand of the Queen. She would stand by his side, and not by the lady whom she barely knew. Her siblings would never allow it, she knew. But Daenerys might not leave them a choice.

At least he was good man and not at all like his mad sister.

The lords and ladies of Winterfell were sitting at their places in the main hall. All the northern lords stood by the walls. The queen sat at a place of honor, at the dais side to side to the Starks. They were awaiting the arrival of the rest of the Targeryen entourage and the room was dead silent.

After a few moments, the doors opened and in came Tyrion Lannister.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Bran pull Arya rather roughly closer to him and whisper something in her ear. Arya seemed confused but didn’t say anything. Sansa tried to ask Bran what was the problem but he refused to look at her, preferring to stare at the soldiers that entered the Hall.

There were Unsullied and Dothraki soldiers, but she could see at least a couple of westerosi men among them. One was a young man with a strong body – fit for a knight – and sparkling blue eyes. Of course, Tyrion was the other one. He came in right at the front, leading the guards towards the dais.

He was just as she remembered him, minus the beard. That was new. And the clothes, that didn’t look nothing like the Southern silks the Lannisters seemed to favor in King’s Landing. He still had the scar from the Battle of the Blackwater. Despite her fear of another marriage, she couldn’t stop smiling at her former husband.

When he got close enough, he bent the knee and all the other men followed his suit.

“My Queen”, he said softly, the smile perceptible from his voice. “My Lords and Ladies.”

“Welcome, my Lord Hand”, said Daenerys, also smiling. “It’s a pleasure to see you once more.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace”, he said as he stood up. “We bring good news. We’ve managed to bring more supplies, such as iron for the swords and armor and food enough to feed five times the Queen’s and Winterfell’s army.

“We thank you, my lord”, said Jon smiling. “Your strategy skills will be a fortunate asset to our cause.”

“I hope and can do justice to my lords expectations”, he said, retributing the smile. Then he turned to Sansa with amused eyes. “My lady, I must say it’s a pleasure to see you once more.”

“I must say the same, my lord.”

He bowed and then turned to leave, but before he could fully turn, he looked at Sansa again.

“I believe it is safe to say we’re no longer husband and wife, am I correct?”

She tried her best to not show the shiver that just ran through her spine.

“I’m afraid that after your disappearance, my lord, our marriage was annulled.”

He smiled to himself and nodded. The turned her back to the dais, leaving the Hall to be led through to castle to his room.

“In that case, I wish you a great life, lady Sansa”, he said before the doors closed on him.

Chapter Text

Arya

Bran told her to not be surprised, to not show any emotions whatsoever. Still, he didn’t say about what was coming for her in the hall of Winterfell. Or better yet, who. It took all of her restraint to not stand up and yell out his name. For the sake of her siblings and of him, she remained quiet, expressionless. It reminded her of her days at the House of Black and White in Braavos. It felt like she was a Faceless Man once again. But this time she had a name, a name he used to called her.

Their eyes met. He too remained quiet, behind Tyrion Lannister – the only surviving lion who was not on her list. She could see he was suppressing a smile. Good, she was too. He was different. Taller, more muscular, now with a beard. But still the same blue eyes.

After a while, lord Tyrion retired to his room, and so followed the men behind them. But the audience continued. This was the official declaration of fealty to the Targeryen queen. But still, they needed the trust and approval of the northern lords and ladies. After all, they were the ones who elected Jon King in the North, and later all the remaining Starks.

Jon stood up and said the words. The room seemed to explode. The lords were fuming with rage, the youngest stood quiet while their counselors whispered in their ears. Lyanna Mormont, surprisingly, was smiling.

Daenerys remained seated, quietly observing the room. It wasn’t her time to speak yet.

Sansa then stood up and remained still. Slowly the room began to grow quiet once again. Until, without any word from her sister, everyone sat again, expecting the Starks to say something. Anything.

That’s the power of the Red Wolf, Arya thought, proud of Sansa.

“My ladies, my lords”, she began. “Please, trust in us when we say that this is for the survival of the North.”

Lord Umber rose again, this time with a face less pink.

“My Queen, after all the North has been through, we cannot bow once more to a southern ruler.”

“I understand your worries, my lord”, Sansa said softly, nodding. “But this is bigger than the Iron Throne or the seat at Winterfell. We need the Targeryen army and the Targeryen dragons to defeat the threat beyond the Wall. Listen to my brother and you will all understand.”

Jon took a deep breath and started telling his tales of the battle against the army of the dead. He didn’t hold any secrets about the end of Viserion. Everyone was already suspicious of the whereabouts of the third dragon. He then told them of King’s Landing and the meeting with Cersei.

Arya’s blood boiled.

She made a choice to come back to Winterfell. But still, Cersei was a persisting name in her list, even after leaving the Faceless Men and the God of Death in Braavos. After the story Jon had told them, vengeance spoke once more to her. After this was all over, she would kill Cersei. She would travel down to King’s Landing and murder the false queen in her room, or maybe in the Iron Throne. It mattered little where. Arya just wanted her throat slit.

She knew Cersei would try to strike the North while they fought beyond the Wall. And she knew Jon and Daenerys believed that as well. Still, they needed to elaborate a strategy to defend Winterfell, where the Targeryen troops would reside along side the Starks while the Great War lasted. Of course, there was still a garrison at Dragonstone. But most of the men would be North, helping the side of the living.

But they could say that to the lords and ladies of the North. There could be spies, and if Cersei found out they suspected of her alliance, she would strike with all her might. So they acted like she had their complete trust. The northerners trashed and yelled, of course. They expected nothing less and that was a good sign of their loyalty to Winterfell. And the time came, they would declare war on Cersei and call their banners, ending the Lannister rule once and for all.

Of course, if Arya herself didn’t get her first.

Lyanna Mormont defended her liege lords and ladies. Arya smiled. She liked her and her backbone against all the grown men in the room. She knew they could trust Bear Island to tell them of their plan against Cersei. When the time came, she would speak to her siblings about it.

“You haven’t seen was out there”, Jon said as the room grew quiet once more. “None of you. If you’re curious, asked those who were there. There is only one way to defeat them, at it is with the help of Daenerys Targeryen.”

At that, the queen stood up, regarding everyone in the room. She held her neck high, like a true ruler.

“I know you fear for your home, but I am not a backstabber. Once this war is over, I will keep all of you at the seats of your own Houses. The North will have its sovereign, only as my subject. There was a time when Targeryens and Starks had an alliance, even while two separate kingdoms. I just ask of all of you to consider a new trust, one that will remain for generations. Let us restore peace to this land. First, by defeating the Night King. Secondly, by making arrangements with Cersei Lannister.”

Everyone remained silent, thinking on the queen’s words. Jon then nodded towards Daenerys and spoke once again to the northern lords.

“Please, let us end this audience here. We will gather again tomorrow and discuss this after some dinner and a night of sleep.”

Everyone bowed and then retired to their own housings.

“I thank you, my lords and ladies, for speaking out for our cause”, Daenerys said. “I shall retire as well. We will meet once the sun rises.”

“Of course, my queen”, said Sansa, whishing her a goodnight.

“I would like to speak to you”, Jon said after the Targeryen entourage left. “In private.”

They all followed to the Stark solar, gathering around the table.

Jon took a deep breath and a sip from his wine.

“How did it go?”, he asked tiredly.

“Well”, Bran gave him a little smile. “I believe they will understand our position.”

“I hope so”, Sansa whispered. “It took us great effort to convince them of our competence. I wouldn’t like to go through that again.”

“We need to form a strategy to shield ourselves from Cersei”, Arya said. “Some of the bannermen will need to stay at their own seats to block her army’s passage, and others will have to stay at Winterfell. And yet, she cannot know we suspect her. It will have to be our most loyal Houses.”

Jon eyed her curiously.

“When did you learn to lead a war council, little sister?”

She smiled at him. Her brother never questioned her knowledge, never doubted her or Sansa because of their gender. They were equals.

“One day I shall tell you”, she said looking at Sansa, to let her know that was the secret she would share with her that night. Sansa hid a smile behind her cup.

They remained quiet for a while. Arya’s head ached from the shouting earlier. She just wanted to go to bed and train with Needle during the next day. Maybe she could ask Brienne to spar with her again. Or maybe someone from the Brotherhood Without Banners.

Just as a face ran through her mind, Jon broke the silence.

“We have Robert Baratheon’s bastard.”

Everyone stopped and seemed to hold their breaths.

“What do you mean?”, questioned Sansa. “As our prisoner?”

“No, as an ally.”

“Gendry”, whispered Arya, more to herself than to her siblings.

Jon snapped his head to look at her.

“You know him?”

Arya tried to put on a neutral face, but knew she was failing miserably.

“He was in the same group as me when Yoren took me away from King’s Landing”, she answered looking at Jon straight in the eye. “We got separated after the Brotherhood sold him to the Red Woman.”

“Melissandre.”

“That was her name”, she confirmed.

“Do you know what Stannis Baratheon wanted with him?”

“No”, she answered. “But Berric Dondarrion follows the same god as her. Maybe she shared her plans with him.”

Jon nodded and thanked her. He then stood up and started pacing the room.

“How did you meet him, Jon?”, Sansa asked.

“Ser Davos brought him from King’s Landing to Dragonstone. He introduced himself to me as Robert’s son, but he never met his father. And he fought bravely against the army of the dead. I owe him a debt.”

“Daenerys cannot know about him”, Sansa whispered.

“No”, Bran said. “She cannot.”

Bran’s confirmation was enough to put everyone in edge. If he was legitimized, he would be the true heir of the Iron Throne – given that Robert was it’s last King. But to the Targeryen queen, he was the heir of the Usurper and a threat to her reign. She would want to kill him, or imprison him. Either way, the Starks could not let that happen. He was the son of their father’s best friend. The honor of Ned Stark still flowed through the veins of his sons and daughters.

Arya remembered the day Gendry told her about the Gold Cloaks that were after him. He never knew his father, or his position – only that he was noble. It was better that he didn’t know what kind of man Robert Baratheon was. Her own father, Ned Stark, used to tell stories of his conquests. Old stories. After the death of their aunt, Lyanna Stark, Robert sunk deeper and deeper. Whores, wine and coin. That was his life as King, with no love for his wife or children. And we wouldn’t have loved Gendry as well.

She missed him, Arya noticed. He was one of her only friends while traveling North, besides Hot Pie and Lommy. They all got separated. Lommy was killed. Gendry was sold out to Melissandre. Hot Pie found a home at an inn. And Arya was kidnapped by the Hound.

More like saved by the Hound, she thought. Though, she wouldn’t tell him this.

She wanted to meet Gendry again and talk to him, find out what happened while they were separated. She wondered if he would still treat her as “my lady” again, just like he did while on the road. Yes, she was his lady, former Queen in the North and now Lady Stark of Winterfell. But first of all, she was his friend.

Chapter Text

Sansa

“Who is Gendry, Arya?”, Sansa asked as they laid down to sleep.

Her sister tensed her shoulders, taking a deep breath. Then she relaxed and laid down, looking at Sansa.

“I didn’t know he was Robert’s son”, she whispered. “He was my friend. He, Lommy and Hot Pie were my only friends going North.”

Sansa remembered the expression Arya wore while Jon talked about the boy in their private meeting. It reminded her of herself, while she wore a mask of indifference at the Eyrie to prevent Littlefinger from reading her thoughts. Once she saw the dead look on Arya’s face, she knew this was important to her little sister.

“The Gold Cloaks were after him in King’s Landing”, she continued. “He was rescued by Yoren just as I was. He was just a smith, he didn’t anything wrong. Cersei must have ordered all of Robert’s bastards’ deaths.”

“Yes, she must have”, was all Sansa could answer.

She knew that was more to that story, but she didn’t want to pressure Arya into saying something she didn’t want to. Her sister seemed somber and worried. Since they were reunited, she hadn’t seen her like this – or at least for this long. Sansa decided she would give her time. And when Arya wished to speak about it, she would her big sister and listen to everything carefully.

“Tell me a secret”, she asked Arya.

Her sister smiled.

“I don’t know what to tell. You go first.”

“Again? Why do I always have to go first?”

“Just tell me.”

Sansa thought for a while and she couldn’t forget what Tyrion had said to her before leaving the great hall.

“I’m afraid Tyrion might want to reclaim me as his lady wife”, she whispered.

Arya then sit up and stared at her.

“What?”

“The only reason Littlefinger was able to annul our marriage was because the world thought him dead. But now he’s here, alive, and I’m a widow”, she said the last word with spite. “Tyrion never touched me, even in the bedding ceremony. Still, we were sort of friendly. He has no reason to not want to reclaim me.”

Arya still looked at her perplexed.

“If he does reclaim you, you must know we would never let him marry you again.”

“I know. But I’m afraid Daenerys – if she decides to agree with the union – might not leave me, or us, a choice. That would mean even a little fraction of the North at her grasp. Why not approve of this marriage?”

“Daenerys already have our alliance. If she’s reasonable, she won’t allow it.”

Sansa remained silent, thinking to herself where everything went so wrong.

“I understand your fear, Sansa”, Arya whispered, holding her hand. “But we won’t allow it. Even if that means fighting Night King all by ourselves.”

She smiled at her sister, loving her like she never had when they were children.

“Thank you, Arya.”

Arya hugged her with all her strength. Sansa held her back, softly petting her head. After a while, Sansa softened the embraced.

“Now it’s your turn.”

“Alright, let me think.”

“They me about how you learned to be such a good strategist. You’ve even impressed Jon with your skills.”

Arya laughed then.

“It isn’t such an interesting story, actually”, she said while looking at the ceiling. But she grew serios once more. “It’s not like I had any choice. I had to learn a few things in order to survive. I’m only glad the Hound taught me a few lessons.”

At that, Sansa snapped her head at Arya. Her heart seemed to be about to burst from her chest and she had to remember to breathe after a few moments. Only later she realized she was in a sitting position. Arya looked up to watch her, her eyebrows knitted together.

 “The Hound?”, Sansa barely whispered.

He was with Arya. He found her.

She stared at Sansa, probably wondering what was running through her mind.

“Well, yes”, she said, softly. “We traveled together for a while.”

Sansa tried to keep a soft expression, but apparently, she was failing at that.

“Sansa?”

“I’m sorry”, she said, trying to recompose herself. “Please, continue.”

Arya took a few minutes before resuming her story.

“Well, we were in the middle of-”

“I’m sorry”, Sansa interrupted her sister. “How… How did you find him?”

Arya looked at her utterly confused.

“He was taken by the Brotherhood, while we were with them. It was him who recognized me. So far, I was just a boy to Berric’s men.”

Arya continued to tell her story then. And this time, Sansa didn’t interrupt once. She listened carefully. She paid attention as Arya told her how he taught her how to wield a sword properly, how to count how many men were in an army, how to move without making any noise, how to make a fire, how to hunt…

He taught her how to survive, just as he taught me how to survive Joffrey and the Court.

Sansa remembered the day Joffrey took her to see her father’s head. She remembered the exact feeling of Trant’s mailed hand hitting her face, of the blood that ran from her lips. The metallic taste gave her the same strength of holding real steal. She knew she had to kill the King, even if she would forever be known for a kingslayer. She found she didn’t mind. If it would mean the world would be free from Joffrey Baratheon, she would gladly bury her name under scrutiny.

As she grew the courage to push him and to die from her decision, he took her by the arm and turned her. He dabbed a handkerchief at her bloody lip, stopping her from her attempt. Later, he would giver her his first of many advices. All of them were a harsh lesson of how to survive in a pit of lions.

Sansa paled when Arya told her how the got at the Twins.

“What? What were you doing there?”

“He wanted to take me to mother and Robb, for a ramson”, she whispered. “But we got there too late.”

Tears started streaming through Sansa’s face, but she didn’t let them grow into a cry. She didn’t want Arya to stop her story, she wanted to know more.

“He actually hit me with an axe to stop me from entering the keep.”

“What?!”

“Don’t worry, it was the flat side”, she smiled softly.

She continued the stories of their travels. They stayed together for a long time, going through some rough patches. Arya told her how she got Needle her back, and how he took a bite to the neck. Arya wanted to burn the wound, and he wouldn’t let her.

“All because of his brother.”

So she knows. Sansa was the only person, besides Littlefinger, who knew of this secret. Baelish told her during the Hand’s Tourney at King’s Landing. And one day, at one of the halls of the Keep, himself approached her and told her the story of his scars. The Mountain was known to be a ruthless killer. But she didn’t expect at the time for his violence against his own family. She surely couldn’t imagine one of her siblings doing such act of cruelty towards one another.

Then Arya told her of their encounter with Brienne. Sansa was surprised by it. The lady knight never told her a thing about this.

“She probably thought you already knew, that I had already told you.”

Sansa agreed, then let Arya continue. She told her then that after he was defeated, she hid from Brienne, only returning to him once she and Podrick were gone.

“He asked me for the gift of mercy”, Arya whispered sadly. “But I didn’t want to.”

“You were kind.”

“No, kind would’ve been granting his dying wish. He begged me to kill him.”

Arya seemed to be at the verge of tears. But Sansa didn’t say anything about it.

“Why didn’t you?”

“He was no longer in my list.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

It’s been four days and Sansa still hadn’t gathered the courage to talk to him. Every day since her last bedtime secret telling moment with Arya, she would only stand from afar and watch the men train. He was, without a doubt, the best fighter. Ser Berric Dondarrion and Tormund Giantsbane were the ones who fought the non-knight the most. They were preparing to go back to the Wall in a moon’s turn, to guard it and warn them about any advances of the army of the dead. Since Sandor Clegane was one of the best fighters in the realm, it made sense they would use him as a trainer.

Sansa wished she could fight. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to wear armor and hold real steel, or maybe a bow or a dagger. She could ask Arya to teach her a few things, or maybe Brienne. For some reason, she didn’t feel comfortable asking Jon. She knew that he would understand her motives, but she still feared he would deny her lessons or talk her out of it. Her sister and the lady knight, however, would want to teach her, would want her to learn how to defend herself.

I will talk to them tonight, she promised to herself.

She would watch the men until they retired or were done to perform their duties. Sansa made sure she was never seen or heard by them. Normally she would wear a dark cloak to blend in with the alcove where she usually hid herself. Today, though, she let her hair out of the hood. Not that she planned that she would talk to him today, but she decided it didn’t matter if the men saw her or no. Other people gathered as well to shout compliments and recommendations to the fighters. So why she, lady of Winterfell, could not do the same?

Except she didn’t shout. She just stood there watching and occasionally smiling with the crowd at the blows. He wasn’t her champion, and this was not a tourney. And she was still a lady, she should behave as such. She could see Arya by the side of Tormund now, watching Dondarrion and Clegane and exchanging observations.

Her sister told Sansa what happened in the last fight between the two men. How Berric’s flaming sword burnt Clegane’s shield, which then burnt his arm. Even though that was in the past, she couldn’t help but feel terrified for him. She knew what it was like to be cut, beaten and hurt. It was agony. She could understand his pain, even if she hadn’t been burnt before. Beyond the pain, it was the memories which did the haunting. The nightmares. In them, she saw the faces of her enemies and the people that caused her harm. He saw the face of his brother.

Just a few seconds after Clegane and Dondarrion ended their fight, Arya took a step forward. Sansa’s hands gripped the rails of the balcony. She had seen Arya fight Brienne before. She was good. Better than good. She was one of the best swordsman she had ever seen – not that she had seen much. She was equal to Brienne. But what about Clegane? Brienne had bested him in their last encounter. But, as she heard, he was hurt then.

She took Needle from the scabbard and put it behind her back. Sandor Clegane was grinning at the girl. He twisted the sword in his hand and started circling around her.

“The little wolf wants to play”, he laughed.

“No”, Arya answered calmly. “She wants to hunt.”

“Am I still on your list? Is that it?”

She didn’t answer. Clegane’s expression grew serious and he stopped. They stared at each other for a while. Then he nodded at her.

Without any more words, the fight began. Arya was fluid, like water. Yet, her blows didn’t have the same strength as Clegane. Sansa knew he was holding back. A single blow from his sword would end the fight right then. And this was not a battle, just a training.

It was a sight to be seen. He was a big, muscled man with a body built from war. Arya was a little and thin girl. It was amazing to see that they struggled with each other. While he fought like a soldier, she fought like a dancer. He had a long sword from live steel. She had a thin short sword from valyrian steel.

The fight ended. Clegane’s sword was resting at her neck. Arya’s sword was place right at his heart. Just a little push, and they would both be dead in a real battle. The crowd went mad, shouting and applauding the fighters. Both of them broke into a smile and parted.

Soon, the crowd parted to go back to their duties around the keep. And so did the fighters. Dondarrion and Tormund kept talking to Arya, messing with her braided hair while she laughed and did tricks with Needle. Clegane was gathering the blunt swords and taking them to the armory, which was just below the balcony where she was standing. But he didn’t look up, he didn’t see her there.

Sansa stood away from the rails and waited by the back wall. Then, he got out from the floor beneath her own and went to the stables. She waited a few moments before she could come out and reach the ground floor.

She was curious, there was no denying it. Maybe it was time to finally to talk to him. Who knew for sure? Only the gods. But Sansa decided she would seize that little bit of courage she had found within herself to at least thank him for keeping her sister safe during their travels.

Before she opened the doors to the stables, she looked around to make sure no one saw her entering. And she also put her ear by the door to listen to any movement in there. There was none. Only silent.

Did he come out already?

She opened the wooden door slowly and silently. The stables were long and filled with cabins for the many horses of the army. But right now, there was half of them in their places. The men were training or taking rounds to make sure Winterfell was free from raiders. Or worse.

Daenerys horse was there, all white and silver. She petted her behind the ear and down her neck. She was a beauty.

I should have brought some apples, Sansa thought. While Lady was alive, she would always giver her sweet wolf a few snacks as she followed her master during the day.

A loud knock interrupted Sansa’s thoughts. She knew what made the noise. It was the back door to the stables.

She hid herself in one of the bays, crouching by the fresh hay that stood by the corner.

“Here Stranger”, she heard Clegane say and then a chewing sound. He had just given his horse an apple.

Stranger is alive still, Sansa thought to herself, smiling. She remembered how the blasphemous horse was just as grumpy as his master.

Sansa then heard the distinct sound of a brush running through the horse’s hair. But apart from that, the stables were in complete silence.

She waited there, courage fading away as the quiet stretched. Sansa didn’t want to interrupt them. And also, she was clearly spying on him. It would be just as bad to come out and walk away as it would be if he simply discovered her.

“Come out, Little Bird”, he said with a soft yet raspy voice.

Her body froze as she could feel the blood rising to her face. Her heart was fast and so was her breathing. She couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her arms after listening to his voice again. But she didn’t know that was good or bad yet.

Damn it, Sansa.

As gracefully as she could, she stood up from her position and came out to the corridor, her cloak sweeping the hay and dirt.

The brush in his hand stopped by Stranger’s neck. He was looking at her with his scarred side to her. They stood there, staring at each other, for a while. He made the first move. He put the brush aside and leaned to the wall behind him, crossing his arms at his chest. He had a grin in his lips, which she knew he was holding not to become a smile.

“What is the Queen in the North doing in the stables with the common folk?”, he said playfully, but not mean.

She couldn’t help but grin back at him.

“I am not Queen anymore. Haven’t you heard?”

“Aye, I have.”

She took a few steps closer, until she was almost by the side of Stranger. But she didn’t come any closer, not wanting to get bitten by the war horse.

“I am sorry, my lord”, she said.

“Not your lord, girl.”

Her eyebrows frowned and she tilted her head to the side.

“No, you’re not”, she whispered. “But you’re not a ser either.” She was glad to see his face contort to the title. Good, he’s the same. “So what should I call you?”

He uncrossed his arms at that and picked up the brush again, running it through Stranger’s mane.

“I’m a dog, Little Bird”, he said mid stroke. “Always have been.”

Her heart beat a little faster at his nickname for her.

“No”, she said, getting closer since it was safer with him handling the horse. “You’re a man, not an animal.”

He laughed.

“As you say, my lady.”

She smiled and looked at Stranger. He was a beautiful horse, just as beautiful as the Queen’s, but in a totally different way. This one was all muscle and rage, built for war. Just as his owner.

“Sandor Clegane is rather too long for a daily basis”, she said after a long silence. “Maybe Clegane then?”

“That’s what your brother calls me.”

“Good.”

He eyed her suspiciously and continued his work.

“But maybe just Sandor for private”, she whispered.

His brush stopped again, but not for long this time.

“As you say.”

“And what should you call me?”

“My lady”, he said without wasting a second.

“That’s too formal.”

“Well, that’s what you are.”

“What about Little Bird?”

He placed the brush aside again, but this time didn’t lean into the wall. He just stood facing her, rather too close for two strangers, even though they were not.

“I don’t think you’re a little bird anymore”, he whispered. “You got out of your cage”, he motioned for the whole keep. “They call you the Red Wolf. Maybe I should start calling you that.”

“I’m out of my cage just as you are out of your collar”, she said smiling. “And I don’t mind Red Wolf, just as I don’t mind Little Bird.”

“Then you shouldn’t mind the Hound.”

“But I do”, she said without even thinking. “That is the name our enemies, both yours and mine, gave you. I shall not call you by something you are not.”

A little smile as playing in his lips and he nodded at her.

“Alright then.”

That took her by surprise. Sansa didn’t know why, but she was ready to continue arguing on the subject for a long time. Maybe she held that in herself for so long that now was finally time to put it out. But she didn’t have to convince him, since he believed the same thing.

“I want to thank you”, she blurted out.

“For what?”

She placed her hand on his arm, making sure he would look at her in the eyes.

“For keeping my sister safe”, she said while looking at him intently. “For trying to bring her to our parents and for keeping her safe after that. And for not ditching her some place and running of later.”

He was stunned for a while.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, I do”, she said firmly while still holding his arm.

He nodded at her and she let go of his arm. He took another apple and fed it to Stranger.

“The little wolf was a pain in my ass, you know.”

Sansa smiled at that.

“Yes, she told me.”

“I’ve lost count of how many times she tried to kill me.”

Sansa couldn’t help the laugh that was coming out of her mouth.

“Or of how many times I woke up to her practicing that ridiculous water dancing.”

“I’m so sorry”, she said while laughing still.

“All the way from the westernlands to the fucking Eyrie, she didn’t give me a break. Not even when she tried to recover that stupid sword-”

“What?”

Sandor Clegane looked back at her, confused at her expression. Her eyes were wide, sad and worried.

“What?”, he repeated her question.

“What- What do you mean to the Eyrie?”

Arya hadn’t told her this part of the story. And that frightened Sansa.

“Well, after the Red- after what happened at the Twins, and tried to sell her to your aunt Lysa Arryn.”

“And why didn’t you?”, she asked, tears starting to fill her eyes.

“She had just died, just a few days before we arrived there.”

Sansa gasped, and her hand went to her mouth. Tears were now rolling freely down her cheeks and on her cloak.

Clegane didn’t say anything after that. He just placed his hand of her shoulder, waiting for her to finally talk about what was wrong.

They were so close. We were so close.

“I was there”, she whispered to him. “I was at the Eyerie.”

For a second, she could see the rage come back to life in Sandor Clegane’s gray eyes.

Chapter Text

Sandor

He knew only a few things about what happened to Sansa Stark after himself had left King’s Landing during the battle of Blackwater Bay. She was married to Tyrion Lannister, since Joffrey found a new bride in Margaery Tyrell, she disappeared after the King’s death and declared accomplice of murder alongside her husband and, a long time later, she was married to Ramsay Snow. Sansa was used, deflowered, probably tortured and played with. But she was there now, at the seat of House Stark in Winterfell.

But he had no fucking idea of how she had ended up at the Eyrie.

His blood was up. He knew that Petyr Baelish had married the crazy lady Arryn before her death. Later, he was name Lord Protector of those lands. Much later, after hearing the tales at Winterfell, Sandor already knew that the little wolf had killed him after the Starks had sentenced him to death for his crimes. That was part of the reason they now called the Little Bird the Red Wolf.

He knew all about Littlefinger’s taste in women. The brothels, the whores and his obsession with Catelyn Stark. That was no secret, not for Cersei or Tyrion Lannister, nor for the Tully woman herself. And Sansa Stark was her mother come again, with the same sparkling blue eyes and fiery red hair.

Sandor draw his own conclusions. He knew then Littlefinger had fucking touched her, used her. Her tears only served to reassure him of this affirmation.

She was covering her sobs with her hands, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. The look on her face after she told him she was at the Eyrie all along reminded him of her time in King’s Landing, where she had been broken day after day. And just as their time in the Red Keep, Sandor felt like he had failed her once more.

“Little Bird”, he called her after a long silence, but she didn’t even move.

Then he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face so her eyes could meet his.

“Sansa”, he whispered and she stopped sobbing. “Tell me.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. He let go of her and stood there waiting.

Sansa pushed her back at the wooden door and did her best at not fidgeting her fingers, cleaning her tears and recomposing herself.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How did you end up there?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“Petyr Baelish took me there.”

Sansa told him everything. How Littlefinger planned Joffrey’s murder, their escape to the Eyrie, of how she passed as his bastard daughter only to be revealed with the objective to marry the bastard of the Dreadfort. She also told him Baelish was the one who killed Lysa Arryn, pushing her down the Moon’s Door.

Sansa didn’t talk about her marriage to Ramsay. That made him freeze.

What have they done to you, Little Bird?, Sandor thought.

Instead, she talked about the return of her brother, Brandon. He couldn’t understand fully what he had become. She called it the “Three Eyed Raven”. The boy had visions, about the past and about the future. Considering Sandor himself had looked into the flames at Thoros guidance, he wasn’t as surprised.

“Bran revealed to us that Littlefinger betrayed our father”, she said looking at the sunlight that came through a crack on the door and grazed her hand. “He held a knife to his throat after father tried to take down Joffrey and Cersei from the Iron Throne.”

Fuck.

Just as the memory crossed his mind, her piercing blue eyes darted to him once more.

“Were you there?”

He took a deep breath and leaned into the wall.

“Aye.”

She nodded.

“Did you kill any of my father’s men?”

He blinked, not knowing how to answer her properly. Then, he gave the best he could.

“I’m sorry, Little Bird.”

Another sad smile.

“Thank you.”

She turned her back to look at Stranger. She did as if she would touch him, but before Sandor could protest against it, she lowered her hand.

“After what Bran told us, all we had to do was trick him and trial him.”

“Trick him?”

She smiled smartly now, looking back at him. He noticed this was the smile that best fitted her.

“After Jon left, Littlefinger tried to turn my back against my siblings. Specially against Arya. He should’ve known better than that. After all we’ve been through, after all Arya, Bran, Jon and I had faced, torn apart and separated, he should’ve known better than to assume we would betray one another. Littlefinger thought he was still the puppet master, pulling all my strings. He didn’t realize though that he made me a master as well. And I played him just right.”

Fuck, was the only thing Sandor could think of.

Ever since he had laid eyes on Sansa Stark, Sandor had been attracted to her. She was young then and he felt guilty all the while because of it. Then she almost pushed Joffrey out of the battlements. After that, she was no longer a child. She was broken, beaten, devasted. And vengeful. The look in her eyes were the same as the ones of hunting hounds when they found its prey. He had no doubt she would complete her objective if it wasn’t for him. He stopped her. Sandor didn’t feel guilty about that. She would’ve died with him.

She hardened while in King’s Landing. Only now he understood that. He thought her courtesies were a weakness, but they were actually her shield. She didn’t know how to hold a sword or use her body in a fight. Her words were all she had. And she survived because of them.

After all this time, ever since he had last seen her in her room while he was drunk, covered in blood and scared out of his life, she became a woman. She grew a backbone of steel, claws as fierce as daggers, eyes sharp and a tongue as well. She was smart, she was beautiful, she was just, and she was wild – even if that wildness was hidden under layers of manners and courtesies.

If he thought he wanted her before, that was nothing compared to what he felt for her now.

He felt himself grow hard and was glad for the many layers of clothes he had to wear to protect himself from the northern winter. He only hoped she wouldn’t notice the bulge in his pants.

He had scared her once, and almost violated her. At least, that was his plan when he was drunk and running from the fire after his last fight for the Lannisters. He didn’t think of it now. He would never do that to her. Sansa Stark was a force of nature and he would never touch her. It would be as he was burnt all over again.

He knew how to hide his emotions and thoughts. But as if she had sensed something, she took a step closer to him and touched his arm. He felt like it was burning, even through the fabric of his clothes.

“Thank you for listening to me”, she whispered, her voice as sweet as honey. “I can’t tell you enough how glad I am that you’re alive. And here, in Winterfell. Thank you for everything you’ve done for my family. And for me.”

I only scared you, Little Bird.

“You don’t have to thank me”, he answered, not wanting to argue with her now.

“But I do”, she insisted. “Unfortunately, I have to leave you for now. Jon is waiting for me. But I want to ask you to seat by my side tomorrow at dinner.”

Why?, was what he wanted to ask her. But he could never deny the invitation.

“Of course, my lady.”

She smiled brightly for him.

“Thank you, Clegane”, she japed. “I’ll leave you now. Until tomorrow.”

“Good day”, he managed to whisper.

She turned, her red her following her movement and her cloak sweeping the floor gently as she walked out of the stables.

Sandor Clegane didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the door.

“Fuck”, he muttered after a long time.

Chapter Text

Jon

“My former wife seems suspicious”, said Tyrion Lannister sipping on his wine.

“Well, she is”, she answered, standing by the door.

The Hand of the Queen had requested an audience with him – just him, not his brother or his sisters. At first, Jon wondered if this was about his relationship with Dany. He had told no one about it, but he’d noticed a few glances towards him since his departure from White Harbor, including from the Lannister man himself. Maybe Jon and Dany weren’t as discreet as they should. But at the same time, she wasn’t a maiden and moreover, she was a widow. Affairs outside of marriage weren’t as scandalous as they once were – or at least he hoped. Gods knew how many Targaryens had taken mistress and lovers throughout history.

But once Tyrion entered the solar, he knew this conversation wasn’t about it.

“Bastard”, he said.

“Imp.”

Immediately, they poured wine and began talking about everything and nothing. Jon wondered if one day they could be friends. Jon had only a few friends, if they could be called that. Tormund started as his enemy, became his ally and then his friend. Sam was the closest friend he had, but since their last encounter – on the day Jon returned to Winterfell – he had been acting strange. Though, Sam promised him that soon he would tell all about what was troubling him and also about his travels. The other men who fought with him beyond the Wall weren’t his friends. But Jon learned to deeply respect each one of them.

It was nighttime when Sansa entered the solar. He forgot about the dinner he had arranged with her. When she opened the door, she looked happy, even thrilled. But as soon as she looked at Tyrion, that changed. The Lannister wasn’t wrong, she did look suspicious.

“What is the meaning of this meeting?”, she asked, still standing by the door.

“Just a conversation between the bastard of Winterfell and the Lannister Imp”, Tyrion japed. “The last time we talked without worries or strategies was at the Wall, right after my family’s visit to this very castle.”

“Actually, Sansa, I lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, we can talk later.”

“No”, Tyrion said, standing up. “Please, I don’t want to interrupt. I’ll take my leave.”

“My lord”, Sansa called as Tyrion was opening the door. “Wouldn’t you like to stay for dinner? I don’t know if you have other plans, but I would like to hear your stories after… Well, after everything.”

Jon saw the Hand hold a smile.

“Of course, my lady, it would be my pleasure.”

They took a seat once more and continued their conversation. Tyrion was just telling Jon about his arrival at Meereen and his first encounter with the Queen.

“That land is hotter than the dornish sands. I feel like I arrived there nearly a dead man. Enslaved, dehydrated and hungry. Needless to say, I didn’t cause the greatest impression on our queen. Besides, the Lannister name can be a bitch.”

The Stark siblings laughed, even though they knew about the delicacy of his family situation.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, my lord”, Sansa said while sipping on her wine. “You’re the best Lannister to have ever bare the name.”

“Well, thank you, my lady.”

Tyrion continued telling about his time at Meereen, how he negotiated with the enslavers of the East, only to Daenerys burn them with all their ships. Then, he told about their voyage to Westeros and Dragonstone, where Queen Daenerys was born. He said it was quite a site, an amazing fortress surrounded by the sea with black sands. Jon confirmed it, remembering the eyrie place, but beautiful all the same. Tyrion added that the dragons were way more comfortable at Dragonstone than in Meereen.

“Why so?”, Sansa asked.

“I do not know”, he answered. “Maybe because it’s the place where other dragons before them used to live, ever since Aegon, the Conqueror and his sisters wives, Visenya and Rhaenys. And also…”, he stopped talking then.

“What?”, Jon questioned.

“This is a sensitive subject to Her Grace, but she kept her dragons locked in Meereen for some time. Drogon was killing animals and even killed a person. She had no choice.”

That took Jon by surprise. He knew the dragons were dangerous, even though they had done him no harm. But what was most striking to him was the fact that Dany considered the dragons her actual children – the only ones she would ever have. He saw her tears when Viserion died. To have them locked, as a merchandise or a prisoner, it couldn’t have been easy. That only made Jon admire the Queen she was even more. She made sacrifices for her people, many times. And he knew he would continue to do so.

I need to meet her tonight, he thought. Maybe he could sneak into her room in the middle of the night. Her Queensguard already knew of their relationship. And they were loyal to her.

“I understand”, Sansa said, breaking Jon’s thoughts of late-night encounters. “I also imagine they couldn’t wait to be released.”

“Well, yes”, Tyrion laughed then. “I was the one who freed them. Probably the scariest thing I have ever done in my life, and I’ve done a few. But that’s a tale for another time. You two probably have matters to attend and I also need to speak to the Queen.”

 “It’s been a pleasure, my lord”, she said kindly, walking him to the door. “I do hope to hear more of your tales.”

“Me too, my lady. I would also like to hear tales of your conquests.”

“Of course.”

Tyrion left and the siblings took a seat once again.

“That’s amazing”, Jon said. “You two were married against your will, separated, divorced and can speak so naturally to each other.”

Sansa smiled sadly to him.

“Well, as I said, Tyrion is the best Lannister to ever bare that name. And also, he was one of the only friends I had in King’s Landing. I owe him a great deal.”

“He is a good man.”

“And also…”

Jon waited for her to continue, but she had stopped and shook her head.

“Nevermind.”

“No, please. Whatever it is, you can…”

“I though you two were discussing marriage arrangements.”

Jon was confused.

“Between?”

“Tyrion and I.”

Well, that explains the suspicion.

“Sansa, I…”

“I mean, he was the kindest husband, or betrothed for that matter, I ever had, but I…”

“Sansa”, Jon stopped her by holding her hand. She squeezed it back. Her blue eyes were full of tears, as he hadn’t seen since their reunion at Castle Black. “I would never marry you against your will. And I would never choose a husband for you, that’s for you to decide.”

“Thank you, Jon.”

Dinner arrived shortly. Jon took the plates and placed them at the table. Soon, they were eating quietly. Sometimes, Jon would throw a few slices at Ghost, that was laying at the floor by his feet.

“What did you want to talk about?”, she asked.

“I wanted to thank you for taking care of things around here while I was gone”, he smiled. “I know it mustn’t’ve have been easy, dealing with all the bannermen.”

“No, it wasn’t”, she was smiling, though humbly. “Lady Lyanna was of great help in that matter.”

He thought about the little Mormont, who reminded him so much of Arya.

“Very well. And I’m glad Littlefinger had been… dealt with. We don’t need to talk about it, but I also wanted to thank you for rooting out a traitor among our lords and ladies.”

“The pleasure was all mine”, she answered softly, yet still smiling.

He couldn’t help but smile back.

“That’s why I need to ask a last favor from you. Soon, Tormund and Ser Berric will be returning to Eastwatch. They will be the ones to tell us about any advances from the army of the dead.”

“Yes, I saw them training this morning.”

“Good”, he stopped eating, leaving his fork and knife alone and holding Sansa’s hand again. “When the time comes, we’ll march to war. You’ll stay here, in Winterfell, with Arya, Bran and a garrison. I need you to be the Stark in Winterfell, and I need you to be prepared in case Cersei attack us.”

Sansa was staring at him, eyes open wide. She was silent as if she was taking all in.

“Put Arya in my stead”, she said with a broken voice, finally, after what it seemed a long time.

“Arya is too young and too wild. But mostly, she does not have the experience you have. You know our bannermen, you know our lands. And you know Cersei Lannister. Arya and Bran will be here to help you, to counsel you even. But I need you to be the ruler.”

“Jon, I do not know anything of war. I can’t command an army!”

“And you won’t. We – you and I and Bran and Arya – will appoint a commander and a master of arms to take this responsibility. And I’ll teach you everything you need to know. You will not dive into this blind.”

Sansa was silent again, staring at the flames of the hearth. He wanted to know what was going through her head. He told her once that her decision of summoning the men from the Vale was the single action that had saved him, their men and their cause. Winterfell was theirs because of her. Now, she needed to take the same actions, have the same confidence she once had, in order to save their family and their home.

“I’ll do it”, she whispered after a long while. “I promise I will give my best to our House and to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Sansa, thank you”, he embraced her and kissed the top of her head.

“But I won’t do this without the consent of both Arya and Bran. This is their decision as much as it is mine.”

“I already spoke to them. They agreed.”

Sansa was left with her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide.

Jon grinned at her.

“You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

Jon told her they wouldn’t announce her rule tonight. The Stark siblings would wait until they had appointed the commander and the bannermen who wouldn’t march North, that would stay at Winterfell and defend the keep. They would give nothing for the lords and ladies to contest their decision. And they would give nothing to the Queen to have a say in how they ruled their land. The knew the North. They were the North. This was their call, not the Crown’s.

Even without the announcement, Sansa was determined to embrace the Stark sigil and embody the ruler she was supposed to be. In her mind, that would serve to calm the spirits of all the northern lords when the time came. She would only wear her colors, grey and white and occasionally blue to remind everyone of her Tully heritage. No rich silks, only warm fabrics and furs. Her hair would be fashioned only in the northern style, with braids, but no up do’s.

Not that she wasn’t doing all of it before. Ever since the battle between Jon’s army and Ramsey’s, she had to take a stand as a Stark once and for all. In Jon’s absence, the northern lords were able to see ignore the fact that she was a woman and recognize that she was a Stark. But ever since Jon’s return, they were seeking his guidance, putting in him all their trust. Now they need to trust her once more. She could only hope her image would do some help.

Tonight wouldn’t be a feast, simply a dinner with their queen and the northern lords and ladies. Still, the preparations weren’t simple. At the same time they had to entertain their guests, they also needed to ration food. Winter was here after all. The cooks killed a few of their livestock and served the wine brought by the Tyrion.

Sansa was wearing a deep gray dress made of wool. It almost looked like metal, like dark steel. A wolf fur cloak covered her shoulders, the Stark sigil clasping the ends together. Her hair was braided in the northern style, falling in one of her shoulders. She was, purposely, the last one to enter the hall. When she did, the room felt silent and the lords rose from their seats. Sansa held the smile that was creeping through her lips.

Before she took her seat, she took a moment from the dais to look at the men and women reunited in Winterfell. Everyone was staring at her, she noticed.

Good.

“Thank you, my lords, my ladies”, she said loud and firm. “Shall we dine?”

They laughed and raised their glasses in a toast. She did the same and after taking a sip, sat at her place.

First, she looked at her right. There was Jon with a smile in his face. He put his cup near her own and did another toast. They drank deeply. Daenerys was sitting just by his side, watching the exchange, but without saying anything. Next was Tyrion Lannister, staring at the crowd in front of him.

By her left, as requested, was Sandor Clegane. He had a wolfish grin on his lips and was looking at her with those deep gray eyes.

“My lady”, he said, bowing his head lightly.

“My lord.”

“Still not your lord”, he whispered, not unkindly, before taking a sip from his wine.

She smiled at him.

“As you say.”

By his side, Arya was staring at their conversation. Sansa ignored her. She knew everyone, including her siblings, would be surprise at the invitation towards him. She also knew there would be some questioning from her little sister later. Sansa still didn’t know what she would say.

But she would not occupy her mind with those thoughts right now. Her attention was on reacquainting herself with Sandor Clegane. For starters, with his face. His scars seemed… less in the torch and candle lights of the hall. Not that she minded it. His scars were a part of him, just as his eyes, his hair, his mouth. There was a time when they frightened her. But that was also because of his rage, and his mean words towards her. She wondered if he didn’t have the scars, specially the way he got them, how different of a man he would be. Perhaps he would be gentler. Perhaps not. Maybe this man would have died early, too naïve to face the world as it is. Maybe his brother would have killed him in a different way. Or maybe he would have tortured his little brother with other devices. If it wasn’t fire, it could’ve been water. Or earth. Or even steel. There was no way of knowing.

“What is going through this head of yours, little bird?”, he said low enough so that only Sansa could hear. “Why are you not chirping?”

She smiled. I don’t want him to be anybody else.

“I thought you would call me a wolf from now on.”

“Fine, why are you not howling?”

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“Do you want me to lie to you?”

He chuckled at that, setting his cup aside.

“Save your words, then.”

“I would like to hear from you, though. The last time we saw each other, you only said you were going away. To someplace that wasn’t burning.”

He grew serious very fast. His smile dropped, his eyes turned glassy. Had she said the wrong words?

Is he mad at me?

That night was a happy memory for Sansa. Well, as happy as it could be. For once, someone seemed to care about her in that city. Someone seemed to want to help her, without gaining anything in exchange. Until then, her mind was filled with dark thoughts. With death. With hopelessness. When Sansa saw him in her room – her prison cell –, she understood she had an ally. A friend.

Even though there’s was nothing to be done now, Sansa still regrets not accepting his offer and fleeing with him. She was scared. He was drunk. She was naïve. He was violent. Sandor Clegane, Joffrey’s Hound, left her with a kiss and a bloody cloak while the world burnt green. Since then, she never forgot.

Now she realized that night might have not been a happy day for him. It was the night he was almost burnt to death, the night he invaded a girl’s room, the night he held a knife to her throat. Sansa decided she would not force him to talk about it this night, saving the subject for a private conversation.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be”, he whispered. “But before I tell my story, I want to know something.”

“Of course.”

He leaned just a little into her, as if he would whisper something in her ear.

“Why am I seating here by your side?”, he asked her, and she couldn’t help but notice the suspicion in his voice. Nor the shiver that ran through her body with his being so close to hers. “Why a former Lannister man is sitting by the Lady of Winterfell’s side above the salt?”

Sansa herself did not know why she invited him to sit by her side. She just wanted him close. But there were other ways of being close to him. Ways that didn’t involve exposing him to all the northern lords. Or to the Queen. Or to her siblings.

It was then that a thought ran through her mind. Better yet, an idea. Her cup stopped in midair on the way to her lips. And this dinner, with Sandor Clegane sitting by her side, was perfect to start planning this simple thought. This decision wasn’t made consciously. But still, was brilliant.

There was going to be a lot of talking and convincing her siblings, and maybe even the Queen. She didn’t want to lie to him. And she knew he was looking right at her. So Sansa held her smile, but couldn’t help grinning at herself.

“Actually, I don’t know”, she said, getting closer to him once more. “But I know the effect this will cause. The northern lords and ladies will see you less and less as a Lannister man. Soon enough you’ll be a Stark man. Just as I went from the Lannister’s puppet, to the Bolton Bastard’s prey, and to the Stark wolf.”

“And why do you want me to be a Stark man?”, he questioned, not whispering this time.

Arya turned to them again, even more serious than before.

“Yes, Sansa, why?”

Sansa knew that look on her sister’s face. It reminded her of when they were children, always bickering each other. Arya told her Sandor Clegane was out of her list of offering to the God of Death. And she saw the two fighting. Maybe they weren’t friends, but they were friendly. Arya wanted him to be a Stark man too, Sansa knew. But that might have been a too big of a surprise to Arya know that was her own wish as well.

She held his arm that was resting on the table.

“I need you to be a Stark man”, Sansa answered. “We all do.”

Chapter Text

Arya

She was trying hard not to barge in her sister’s conversation with the Hound. She really was. But it was such a fantastic image that Arya couldn’t help herself. Besides, Bran was as quiet and serious as ever. The pair was talking in a friendly manner, japing and at the same time talking about serious subjects. How could Sansa and he be friendly? When did they get this close?

He told Arya he left King’s Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater. And she was not ignorant to all the whispers going around the keep that Joffrey’s Dog fled the battle with the tail between his legs. During her time in the capital, could Sansa have acquainted herself with Sandor Clegane? Or even more than that?

Sansa asked him to tell his story, of what happened to him after the battle. And he did. He told her he remained drunk for a good part of his travels, until he got caught by the Brotherhood Without Banners. By then, Arya couldn’t help releasing her tongue.

“You remained drunk after our time with the Brotherhood.”

She thought he would be mad at her remark. But the opposite happened. He smiled.

“The little wolf is right”, he said while chuckling. “Until we ran out of wine.”

As time went by, his story became mixed with her own version of the facts. They were telling about their journey in an effortless way, japing all the while. Sansa laughed with them. It’s been so long since she heard her sister laugh that much, so easily. Just a silly story about their daily travel. Arya momentarily forgot about her own confusion. The Hall was lit by candles, there was wine circling the tables, Winterfell was filled with allies and friends. Nothing could hurt them. Not Cersei, not any White Walker. They were at a safe haven.

Then it clicked in Arya. She had missed the Hound. He was not the best traveling companion, and he was certainly not the best caretaker. But he was honest as no other man had ever been. He was loyal. He knew how to be funny - when he wanted to. He was smart and fast thinking. He taught her a great deal of what she now knew about everything - politics, war, survival and even a little bit of religion.

But still, Arya remembers the words he had said to her while begging for the gift of mercy. The things he wanted to do to Sansa. Suddenly, she feared for her sister. And she feared the Hound would find another place into her list.

The main course was finally served, and their story was interrupted. Jon and Daenerys said a few words before the meal, promises of alliances and victories, of wolves and dragons.

“Winter is here, my lords and ladies”, Jon said, raising his cup. “Let us enjoy this last few moments before battle.”

Everyone raised their cups and toasted. After that, Sansa started a new conversation with her brother and the queen. Arya didn’t try to capture what was the subject this time. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

The Hound.

Her worries came back, crashing down upon her. Sandor Clegane was mean during their time in King’s Landing. And even though she had forgiven him for killing her friend, Mycah, the butcher’s boy, she hadn’t forgotten about his constant drunken state, or his coarse words towards everyone around him, or his brutal fighting skills.

And during that period, he hadn’t been kind towards Sansa. Constantly saying mean things during their voyage to King’s Landing after father had been named Hand of the King.

And Sansa, after all that she had been through – and she hadn’t even told her siblings about it all – treated him warmly now. She wasn’t thus even with the northern bannermen, who were friends with her father and her brother, Robb. She didn’t trust easily now. Which was extremely smart. They shouldn’t trust anyone completely, not even the Queen. But Sansa did seem to trust him fully. She smiled at him, she was polite, she was even charming.

Again, the question circled Arya's head. When did they become so friendly?

“Why are you here?”, she asked the Hound at a whisper, noticing that Sansa couldn’t hear them.

He was quiet it his place, simply observing the crowd just as he did while he was by Joffrey’s side, just waiting for someone to make a move.

“I followed the King in the North”, he answered, his lips forming a thin line and not looking at her.

“I mean at this table.”

“Your sister asked me to.”

Arya snorted.

“And why did you accept?”

He looked at her then.

“You should’ve known by now, little wolf, that when kings and queens, and lords and ladies ask something of their subjects, they are not really asking.”

“That’s bulshit”, she whispered, but still with power behind her voice. “I thought you hated liars.”

“That I do. And I’m not lying”, he laughed. “But maybe there are somethings I just don’t want to tell you.”

Arya was mad by then. She wanted – no, needed – to know what was going on, what he wanted with her sister.

Even though they were never close as children, now Arya felt a deep sense of sisterhood towards Sansa. They, among Jon and Bran, were the last Starks alive. She would do anything to protect her pack.

The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

Arya just needed to get a different reaction from him.

“Don’t think much of it”, she said, leaning back at her chair and taking a sip of wine. “She always asks lords and ladies to sit by her side. It was what mother always did.”

He remained silent, without any reaction, looking back at the hall. The exact opposite of what Arya was looking for in provoking him.

“I haven’t forgot”, she whispered angrily. “I haven’t forgot what you told me while you asked for the gift.”

He snapped his head to look at her.

“Maybe you should forget”, he said barely groaning.

She pulled a knife hidden in her boot and pressed its blade against his ribs, right between the bones where she could easily slip past the bone and cut his lung. Of course, she wouldn’t do that. At least, not at the dinner table. If it ever came to that, if he ever became a threat, she would do much worse.

“Touch my sister and I’ll kill you.”

He didn’t even flinch. He looked at the little blade in her hand as his eyes grew even more serious. Arya knew he was thinking, she could almost see what was going through his mind.

He raised his eyes once more and looked deep into hers.

His eyes are gray, just like mine, she found herself thinking.

“If you think”, he whispered gravely. “I would ever hurt your sister in any way, you don’t know me at all.”

At that, Arya suddenly felt small. He would never lie. He never did it during their journey to the North. Was he lying then, as he was on the brink of death, asking a little girl to finish him off?

Then she noticed his eyes. They were sad. Hurt. Was that because of her threat? Of guilt? Or of what she thought he might do to Sansa?

Damn it, Arya.

She hid the blade again in her boot and got up, not looking again at the Hound. She didn’t say goodbye to her siblings. She didn’t look back to see his next actions. She discreetly got out of the hall and into the courtyard, where it was snowing, and she could be left alone.

The air was so cold, and yet so clean. She wondered how she managed to breathe in King’s Landing or in Braavos. She could smell the leaves in the trees, and the earth on the ground above her. And even the woods burning at the fireplaces around the keep. She could smell home.

Tears were gathering in her eyes, ones that she wouldn’t let out.

She fucked up, she knew it. Arya wondered if she had lost a friend – or some other word to describe what Sandor Clegane was to her – in the process.  

Before any other thought could pass through her mind, someone grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth with their hand. She struggled immediately. At that, she noticed how loosely the man – that hand was too calloused to be of a woman, besides the wildling one – was holding her, even though he was twice her size.

This is too easy.

She had Needle at her hip, she had a knife hidden in her boot and she had Littlefinger’s blade by the other side of her hip. But she wouldn’t need to use them.

Arya shot her elbow with all her force at the man’s stomach, knocking that air out of him. The she grabbed the arm the covered her mouth and embraced it. She pulled it with all her force downwards and sent the man flying above her crouching figure. He hit the ground with his with a deep snapping sound. Arya still held his hand while she looked at his face.

And all the air came out of her lungs.

This close, he was still the same, but totally different all the while. His blue eyes were the same, his neck was the same, even the fingers she held were the same. But now his face was covered in a light beard, his hair was a little bit longer than the last time she saw him, his arms were bigger.

His smile was the same, though.

“Gendry?”

He stared deep into her eyes and his lips opened in an even brighter smile.

“M’lady.”

Chapter Text

Bran

One of his sisters had left the hall. His other sister’s guest had also retired - maybe to his quarters, maybe to the stables. Bran didn’t want to keep track.

Let them have their privacy for once.

Now Bran sat at the end of table alone. Sansa was by Jon’s side, talking with him and the Queen, though seeming quite distressed for her companion’s disappearance. Of course, Bran didn’t mind. Gods knew he needed the silence. He tried to keep watch of the Night King this afternoon, following a flock of ravens through his green sight. But again, it backfired. Whenever the King saw him coming, it took all of Bran’s strength. He was left with a headache that would last for a couple of days. Until then, there was not much he could do.

And yet, the keep was so full of life that some sights came to him without asking. It was the case moments before Gendry Waters, the last living member of House Baratheon, entered the Hall. It wasn’t a glimpse of the future that ordered him to warn Arya. He didn’t know how to describe it. He simply knew the Queen wasn’t supposed to know of him - at least, yet.

The same thing happened when Jon arrived at Winterfell. By then, Bran was ready to tell him about his true heritage. That he was not the son of Eddard Stark, but of his sister, Lyanna. And his father was Rhaegar Targeryen, the Dragon Prince himself. But as he opened his mouth to say the truth of all of it, the same inner warning went off and he knew his brother – well, cousin – wasn’t supposed to know about it yet.

He knew there were a few possibilities to why no one should know about it. Rhaegar Targeryen was the Queen’s older brother and, if alive, would be the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. The fact that he had a son, a legitimate son, with Lyanna Stark, a noble lady, would start a questioning about Daenerys’ position as Queen. Most lords would want her to abdicate in favor of her nephew.

Besides that, he knew Daenerys and Jon were… close – something that his sisters didn’t seem to have picked up yet. Bran was young, but already understood somethings about the relationships between men and women. Or even men and men, and women and women. If Jon learned about his lineage now, his honor would demand of him to tell Daenerys. And who knew how she would react to that information?

They had managed to gain her alliance, even if it was at some cost. They had dragons now. They had dragonglass. The had an army, the biggest the North had ever seen. There was no time to take great risks. After the war was won, if they survived it, Bran would tell him everything.

Which is why he nearly panicked as he saw Samwell Tarly enter the hall.

Sam was the only other person, besides Bran, who knew about Jon’s parents. And they were close friends. Great friends, actually. And he wanted to tell Jon about everything. But Bran still hadn’t talked to him since Jon’s return.

After a few days after Sam’s arrival at Winterfell, he left again to Winter Town to gather medicines to stock up for the war – at the Stark siblings’ request. He was the closest they had to a maester, and they called him that, even though he had left the Citadel very much early before the conclusion of his studies. He had no chain around his neck, nor actual healing abilities. But he knew a few medications and somethings about History. And it was Sam who discovered that Dragonstone was sitting on an immense pile of dragonglass – the single material they needed to make weapons to destroy the White Walkers.

By the time Sam reached the table, Jon still hadn’t seen him. He touched Jon’s shoulder.

Jon turned and opened a bright smile.

“Sam?”, he laughed as he hugged his friend.

“Hi, Jon… I mean, my Lord.”

Jon looked him in the eyes and held his shoulder.

“None of this. I’m not your lord, my brother.”

Sansa got up to greet him.

“Please, sit at my place, Sam.”

“No, my lady, please, I don’t want to take your seat-”

“Don’t worry, I’m retiring for the night.”

She said her goodbyes and wishes of goodnight with extreme politeness. And yet, Bran could still see the confusion and sadness in her eyes. Sansa surely noticed Arya’s absence as well. Would she be able to understand that both their leaves were related?

Before she left, she sat by his side, taking a deep breath and recomposing herself.

“Do you want to go to bed? Or would rather stay longer?”, she asked while holding his hand.

“I’ll stay for a bit.”

“Alright”, she said and kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, Bran.”

She started to get up from her chair as he stopped her, before he could even stop himself.

“Sansa, it’s going to be alright.”

“What?”

He didn’t answer, he shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t be minding other people’s business.

“Nothing. Goodnight, sister.”

She smiled and leaned in to kiss his head once again.

“Thank you, brother”, and left. He didn’t know if she understood his meaning or not.

Well, back to the task at hand.

He moved the wheels of his chair so he could seat right next to Sam. That was a conquest, really, to be able to move around without the help from anyone. His room was placed in the ground floor, as well, so he could have more independence. So far, so good.

Jon and Sam were still standing, though, and Bran couldn’t interrupt them without drawing attention to himself.

“What are you doing in Winterfell?”, Jon asked his friend. “You were supposed to be at the Citadel.”

“That was no place for me, Jon. They maesters there are not worried about what happens with the people, or with the realms, or even with the whole Seven Kingdoms. I couldn’t stay there without helping-”

“I understand”, Jon stopped him before he said anything else. “I’m glad you’re here with us. And if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have found dragonglass. We are all grateful to you.”

Sam smiled and hugged Jon once more.

“Excuse me”, a voice said from behind Jon. “Samwell Tarly?”

“Ser Jorah?”

Ser Jorah Mormont, who has serving as the Queen’s shield this night, gave Sam a strong hug with one arm, leaving the maester baffled at the gesture.

“It’s a great pleasure to see you again, my friend.”

“It’s great to see you too, ser. No more greyscale?”

“No, nothing. Thanks to you.”

Ser Jorah turned to look at the Queen, who was watching the whole scene with curiosity.

“I apologize, Your Grace”, he said with a bow. “This man is Samwell Tarly, from the Night’s Watch. He is the one who cure my greyscale.”

For a few moments, Daenerys Targeryen didn’t say anything. She stared at Sam expressionless. But Bran was able to capture an emotion in her face. Something akin to… dread? But it lasted for just a few seconds. Then, she smiled and stood up to greet the maester.

“Then I owe you a lot, ser, for saving one of my most loyal friends.”

“There’s nothing to it, Your Grace”, Sam answered, taking a bow. “I was only doing my job.”

Finally, they took their seats again. Sam was sitting by Bran’s side, pouring a cup of wine for himself.

I need to speak to Sam now, before the dinner ends.

But before he could even open his mouth, Samwell turned to Jon again. Even though he was whispering, Bran was close enough to hear the exchange.

“Jon, I really need to speak with you. In private. It’s important.”

Jon was a little confused but nodded.

“After dinner. We can speak at the solar.”

As soon as Sam turned again, Bran grabbed him by the arm.

“What are you planning on telling him?”, he asked whispering.

“What do you mean ‘what’? You know it!”

“Shh!”

Bran looked behind Sam’s shoulder, but no one seemed to be paying attention to them.

“You cannot tell him yet.”

Sam was left startled.

“When I left for Winter Town, we agreed that we would tell him as soon as he arrived at Winterfell.”

“Yes, but now I am asking you to hold on to that information a while longer.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why”, he answered, sounding angry even. He had to remember to keep his voice down and go back to whispering. “When Jon arrived, I had this… feeling. And I cannot shake it off. Something bad will happen if he learns about it now. I need you to trust me in this.”

Sam stared at him in awe. Bran was glad they had become friends so fast. He was a good man, maybe one of the most honorable he had ever met. Sam didn’t treat him as his liege lord – thank the Gods. And Bran didn’t treat him as a subject. Sam didn’t understand the greensight. No one did. But the young man from the Night’s Watch, who was disinherited from his own House, and tried to be a maester, trusted his judgment just as his siblings did. That was the upmost trait of loyalty.

“Alright, I trust you.”

Bran let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Thank you, my friend.”

Sam smiled at him and reclined to his chair once again.

After a few moments, he turned to Bran again to whisper in his ear.

“Did Jon bend his knee to Daenerys Targeryen?”

Chapter Text

Arya

She helped him get up back on his feet. Once he stood in front of her, she noticed how much taller he got after all this time they remained apart.

Gendry shook the snow off of his clothes before looking back at her. His blue eyes looked too blue, even in the dark light.

He smiled again.

Why won’t he stop smiling?

“It’s good to see you again, m’lady.”

Arya was tempted to answer with the same sentiment. It’s been so damn long since they last saw each other.

But then she snapped.

She pushed his chest, not with all her force, but not exactly holding back either. He stumbled backwards a couple of steps, but still stood towering over her. He looked more confused than she had ever seen him. And yet, he wasn’t angry at her.

“What are you doing here?”

And she pushed him again. This time, Gendry didn’t stumble so much, holding his ground a little bit better.

“Where were you?”

And pushed him again. He let her. His arms lame at his sides. His face was unreadable, looking like Jaqen H’ghar at the House of Black and White. She didn’t like it.

“Stupid! You knew it all this time!”, she yelled out, not caring for anyone who would listen to her shouts.

At this, he stopped her, holding her hands in his. Both Gendry and Arya had calloused fingers and palms, formed after years of swinging swords and hammering steel. But his callous felt so soft to her.

“What are you talking about, m’lady?”

Again with “m’lady”. She wondered if he was doing it on purpose just to make her mad.

She almost yelled out to him again but held herself back before any words came out of her mouth. Some sense finally coming to her head. She looked around. There was nobody to be seen. And yet, they couldn’t risk it.

Arya dragged him towards the Godswood, where at this hour they would be left alone. He followed her without resistance, both of them in silence except for the breaths that came out from their mouths and their steps crunching the snow.

They reached the weirdwood tree and the dark and deep pool. It was too dark there, but she could still see his face. He was staring at the face on the wood, with its red sap and red leaves looking black in night light.

Just like blood, she thought to herself.

“Is this one of your northern gods?”

She closed the gap between the two of them, standing next to him.

As soon as she stared at the face, she felt herself relax, like the Gods themselves were watching her every move. They didn’t scare her. People scared her. The northern Gods reminded her of her father, of her brothers, and sometimes even of her mother. Sometimes, Lady Catelyn would come to this very Godswood to sit with her father when they needed to discuss serious subjects. One night, Bran told her, and only her, that their mother had told Ned Stark of Jon Arryn’s death there.

This is where it all began.

That was the moment when Ned Stark knew his best friend would ask him to be Hand of the King. And that he would have to travel South.

We should have never left Winterfell.

She looked at her side. Gendry was still fascinated with the tree before him, taking a step closer to it’s face.

“You can say so”, she answered, looking at the eyes and mouth. “First time seeing a weirwood tree?”

“First time seeing a weirwood tree”, he repeated, his mouth forming a grin. “Doing a lot of first times lately.”

He was looking at her know, waiting for her to look back at him. She didn’t.

“Did you know all this time you were Robert Baratheon’s son?”

“No”, he answered, all the carelessness gone from his voice.

“When did you find out?”

“The Red Woman”, he answered while moving himself to stand in front of her. Arya had no choice but to look him in the eye. “She took me to Dragonstone, to meet Stannis. She told me I was King Robert’s bastard after… Well, after putting leeches in my body and burning my blood in the fires.”

Arya didn’t know much about the followers of R’hllor. Only that the religion itself involved lots of sacrifices. And lots of fires.

They were really close now, a couple of steps separated them.

 “Were you at Dragonstone during all this time?”

“No. Ser Davos freed me. I went back to King’s Landing, went back to be a smith.”

“And then?”

He smiled again.

“Then Ser Davos found me and took me to your brother, the King in the North.”

“And then?”

He took a little step closer.

“And then I fought with him north of the Wall, to bring back a White Walker to Cersei Lannister.”

“And then?”, she whispered, feeling the heat of his body so close to her own.

“And then I came North, to Winterfell”, he whispered back, still with that stupid grin of his face. “To you.”

Before she could say anything else, he took the final step that separated them and held her in a strong embrace. His body was hard, even with all the leather and furs that involved him. And yet, it felt like home. She didn’t stop herself from embracing him back, her head laying in his chest. She took a deep breath and smelled the winter in him, like he became a northerner.

They stood a while holding each other comfortably, never minding the snow that fell around them.

“And then?”, Arya asked in a whisper.

He laughed that same laugh that she heard so many times while traveling with the Brotherhood.

“And the I’m here, with you, in Winterfell, preparing for the wars to come.”

They slowly parted and stood facing each other.

“I found Hot Pie on my way North”, she said. “He’s working as a baker at an inn. The family the runs it practically adopted him.”

“Good for him, he deserves a family.”

“Yes, he does.”

They remained silently for a while. Gendry sat at one of the roots of the weirwood tree that stood out from the snow.

“How ‘bout you?”, he asked. “I told my journey, but I still don’t know how you ended up here.”

“It’s kind of a long tale.”

“Tell me.”

Arya told him her story then, not giving much away like she had done with Sansa. Maybe there would be time later that she could tell him everything, all of her fears and conquests. But not now. She had just reencountered him and they were not the same people the once were when they last saw each other. They were no longer Arya or Arry, the orphan child, and he was no longer Gendry Waters, the smith. She was Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell now and he was the last member of House Baratheon, even if as a bastard.

She told him of The Hound, how she ended up travelling with him. But didn’t tell him that she saw him as a friend now – maybe he would laugh at her for it. Not entering in many details, she recounted the time when she left him to die and went to find a ship to Braavos. Of when she met Jaqen H’ghar at the House of Black and White, of her training to become no one. But didn’t tell him of Meryn Trant, or of her time as a blind beggar girl.

She closed her tale of her arrival at Winterfell and all the mummer’s farce that involved working on Littlefinger’s trial. Arya told him that she was the one to execute him with his own dagger, cutting his throat and leaving him to bleed on Winterfell’s floors.

“So you became a killer, then”, he said finally after she finished her story. “You became No One.”

“No. If I were No One, I wouldn’t be here. I would be at Braavos, collecting names for the God of Many Faces. I became Arya Stark, of Winterfell.”

He regarded her with serious eyes and nodded.

“They call you the Wild Wolf”, he said. “I heard some talks around the castle that you train not only with Brienne of Tarth but also with the Hound. And that you beat them every time.”

“Not every time. Sometimes we tie.”

He laughed out loud and stood up.

“I would like to see that.”

“Just come tomorrow morning to the training grounds. You’re in for a good show.”

The started walking back to the keep. The whole castle was a lot quieter now, with the dinner coming to an end and every lord and lady retiring to bed. Arya was tired too and had nearly forgot with her quarrel with the Hound that night.

I will deal with him come morning, she promised herself.

Gendry accompanied her to the entrance of the Hall, where there was no one. There, they would part ways. She would go to the room she shared with Sansa and he would go to the soldier’s quarters.

Before she could wish him goodnight, he stood facing her.

“You look beautiful, m’lady.”

Arya could feel herself blushing at the compliment, her heart seeming to beat once a little too strong. And yet, she didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I’m not beautiful”, she tried to say without the tremble in her voice. “My sister is.”

“Yes, you are. And so is your sister.”

“Thank you”, she answered and looked away, trying to disguise her embarrassment. “You look good too.”

He grinned a little, but before he could even open his mouth, she punched him lightly in the arm.

“But call me ‘m’lady’ again and I will beat you to the ground.”

Chapter Text

Arya

She opened the door slowly as to not wake her sister. Once she closed the door behind her, Arya noticed the fires were still burning low. Sansa was lying asleep on her side of the bed, facing the stone wall.

Without making any noise, just as she had learned with Syrio Forel, the Hound and at the House of Black and White, Arya undressed and put on her night shift.

Quiet as a shadow, the words came back to her.

Then she pushed the covers and slowly eased herself on the feather bed. As soon as she closed her eyes, laying her head on the pillow to sleep, there was a disturbance of the silence of the room.

Sansa turned to face her, fully awake, her blue eyes glistening even in the low light of the fireplace. She lifted herself in one elbow and stared down at Arya, looking very much awake.

“Where were you?”, she asked, not seeming angry nor worried, but curious.

 “The Godswood”, Arya answered as if nothing was wrong.

“You left dinner with the Queen to go to the Godswood?”, Sansa questioned her skeptically.

“Yes, I went to pray.”

At that, a little smile opened at Sansa’s lips.

“I thought you only believed in the God of Death.”

Arya didn’t even hesitate.

“Maybe I’m starting to believe in the Old Gods again.”

“You’re lying”, her sister said, still not angry. On the contrary, she was exceptionally calm. But Arya wouldn’t let appearances fool her. She knew Sansa was curious, and she knew Sansa was troubled with something. Maybe with Arya’s behavior at dinner. Maybe with something else entirely.

She didn’t want to talk about Gendry. At least, not yet. Not while she didn’t know what he was to her. Not while she didn’t understand why he had held her. Not while she didn’t understand why he had called her beautiful.

“Perhaps I am.”

Sansa nodded and sat up in a straight posture, one that Septa Mordane would be proud of. It looked like she would give orders or solve matters of the kingdom – not that she was about to go to sleep in a night shift with her hair braided so that her curls wouldn’t get messy in the morning.

But she didn’t say anything for a long time. She just stared out the flames with a blank face. It was the same expression Sansa wore when she didn’t let anyone read her emotions. It was a piece of armor she wore to survive those times she was taken hostage or kidnapped. But now she was at home, she was safe. It was like Arya herself was her enemy, and not her family. It was rare the she would wear that mask nowadays, but it was still unsettling.

Finally, Sansa breathed heavily, and her shoulders relaxed from its rigid position.

“I won’t force you to say something you don’t want to”, she said, deep in thought. “But I want you to remember that I am your sister and we’re not children anymore. We trust each other.”

And then, Sansa turned to look at her little sister. This time her face bared an emotion Arya could not name, an emotion that looked almost like sorrow.

“Why did Sandor Clegane leave the table right after you?”, she whispered.

Arya stared at her sister in disbelief. Of course she would have noticed. The strange thing about it was that Sansa actually cared that the Hound had left the table. She was worried about the exchange of words between the two of them.

What is it to her what I say to the Hound? And yet, Arya knew he meant something more than just a sword to Sansa.

Arya sat up on the bed facing Sansa. But she did not speak for a while. She thought about what the right thing was to say. That she thought the Hound was a threat to Sansa, even though he was an ally? That the way he looked at her sister was no way a man should look at his liege lady?

At the end, Arya decided for a way out.

“I’ll tell you. Only if you tell me why he was sitting by your side this evening.”

Sansa’s eyes grew wide, just a little bit. Arya let it pass and she nodded in acceptance.

“He…”, Arya began, finding hard to choose between the words. “He said that you… Damn it!”

Sansa didn’t say anything, just waited.

“We were near the Vale”, Arya breathed out. “He was dying – or at least we thought he was. I didn’t want to give him the gift.”

Arya stopped again, closing her eyes. Why is this happening? Why Sansa wants to know about this?

Then, her sister held her hand in reassurance. Arya opened her eyes again and stared at Sansa’s. They were clear, even though the lines of worry were appearing around them.

“So he said horrible things. He wanted to make me angry, to make me mad with him. He told me about Mycah, about how he killed him while he begged for mercy. And he talked about… About you.”

Sansa’s eyes grew wide again, this time in shock. She also seemed to have stopped breathing.

At that, Arya felt panic grow inside of herself.

“Sansa?”

“What did he say?”

“Sansa, did he…”, but she anxious and wouldn’t let Arya ask.

“What did he say, Arya?”

Arya felt like crying, something she hadn’t done since the Red Wedding.

“He said he should’ve taken you the night when the Blackwater burned. And that he should’ve raped you then.”

Sansa’s face was blank again, but her face was paler.

“Did he, Sansa?”

“No”, she answered immediately. “He would never, he’s not his brother.”

Why is she defending him?

“Then what happened that night?”

Sansa stood up and stared pacing the room, looking like one of those animals that were caged to fight in gruesome pits for the entertainment of men. She was looking for a way out. Arya wouldn’t let her.

“Sansa?”

She didn’t answer.  

Arya felt bile rise in her throat, thinking about what one of the most fearsome men in the Seven Kingdoms could have done to her sister.

I should have killed him. I should have tortured him.

Arya was panicking, even though her sister hadn’t given her confirmation – and didn’t seem to want to. So, she needed another tactic.

“Then tell me why he was sitting by your side at dinner.”

Sansa stopped her pacing and stared back at Arya. She took small steps towards the bed and held both of her sister’s hands in hers.

“We made an agreement, right?”, Sansa whispered. “I tell you my secrets, you tell me yours, and no one else will know about them.”

“Yes”, Arya said, gripping her hands firmly. “I would never betray you.”

Sansa let out a little smile and kissed her sister’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

She stared out at the flames a little more, and this time Arya knew she shouldn’t say anything while she waited for her to speak.

“Sandor Clegane was my only friend in King’s Landing”, she whispered as if she feared someone would listen and judge her. “He spoke harsh words to me, he never stopped the beatings from the Kingsguard and he didn’t take me from that place, but he saved me all the same.”

Arya remained silent.

“I told you Meryn Trant gave me scars following Joffrey’s orders”, Sansa continued. “He also stripped me bare in front of the whole court. Only two people acted against those orders: Tyrion Lannister, who interrupted his nephew, and Sandor Clegane, who gave me his own cloak so I could cover myself.”

Arya open her mouth to say something, even though she had no words to say, but Sansa didn’t let her.

“Even before that, he helped me. No, he saved me”, she was speaking as if she was mad and sad at the same time. “When father died, Joffrey took me to see his head at a spike. I almost pushed him from the battlements. He would surely have died from the fall. Maybe I would have died with him. I didn’t care.”

She stood up in front of her sister.

“Sandor Clegane didn’t let me. I had a bloody nose and he kneeled to clean the blood. You see, he was Joff’s shield. If he were any of those knights, he would’ve cut my head for threatening his king. But he didn’t.”

“Later, it was Joffrey’s nameday. A knight, Ser Dontos, appeared drunk at the tourney. I tried to save him from execution and lied, telling him it was bad luck to kill someone at his own nameday. Sandor Clegane supported my declaration. He lied for me. He hates liars.”

Arya was transfixed at her sister. She was laughing and crying at the same time, all those memories coming back to her at once. Arya didn’t know what to do but let her continue and get it all out from herself. She had kept those inside her for years and now she finally had someone to tell.

“There was a riot at Myrcella’s department to Dorne. The people were hungry and demanded bread, insulting the king, calling him a bastard and fruit of incest. I couldn’t get to the gates, so I ran. But other men followed me, held me down and tried to rape me. Sandor Clegane appeared and killed those men and brought me to safety. Joffrey had told his knights to leave me behind. He didn’t follow his king’s orders.”

“The night of the Blackwater, I was held at the Maidenvault with all the other noble ladies. Cersei told me that If Stannis were to win, Illyn Payne would cut off our heads. At the first chance, I ran to my room. If I was able to keep myself safe until the battle was over, I could surrender to Stannis and beg him to let me return to Robb and mother.”

Sansa stopped her tale, tears spilling from her eyes.

“He was there, lying on my bed. He was covered in blood and he was drunk. He told me he could take me away, back to Robb, that he would keep me safe and would kill anyone who tried to hurt me. I was frightened, I said I would stay. I should’ve said yes in a blink on an eye. I regret that every day.”

Arya felt her heart stop for a second.

What is she saying?

“Sansa?”, she asked after a long silence from her sister.

“He held a knife to my throat, demanding a song. And I was so scared, I gave him the wrong one. And don’t think me naïve, I now know what kind of song he was asking for. But he would never rape me, Arya. I know him that well.”

Sansa walked to the side of the bed and kneeled on the floor. She dragged one of the cedar chests that were kept under the bedding. They were filled with things from Winterfell’s past, at least that they managed to safe. One had their mother’s bride’s cloak and a few of her jewelries. Other had their father’s belongings.

The one Sansa dragged out was one filled with their uncles and aunt’s possessions. They were few, barely filling the chest. Sansa took out a key and opened the lock. She searched for the bottom of it and retrieved a white fabric. It had red and black stains, which Arya suspected to be blood and mud. At the same time it looked like nothing Arya had ever seen, it also looked strangely familiar.

Then she saw the tear in one end, as if had been ripped from its clasps. And it seemed that all of Sansa’s mysteries were finally solved. Now she understood the emotions Sansa tried so hard to keep from her, and also from anyone else.

The coloring was unforgettable, as well as it’s shape.

Arya swallowed dry and felt her mouth opening against her will. She already knew the answer to her next question.

“Sansa”, she whispered while her sister’s eyes began to fill with tears again. “To which Kingsguard does this cloak belong to?”

Chapter Text

Sansa

It didn’t take long for Sansa to notice that she was making her way to the stables. All morning – actually, all night since she never got any sleep after her talk with Arya – she had been anxious. She got up early, taking a bath without waiting for the water to cool down a little. She broke fast with her family, barely eating or drinking anything. Even Jon noticed something was off, despite all her attempts to make herself look well and relaxed.

How could she be calm? How could she seem relaxed right before what she was about to do?

She knew Sandor Clegane was training at that moment. She had heard the roars of men who cheered for him. Even though he had a dark past, he had conquered some admiration of the northerners, and even of the queen’s khalasar and unsullied, as a skilled fighter. But she was not blind, and she doubted he was either. He still stole unwanted glances towards himself. Sansa knew they called him the “Lannister’s Dog” and “Craven”. She wanted to undo that, and knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But if only he accepted her offer, that would be a great step towards progress.

But first, Sansa needed to face him about what happened the night before, about what Arya had told him. And about what happened at the night of the Blackwater.

She knew she would find him at the stables as soon as the training was over. It became a constant in his daily routine. He would break his fast with the men, train and care for his horse, sometimes taking him for a ride, if snow wasn’t too harsh.

She was waiting by Stranger’s stall, keeping a safe distance from his hooves and teeth. Though this time he did not seemed as mad as he usually was. He ate his hay, looked at Sansa while chewing, and then went back for more.

He also wasn’t kicking the air nor pulling his ears back. He was... peaceful. Something that Sansa had never seen before.

Feeling bold, she took a step closer to the horse, but still far away for him not to bite her. Still, he would just keep eating his hay. Growing even bolder, she took two more steps, almost touching the wooden bay. She didn’t raise her hand, but the horse nudged her arm lightly with his nose, as if he was just as afraid of her as she was of him.

She did her best not to shiver. Raising her hand slowly, like someone would to touch a snake, she touched her fingers first at his nose. He didn’t scare her off, but he stopped, like suddenly he had grown aware only of her.

She stood there, facing the horse and he facing her. It took Sansa long seconds until she finally petted his face, running her fingers to touch the maine that fell between his eyes.

They were both breathing hard and Sansa couldn’t hold any longer the smile that was forming in her lips. It was like the animal understood her and what happened between them. It was a sort of peace treaty.

Drawing back, Stranger shook his head and Sansa held her hand, that seemed to be vibrating with energy, in her other one. The horse didn’t go back to his hay this time. Instead kept his head out of the door, waiting for her.

Sansa looked back, towards where Stranger’s nose was pointing, and saw a leather bag. She opened it and saw there were two apples. Surely Sandor had kept them for his horse. She took one of them and as she faced Stranger, saw a dilemma.

Will he bite me?

Stranger was a smart animal. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did all of that just to get her to feed him the apple. And as soon as she was close enough, he would sink his teeth in her hand.

And yet, she wanted to be the one to give the infamous war horse an apple – with the exception of its master, of course.

Still too scared to say anything, Sansa simply got closer and raised her hand slowly towards his mouth. Ever since she was a child, her father had taught her how to feed a horse. She had to keep her palms open, and her fingers pulled back. Otherwise, there would be blood and maybe an amputation.

She was close enough now. If Stranger would just stick his neck a little bit out, he would get his apple.

“He’ll bite your fingers off”, a deep voice rasped from the doorway, scaring Sansa out of her life.

As of consequence, she dropped the apple and it rolled inside the horse’s bay. As soon as he saw it, Stranger lowered his neck and took the apple from the floor, quickly devouring it.

Sansa’s heart was speeding now. And the reason wasn’t the scare.

She looked at the entry of the stables and saw him, standing in his light leather armor and his hair wet from sweat and snow. In one hand he had his blunt sword, that he used for training. In the other one, he had a bucket of water, probably for Stranger.

For a few seconds too long, they just stood in their places, staring at each other. It was Sansa who made the first move.

“He let me touch him”, she said, as if she were a child justifying her actions.

She could see Sandor raising his eyebrow, as in disbelief and surprise. He was tense, she could see that. But wasn’t he always?

He lowered his sword by the wall and approached her, bringing with him the water bucket. But when he reached her, he didn’t turn to her. He petted Stranger and left the bucket inside of his bay so he could drink it.

Now that Sandor was close, she could smell him. His scent was of sweat, yes, but also of something that was so… him. He smelled of snow and wood. She found that she didn’t mind it one bit, and rather enjoy it. It was the scent of the North, of a northerner fighter.

That made her think of thoughts that no noble lady should be thinking for any man, except her lord husband.

I’ve grown out of my Septa’s lessons though, she said to herself, trying to remember when it was the last time she thought of songs of knights, flowers and stolen glances. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Sansa then came back to the real world and noticed that he hadn’t said anything yet.

“How was training?”, she tried, though knowing he hated small talks.

“What do you want, lady Sansa?”, he responded, sounding exhausted.

“To talk to you”, she answered firmly.

He turned his head slightly to look at her.

“About?”, he asked skeptically.

“You know what.”

He turned to face now, but kept his back at the wooden bay, with Stranger’s neck by his side. It was as if both man and horse were staring at her. That made her feel small. Sandor’s face didn’t let anything transpire. He could be mad, or he could be simply serious. She didn’t know.

“Talk then.”

That’s the way it’s going to be, Sandor?

But she wouldn’t let herself break.

“Why did you leave dinner last night?”

But, of course, he would notice.

“You already know why”, he said, now sounding angry, and added: “My lady”.

“Now I am your ‘lady’?”, now it was she who was getting mad.

He laughed something that sounded like how the Hound would laugh.

“You were always my lady. Too noble even to look at the likes of me.”

She took a deep breath and took a few steps back, until she was touching the wall behind her, standing in the same position he was. Suddenly, Sansa felt so tired. This was not the way it was supposed to go. But she could not lose her temper. Not now when he was somewhat willing to talk to her.

“Arya told me about what she said to you.”

“Of course she did.”

“And I need you to know”, she raised her voice a little, keeping him from talking meanly about her sister. “that I hold no bad blood from that night.”

“What night, my lady?”.

Again with ‘my lady’.

“Now who’s lying? You know which night.”

“Say it”, he groaned.

She took a deep breath once more.

“The night of the Blackwater.”

That seemed to get some effect on him. He took a step forward. Then another, and another, and another. And he was standing close to her again. If she reached her hand just a little, she could touch him. And she wanted so badly to touch him. But she controlled herself.

“You should be scared for what I did that night.”

“I am not”, she answered quickly. “I mean what I said the other day. I am grateful to you, Sandor. For everything you’ve done for me and my family.”

“Silly little bird”, he whispered in a low rasp. “I’m not one of those pretty knights of the songs you like so much.”

“No, you’re not”, she whispered back. “You are better.”

He grabbed her arm so fast she did not see it. But he wasn’t crushing it, like she knew he could.

“Look at me!”

“I am!”, she groaned back.

He arched his eyebrows in surprise at her response but said nothing of it. He also did not let go of her arm.

He was so close now. And yet, she wanted to be closer.

“You’re the same little and silly child of King’s Landing if you still don’t know what I wanted to do to you that night, my lady.”

“Stop calling me ‘my lady’. And I now know what kind of song you were expecting of me.”

His eyes were piercing her, but they were sad now. Sansa didn’t like it.

“And I know”, she continued, softly this time. “that you would never have gone through with it.”

The air was so tense that she thought she could grasp it in her hands.

“You don’t know me, Sansa”, he whispered. She felt something like relief after listening to him say her name. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

She was quiet now. She didn’t understand if that was a threat.

She raised her hand and touched his burnt cheek, just as she had done the night that the world burned green and had run to her room to seek refuge from the Baratheon army. It felt so soft, it felt so good. How could she have forgotten that? How could anyone think that his face would be rasp like stone? It was ridged, yes, but it was skin still - even if burnt. 

And she was right. He was her refuge then. Only that she didn’t accept his offer of safety. But that didn't matter, she had grown smarter. Sandor would be her safe haven from now on.

“I’m not afraid of you, Sandor”, she whispered while she lightly stroked his scars.

“You should be”, he whispered back. The hand that held her arm started to run down to the tip of her fingers, all while leaving her skin on fire.

Then his hand moved to her hip, and then to her waist. His other hand followed, and both held her strongly in place.

“I would’ve taken what I wanted that night”, he said as if he was trying to scare her. He was failing at that. “I wasn’t lying to your sister.”

Sansa remembered the kiss he had stolen from her. It seemed so long ago, she could barely recall how it felt.

“I know. And yet, you told me you wouldn't hurt me and that you would kill anyone who dared try. I trusted you then and I trust you now.”

Out of the sudden, he grew angry again.

“Don’t.”

And then his mouth was on hers.

It was as if the world and time had stopped. Her eyes closed and she could feel every second passing, and every movement his lips made against hers. It was warm, no, hot. She had kissed men before. Joffrey. Petyr Baelish. Ramsay. But nothing ever felt like that.

And then she realized Sandor had never kissed her, not even that night in her room in the Red Keep. Otherwise, there was no way she would not have remembered it.

Half of his lips was scarred. But that wasn’t a bad thing. It felt rough against her own, inciting a wonderful feeling inside of her core. He was moving rudely, and suddenly he would be gentle. It was an endless cycle – one that she never wanted to end.

Then his tongue touched her lower lip, and a shiver ran down her body. And then it was opening her lips, touching her own tongue. It was hot, it was fever.

Sansa was on fire.

She felt like her legs were weak, that they could crumble at any moment. So, she held him back. She threw one arm around his neck, grabbing his hair in her fingers. The other, the one that was touching his face, found its way to his waist, circling his strong back. At that, one of his hand held her face, surprisingly gently for a man like him, even with calloused fingers, and the other one mimicked hers, going around her back. He was surrounding her and she could feel how strong his body and arms were. And so, so warm. 

Their breaths were mingling around them, going fast and at times stopping. Sansa could still very touch, every kiss, every shock. And she knew he could feel it too.

The heat was only getting higher. Her blood was singing in her veins like something she had never felt before. She was moaning and she couldn’t help herself. He was groaning too.

And all out of the sudden, he wasn’t kissing her anymore. She opened her eyes and saw him staring back at her. He was… scared.

He let go of her as he had seen a ghost, leaving her confused. Even though he was no longer touching her, her body was still aflame.

They were both breathing hard and fast, and they respiration didn’t seem to want to slow down.

Long seconds, maybe minutes, passed and he said nothing. Sansa was too bewitched to say anything, the taste of him still on her tongue. Now that he wasn’t kissing her anymore, she could point that out. He tasted of fresh water.

He took a last look at her, longing and scared, turned his back and started to walk out of the stables.

Her back was against the wall, holding her in place – first for his attack on her senses, and now for his leaving.

“Sandor, wait.”

He didn’t turn back to her.

“Please, I want to talk to you.”

Again, nothing. His strides were leading him closer and closer to the door.

“I want you to be Lord Commander of Winterfell”, she practically yelled out with a shaking voice.

He turned then, anger in his eyes.

“No, you don’t”, he groaned lowly.

“But I do”, she said. And took a deep breath, trying not to show the weakness in her voice. “Please.”

He bit his lip, something she had never seen him do before. He was in conflict.

Sansa was hopeful, even though she had no reason to be. Not after the way he had left her burning and cold at the same time.

“Do as you wish, my lady.”

That broke something inside of her, and he surely saw it in her eyes.

But he still turned his back again and left.

Chapter Text

He was trying to focus on the taste of the wine. It was not a dornish red, nor an arbor gold. But he wasn’t drinking for his pleasure. He was drinking for a purpose. And if he could get a buzz, better yet. He wanted to forget.

But no matter how much he drank the sour and strong northern wine, he couldn’t get the taste of her out of his memory.

She tastes like fucking honeywater and lemons. Were there even lemons this far North? Could their trees grow in the frozen ground?

Sandor took another swig, sitting alone at the armory surrounded by swords, armor and shields. The place was the only one that had no one in sight. He didn’t want to risk going to the Godswood and finding another damn Stark. It was dark and cold there, without any fires in the hearth.

In the end, the place didn’t matter, as long as he was left alone.

Damn her.

When he kissed Sansa, it was meant to scare her. It was meant to warn her to stay away from him, from the danger that he represented to her. But that was Sandor lying to himself. He kissed her because he wanted to. Since his reencounter with her at the gates of Winterfell, with snow falling around her shoulders and hair, he wanted her.

He had wronged her too many times, ever since King’s Landing. How could she care about him? How could she be grateful for the things he’d done? She had said that the first time they talked in the stables, and she had said that again today. Why? He let them beat her, humiliate her. Fuck, he was the one to bring her to Cersei when she first got her moonblood. The only time he had ever offered to end her torture in the Red Keep was when he held a knife to her throat and demanded a song. Why would she ever follow him out of that place? What assurance had she that he wouldn’t rape and murder her before they even left the city?

And yet, despite all his doubts, she had kissed him back. She had kissed him back, she had held him back, gods, she had moaned.

Sandor felt like he had been burnt all over again.

Damn her, he thought again and again.

Why would she ever want a scarred fucker like him?

He stilled the bottle and laid it on the floor, throwing his head back until it touched the wooden post behind him. He closed his eyes, finally beginning to feel his blood heat because of the wine. Or maybe it was because of her, he didn’t know.

“Little bird”, he whispered to himself.

Sandor was fooling himself. He would never forget her.

She said she wanted to make him Lord Commander. He didn’t want to think about that. Until this morning, he was preparing to fight the army of the dead again. He was training every day and helping train other soldiers. He was getting ready to fight alongside the queen’s khalasar and unsullied. And, of course, her dragons.

Fire. Again.

Would he stay behind at Winterfell?

He sat there for a long time, or at least it felt like it. He didn’t fall asleep but felt that his mind as slowing down as if he was about to.

Until he heard heavy footsteps entering the armory and walking to him.

The person stood close to him. Sandor could feel the eyes looking at him, but he refused to open his eyes.

“Get the fuck out”, he murmured to the unknow man.

“Never saw you drinking”, Tormund Giantsbane answered.

Sandor snorted and opened his eyes. The wildling was standing in front of him, with his battle axe in one hand and surrounded by furs covered in snow.

He looked like a mad man, specially in fighting. He laughed while striking his opponents and his ginger hair matched his red face. He hated to admit, but Tormund was the closest friend – if not the only one – Sandor ever had. He didn’t know the man’s history, only that he had been born and raised beyond of the Wall. And Tormund didn’t seem to know much about Sandor, only that he was a skilled fighter and a southerner. That was enough for both of them, it seemed.

“What?”

“I said I never saw you drinking”, he repeated. “Wine, ale, liquor… Only water. Didn’t think you like it.”

“What is it to you?”

Tormund smiled at him, as if knowing something that Sandor didn’t.

“Just thought there might be a reason for you to start drinking now.”

Sandor didn’t answer, just closed his eyes again.

He hadn’t drank since before he fought the Tarth bitch near the Vale. His head had been clear through all this time. During his time with Septon Meribald, while he recovered from his injuries, he begged for wine and a clean death. But no one would give it to him. Instead, they healed him. He had more scars now, but he was alive. He could still fight. But he got out from his recovery bed without ever wanting to drink another drop of wine.

Until today.

He heard Tormund moving again and lying his weapon on the floor. The man then breathed heavily and remained quiet for a few seconds.

“Why do they call you ‘The Hound’?”

“What?”

“Somebody got too much snow in their ears”, he laughed. “Your name is Sandor Clegane. Why ‘The Hound’?”

Sandor snorted again. This time, he opened his eyes to stare at Tormund, who was sitting directly in front of him.

“Clegane’s sigil is three hounds in a yellow field”, he answered simply. “And also, I’m good at killing.”

“Why the three dogs?”

“Again, I ask: what is it to you?”

“I’m curious”, he answered waving his hand in the air.

Sandor breathed heavily. He didn’t want to argue with the man now.

“My grandfather defended Lord Tytos Lannister from a lioness in Casterly Rock. Three of his dogs died with the beast. The Lannister decided to give him lands and a keep, and the family became a House.”

Tormund arched his eyebrows and nodded.

“Lannister. Isn’t that the same House Snow is fighting against? With the queen that fucks her brother?”

Sandor couldn’t help but grin a little.

“Yep, the very same.”

“And you used to serve them.”

“Yes. I was the guard to her cunt of a son, the fucking King.” Even the idea of Joffrey was enough to make him see red.

“Why did you leave?”

“I was fucking done”, he answered without any details. He just didn’t to go over all of that again.

He saw Tormund’s confusion with all the information.

“One day I’ll tell you all about Westeros Houses and families”, he said. “One day that I’m not drunk.”

“Good enough. But it’ll have to be soon, I’ll be leaving in a few days.”

“I’ll tell you before then. Or in the battlefield.” He preferred not to say that he might not be leaving to fight the undead.

Then, Tormund asked for the bottle of wine. Sandor gave it to him and the wildling too a long swig, but not enough for a man of his size to get drunk.

“I have another question”, he declared.

“Out with it then.”

“How were you burnt? You told me someone pushed you.”

Sandor stopped, his grin became undone. There were few people who had the guts to ask him about his scars. He only told two people about them. Both were Starks.

He felt like the elder sister was touching his scars again.

He stared at the other man for a long time. He didn’t know if he wanted to tell anyone else about his past.

Fuck it.

“It was my brother, he shoved my face against the flames when we were younger.”

Tormund’s eyes grew wide.

“That’s a terrible thing to receive from a brother.”

“Aye, it fucking is.”

Sandor didn’t resist taking another gulp of wine as Tormund passed him the drink.

“Once you told me I was ‘kissed by fire’, just like you. What does that mean?”, he asked in whispers.

“It’s a sign of good luck. There aren’t many redheads in the North as here in the South.”

Sansa was kissed by fire then.

“And I was kissed by fire because of my face?”

“Aye. If you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of people who get burnt and live to tell about it.”

“Luck you say”, he muttered. “Luck would be not getting burnt in the first place.”

“Maybe”, Tormund said as he started to get up from his position. “But you survived all the same. Fuck, I survived, and I lived in the North. Even Snow’s sister has been through some shit and is still alive.

Sansa. He remembered that he still didn’t know everything about what had happened to her. What have they done to you?

“Aye.”

Sandor got up and started to follow Tormund out of the armory. It was colder now, with the snow was falling heavily on the dirt. Soon, it would be time for lunch and the dining rooms would be filled with people. He considered taking a plate to his own room and eating there, sobering up to continue the chores of the day.

“What happened between you and Snow’s sister?”

Sandor held himself to not close his eyes in defeat. But he couldn’t help but notice how his breath stopped. As a way out, he faked Tormund was talking about the other sister.

“The little brat? I took her from Berric’s men and tried to ramson her to…”

“Not that sister”, he cut him off. “The other one, Sansa. The one that was kissed by fire like you and I.”

“She was betrothed to the King while I was his guard.”

Tormund nodded.

“And?”

“And nothing. She was beaten and humiliated in that place. I just stood there and watched.”

“What about this morning at the stables?”

Sandor turned his head fast enough for Tormund to notice it. He had a grin in his lips and seemed to be laughing at his expense. There was no use lying to him now.

“If you tell anyone…”, he threatened, beginning to reach for one of the many swords displayed at the armory.

“Easy, I won’t tell”, he whispered while still chuckling. “I don’t know what happened between the both of you. I just saw you leaving the stables and then her doing the same thing. Both looking… Well, not happy.”

Sandor said nothing more and stared out to the snow.

“Well, see you at lunch”, Tormund said as started to head out. But before he could disappear into the keep, he turned, laughing, and pointed his axe at Sandor. “You’re a damn liar, Clegane.”

“How’s that?”, getting madder and madder by the second the wildling stood there with that fucking smile on his mouth.

“You told me you hated gingers. You’re a fucking liar.”

Chapter Text

Arya

Arya was bored. Bran had a book on his lap and was reading it with undivided attention. Jon was sitting by Sansa’s side at their father’s desk, teaching her about war strategies. Today, the lesson was about using the terrain as an advantage in the battlefield. If an army could have the higher ground, better for the strike and for the defense. Other way was using forests as fortresses, using the trees to hide and place ambushes.

Arya knew all of that. She had learnt during her lessons with Syrio Forel, during her journey with the Hound and as No One in Braavos. She didn’t know all the details of those strategies. Robb and Jon had Ned Stark to teach them about the ways of war. Arya had learnt them instinctively. And now Sansa would have to acquire that knowledge fast. Lucky for her, Jon was a great commander – even Tormund had said so.

Arya too had a book with her, but she read only two pages before giving up. It was the history of House Targaryen since Aegon, the Conqueror and his sisters wives, Visenya and Rhaenys. Arya loved that story. She loved that the three of them, even the women, had dragons and used them to fight. Blood was shed, maybe unnecessarily, but it was still amazing. Arya would love to ride a dragon, take him up to the skies only to fall back again to the ground, just like Aegon and Balerion, The Dread did.

Would Daenerys ever allow me to ride one of her dragons?

Arya felt her chest tighten at the memory of Nymeria. She was big enough now to ride. But that was not her anymore. She was a wild creature now.

Despite loving that book, today she felt restless. She wanted to get out of the room and practice. Maybe Gendry would join her in training, like they did every day since their reunion. They wouldn’t talk much, just fight. He had an enormous war hammer and he was good with it, fast with it. Unlucky for him, Arya was faster with a sword. They laughed together. Once, he even pushed the hair away from her face with a surprising sweetness. That made Arya blush, which was not an easy thing.

But Arya stayed at the solar. She didn’t want to leave her siblings. Actually, she didn’t want to leave Sansa.

Her sister had been in a terrible mood the past week. She was still courteous as ever, greeting every soldier, every lord and every worker in the keep. She smiled and did her duties faithfully. And yet, Arya could see that something was making her unhappy. Her smiles were fake. It was the same expression Sansa wore when she didn’t let anyone read her emotions. It was a piece of armor she wore to survive those times she was taken hostage, kidnapped and worse. But now she was at home, she was safe. It was like Arya herself, or Bran or Jon were her enemies and not her family.

Sansa had not told her what was wrong, not even before sleep. Arya would enter their room, and she would be already asleep. In the mornings, when Arya woke, she was already gone. Because of that, Arya hadn’t gathered the courage to tell her sister about Gendry. Somethings were supposed to be told only at night, and only in the safety of the bedding the sisters shared. And Arya wanted to tell, badly. But she couldn’t do that before knowing what was disturbing Sansa.

So, she at least stayed with her during her lessons. Jon would sit with Sansa every single day for many hours straight. In a few days, Tormund, Berric and a few men would leave for the Wall. They would be responsible for keeping track of the advances of the army of the dead. When they reached the Wall, a raven would fly to Winterfell so Jon and Daenerys can lead their armies North. The Wall was impregnable, so that gave them time too train, gather more soldiers, build more weapons and strategies – both for the battle North and for Winterfell.

Sansa was doing better than she gave herself credit for. Arya had never seen her sister read so much. Everywhere she went, she had a book, parchment and a quill in hand to keep studying. She already knew how to control and convince the northern lords to her will. She already knew how to run a keep. She was the one who summoned the knights of the Vale during the Battle of the Bastards against Jon’s orders – though he was now thankful that she didn’t listen to him. Learning the ways of war was just another step for her to become a true Lady of Winterfell, even more skilled than any other woman who ever lead the North. Besides, Arya and Bran would give all the support she may need.

It was almost night when Jon and Sansa finished their lessons for the day, and Arya and Bran had stayed with them through it all. They would all dine together. The books and parchments were put back in their places and their meal was brought to the solar. They were all sitting at the round table in silence, eating and drinking their wine tiredly. Arya was thinking about taking a bath before going to bed and, the next day, she would ride around the keep. She looked through the windows and saw that the snow was falling softly in the air. Hopefully, the weather would be the same come morning.

That’s when she noticed Sansa, who was sitting directly in front of the pane and was not touching her food. She was supposed to be hungry, they hadn’t eaten anything since midday. Still, her sister would just push her food with a fork and sometimes sip from her cup.

Sansa lifted her face and her sight crossed with Arya’s. The sisters stared at each other for a while, not saying anything. Until the silence was unbearable.

“Sansa?”, Arya questioned softly.

“Arya”, she answered as if nothing was wrong.

But, of course, something was not right.

“Is everything alright?”

Sansa remained quiet for a few seconds, until she gave up and place both hands of her lap, straightening her back. That was the posture of Lady Sansa.

“There is something I would like to run by you. All of you.”

Jon placed his fork on his plate, and Bran followed suit. Both brothers looked at each other in confusion and the turned to Sansa to wait for her declaration.

“What is it?”, Jon asked after a few moments of complete and utter silence.

Sansa stared at Arya when she said the next words.

“I would like to name Sandor Clegane Lord Commander of Winterfell.”

It felt like the silence that permeated the air could be cut with a knife. Everyone had stopped breathing and was sitting still, not a muscle moving with tension. Arya felt her throat tighten and she had to remember to let the air come out of her lungs.

But it was Jon who spoke first.

“Sansa, he was a Lannister man before…”

“I know what he was”, she cut Jon with a firm tone. “And I know what he’s not. You know it too, Jon, he followed you beyond the Wall.”

“Why him?”, Arya asked before Jon could say anything else.

Sansa looked back at her sister and gave a small grin.

“Jon’s right, he was a Lannister man. Even more so, he was a member of Joffrey’s kingsguard, but he never took any vows. He’ll know Cersei’s army’s strategies better than anyone else here in this keep. He’s probably the best fighter in Winterfell right now, alongside Brienne, Arya and you Jon. The men are growing to respect them, I’ve seen it happen already.”

“Yes, he’s a skilled fighter. But he’s still the Hound”, Jon tried to reason with his sister.

“He’s not the Hound anymore”, she said nearly angry. “He saved Arya. He took her away from Berric’s men and then he saved her from the Red Wedding. If was still the Hound then, if he was still a Lannister man, Clegane would have given her to Walder Frey and Arya would be dead alongside Robb and mother.”

“Sansa…”, Jon tried again.

Sansa held his hand in both of hers. She looked him deep in the eyes in assurance.

“Trust me, Jon. I know him”, she whispered. “He was my ally in King’s Landing. He protected me many times. Sandor Clegane is a loyal man, even without vows. He doesn’t need them.”

“Did you tell him about this?”, Bran asked.

“Yes”, Sansa said without looking anyone in the eyes. “He told me to do as I wished.”

Bran nodded, but Arya could almost see the thoughts that ran through his mind. She knew he was thinking of looking back into the past to see the Hound’s actions. And she would want to know what he saw after it was done.

“I trust him too, Jon”, Arya said looking back at her older brother. “He may be harsh, but he’s a good man. A man with honor.”

Jon stood up and paced the room. Ghost, who was sitting by the fire, as if sensing that something was wrong also stood and came to him. He nudged Jon’s hand with his nose, and he petted the wolf.

Arya looked back at Sansa and saw the smile that crept through her lips. She already knew the battle was won.

“Alright”, Jon said cutting the silence. “I agree. Clegane will be named Lord Commander.”

Sansa was smiling brightly now. She got up and embraced Jon in a tight hug.

“Thank you, brother.”

He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head.

“Bran?”

“I also agree”, he answered with a knowing smile. “He will do Winterfell justice.”

Arya and Sansa retired to their room, walking up the stairs side by side. They changed their clothes and laid down to sleep, with the brazier illuminating the walls warmly. They were facing each other with open eyes. None of them was sleepy.

Sansa was not smiling anymore like she did in the solar after the decision of naming Clegane Lord Commander was made. She was gravely serious now, with her eyebrows knitted together in worry.

“What’s troubling you?”, Arya asked in a whisper.

Sansa opened a sad smile.

“Sandor Clegane.”

“Did you show him the cloak?”

“No. He’ll never know about it.”

“But why?”, Arya asked in confusion.

Sansa breathed heavily and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

“He does not… He does not feel the same way as I do about that night.”

Arya nodded softly.

“So, you talked to him.”

“Yes”, Sansa answered, even though it was not a question.

Arya waited for a continuation, but it never came.

“And?”

“We argued.”

Arya waited again. This time, it only took a few moments to Sansa to keep going.

“He said I should be afraid. That he would’ve taken what he wanted that night.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I trust him. And then he got mad.”

Sansa was holding her tears back, and Arya noticed it. So, she held her hand bellow the covers tightly. Her sister retributed it and opened the smallest of smiles.

“Tell me something about you. I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.”

So Arya did. She finally told her about Gendry, about how they talked in the Godswood – but not before she had thrown him to the ground. She told her sister about how he had called her beautiful. Sansa was beaming at this information.

“He’s sounds charming”, she whispered in giggles.

“I suppose he is.”

“What you mean, ‘I suppose’?”, Sansa laughed. Then she noticed how serious Arya had become. “What is he to you, Arya? Is he… more than a friend?”

“I don’t know”, she answered, burying her face in one of the pillows. “Maybe.”

Chapter Text

Bran

He was flying. There was a flock of dark winged ravens going North, searching for food and shelter from the heavy snow. Bran decided to take the ride with them, trying to see how far the Night King had advanced the past few days. The other ravens noticed that he was with them, but they didn’t seem to mind. On his way, he looked down and saw a pack of wolves running through the woods. His heart felt like it had tightened.

Summer.

His wolf had died bravely. Still, he died. Bran missed him terribly, just as he missed Rickon, Shaggydog, Osha, Jojen, Meera.

I need to make amends with Meera. He promised himself he would do that before the wars – both against the dead and against Cersei – ever began.

The ravens were arriving at the Wall now. The last time he had checked, the army of the dead was closer to Eastwatch By the Sea. It was clear that was the path they were going to follow to enter South. The question was: how would they do it? The Wall was massive, the gates as impregnable as the ice construction. They couldn’t climb it, they could swim in the sea, they couldn’t fly over it.

That’s way Bran checked it regularly. His doubts were always creeping in, and he couldn’t let the Night King surprise them. The living needed to have the upper hand, otherwise they would be all lost.

Past the Wall, miles North, Bran found the army. It always took his breath away to see the numbers. He couldn’t possibly count how many dead were part of it. They had mammoths, giants, horses. Every single one of them were cadavers.

And the Night King led them into war right in the vanguard on top of a dead horse.

It took a few moments for him to notice Bran’s presence. Or maybe he already knew he was coming and simply let him assess the size of the army. Bran interpreted it as a mocking, as if it would make no difference if Bran had all the knowledge in the whole Seven Kingdoms about how to defeat the army. In the end, the dead would always win.

The Night King grew tired and decided to look at the flock of ravens. Right into Bran’s eyes.

He was thrown back out of the raven and back to his own body.

His head was pounding so, his breathing was sped up and his heart was beating out of his chest with fear. And he felt cold, so, so cold. He closed his eyes and held his head in his hands, hoping that the pain would pass soon – even though he knew it wouldn’t.

He could hear a voice in the distance, as if it was far and far away, calling out his name.

But it was Sansa, who was kneeling right in front of him, touching his face, his hair, his shoulders, trying to look at him.

Bran could feel the tears running through his face.

Damn it, damn it, damn it, he thought again and again.

“Bran, please, what’s going on?”, Sansa called to him, worry seeping through her voice.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer.

“Bran, please, please…”, she sounded so scared. He wanted to console her, to tell her that it was alright. But he couldn’t find the words.

She held him, embracing his body with her arms and kissing the top of his head, taking to herself the shivers that ran through his skin.

A long moment passed until he was able to hold his sister back.

“Thank the Gods”, she whispered as soon as she felt him moving his arms.

They stood like that for a while. He felt awful. This time was even worse than the last. Bran was getting used to the fear, like it was a known person in his life. But this wasn’t just fear. It was hurt, it was a threat. The war would soon have its beginning.

Bran opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Sansa’s copper hair, falling in her shoulder in waves. Just at that, he began to feel himself warm up. Behind her, he could see the books and parchment that his sister had left to come to his help. The ink was spilt over some of her notes. Then Bran remembered where he was. He and Sansa were studying in the library – Sansa for her upcoming role as Lady of Winterfell, and Bran for more secrets about the Children and the Three Eyed Raven.

The room was warm, with a fire place lit up in the corner. The place smelled of old books and burnt wood – both from the brazier and from the fire that took Winterfell during Theon’s raid. The keep still had scars from what happened to it over the last few years, just as all the Starks had. But they were fixing everything, they were healing themselves – and Winterfell – together.

Bran finally decided to pet his sister’s back. She immediately drew back to look him in the eye, holding his face in her hands.

“Bran? Are you well?”, she asked with the same worry form before.

“I will be. The worst is gone now.”

He saw a single tear escape from her eyes.

“What happened? We were just talking, and then I heard you screaming and…”

Bran placed his hand on her shoulder, and she stopped.

“I was looking at the Night King”, he whispered. He didn’t know if anyone else was around, but he didn’t want anyone to listen. “He looked back at me.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”

Sansa tilted her head slightly, as in questioning.

“How many times before?”

“A lot.”

Sansa’s face hardened.

“Why?”

“To keep track of the army of the dead.”

Sansa got up to look at Bran from up. Her hands were fits by her side.

“I want you to stop this.”

“I understand, but I won’t stop.” Before she could say anything, he continued. “We need to know where the army of the dead is. It is closing in to the Wall already. We don’t know how the dead will breach it, but they will, I’m sure of it. It’s like the Night King is laughing at me, it’s frustrating.”

“But Bran, you’re in pain!”, Sansa said as she held his hand.

“Only when it happens. Then I just get a headache for a few days. It’s nothing”, he held her hand back fiercely. “Sansa, everyone is doing something to win this war. Jon will fight in the North, you will rule Winterfell, Arya is training for battle. Brienne, Tormund, Berric, Clegane, Sam, Daenerys, Tyrion, the khalasar, the unsullied, the dragons… Everyone has their part in the wars to come. And so do I. This is my responsibility.”

Sansa stood still for a few seconds. Until she nodded and let go of his hand.

“Alright. But if it ever – and I mean it Bran – gets too bad, too much, I want you to tell me and I want you to stop. I will not let you sacrifice yourself because of it.”

“I promise, sister”, he said, a little bit of a lie since he had absolutely no intentions of ever quitting. He would do this no matter what.

Sansa kissed his cheek and turned to return to her table. She sighed at the mess of ink and paper and started trying to clean, staining her hands in the process. Once the blotted papers had been removed and the table had been cleaned again, she took a seat and resumed her studies.

“How is it going?”, Bran asked, pointing at one of the books.

“It’s so difficult. But I think I’m finally getting the hang of it”, she answered, sinking her pen in the ink.

“Really? Jon said you’re a natural.”

That made her smile.

“I think he may be exaggerating, but I appreciate it all the same.”

He rolled his wheel chair closer to her table. He took the books there and started to read through the subjects that she was studying today. They were mostly about how to run an army, how to form one, how many soldiers were needed to win a battle against an enemy with the same amount of men. Numbers weren’t always the best advantage in the field, but they surely could help. One book described the roles and responsibilities of a commander. He was the one who had total control of what happened with the soldiers, with the weapons, the food, the camp.

Which is why it amazed Bran that Sansa had named Sandor Clegane Lord Commander of Winterfell. Or was about to.

He still didn’t understand the relationship between the two. He couldn’t glance back into the past to see what had happened while they were in King’s Landing. Unluck for him, the South didn’t have many Heart Trees. Bran was only able to notice that the feelings they had for each other ran deeper. He thought this was best. Sansa would keep her privacy. But at the same time, Bran was curious and, most of all, worried about her.

But when she said that Sandor Clegane was to be named commander, he had one of those feelings, an omen that it would be a good thing. Specially because of the relationship they had.

Finally, curiosity had the best of him.

“Have you spoken to Sandor Clegane about his nomination?”, he asked Sansa, too gullible.

Her quill stopped and her eyes looked up to him.

“Yes, before I spoke to all of you.”

“And after?”

“No. He told to do as I wished, so I did.”

Bran noticed something that he could only name as resentment in her voice. Maybe sorrow.

“What happened between the two of you?”

“Can’t you see it through those visions of yours?”, she asked while she resumed her writing.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work then?”

“Usually, I need a Heart Tree to see into the past. You and Clegane were never near one. There are other ways, but they are always harder.”

“So, you have tried to see us before.”

That wasn’t a question. Bran remained silent.

She rested her quill again and folded her hands in her lap.

“Do you have doubts about him?”, she asked serious enough for Bran to notice that it was a challenge.

“No, not even one. As you said, he saved Arya. And, according to you, he helped you too.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

She fidgeted a little. He had never seen her fidget so much since the last few weeks. So, he waited.

“He’s our ally, Bran. And I dare say that he’s my friend”, she whispered, reclining into her chair, her head resting against the wood. “I don’t have any doubts about him, but I feel that he does. About himself and about me. I need him to trust me.”

Maybe he doesn’t trust the feelings he has about you. And you about him. Bran kept those thoughts to himself.

“You can do it. You’re the Lady of Winterfell”, he decided to say instead.

She smiled at him shyly.

“Thank you, little brother.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

It was late in the night. Sansa had supped alone in the library, after Bran retired to his room to lie down and rest from his encounter with the Night King. He was paler after the greensight, shivering in his chair, even though the room was warm. He still tried to read some, but his headache didn’t seem to give any break. Sansa helped him to his room and left him surrounded in furs and in low light. While climbing back the stairs to the library, she thought about talking to Arya and Jon about their brother’s “adventures” come morning. Maybe they would need Sam to give them some advice. Bran didn’t seem to want to stop it anytime soon. Perhaps there was something to make this task a little easier on him.

Now, Sansa was back to her notes, with books and candles half burnt as her sole companies. She didn’t mind. The subjects of her studies were getting more and more difficult. After learning all the basics, she was now learning the most complex and detailed matters of warfare. All the silence and concentration she could get would be helpful.

In just a few days, Tormund Giantsbane, Berric Dondarion and a small crew would travel to the Wall. That same day would be the time that Sansa would be announced as Lady of Winterfell, to take charge of the keep as soon as the war in the North started. The Starks would also announce that Sandor Clegane would be leading the armies remaining in Winterfell. They elaborated a false explanation for this. The men who stayed in Winterfell would only enter the battle when the time was needed or if the Night King advanced his army upon the keep. Until now, only the Starks, Brienne, Tormund and Berric knew the truth. In case Cersei attacked the Winterfell, they would be prepared.

Still, no one other than Sansa, Arya, Jon and Bran knew about Clegane’s new post. Her siblings seemed confident that the northern lords would accept him easily, which left Sansa more at ease.

He will hate me for a while, she thought and took a deep breath. But he will make peace with it in time.

She wanted to keep Sandor Clegane away from her mind. It was distracting her from studying. But as the day of the announcement grew closer, so did her worries about his reaction. After all, she hadn’t confirmed with him that she would actually name him Lord Commander. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t go through with it, and that made Sansa weary of how he would accept the new position. And of how he would react to the new proximity between the two of them.

Sansa hadn’t seen him since the day he kissed her. But behind closed eyes, she relieved that moment over and over again, every day. Sometimes she felt like the memory of it was leaving her half mad. Come night time, lying in bed, she felt frustrated and restless. She wanted to kiss him again. And she wanted to do other things with him too. Some nights, she had tried using her hands on herself, just as Miranda Royce had once showed her in the Vale. She ended up half satisfied, still waiting – and longing – for something more, something that she could not name nor describe.

I want him, she thought to herself. Closing her eyes, she relieved that kiss again, thinking about how good of a promise that had been. And now Sansa thought that it might never be kept.

 She took a deep breath and rested her head on her hands. It was late, she was tired. Maybe it was time to go to bed and hope that Sandor Clegane would be gone from her mind when the sun rose again, so she could focus on strategies and armies supplies.

“Sansa?”, a soft voice said from across the room, taking her completely by surprise.

She quickly raised her head to the doorway, and found the Queen, Daenerys Targeryen, in the library of Winterfell.

“Your Grace”, she answered, trying to regain her breath. “I am so sorry, I didn’t see you enter.”

“I didn’t know anyone was here”, she said, walking slowly towards the table where Sansa was sitting. “I’m the one who should apologize for scaring you such.”

As the queen approached, Sansa grew aware of the many books that stood on the table. Surely, if she would take notice to look at the titles, would find strange that a lady was reading about those subjects. So, Sansa tried to act as naturally as she could.

“There’s no need, Your Grace. Maybe it’s time I should rest.”

“I thought we had agreed that you would call me ‘Dany’”, the Queen said while smiling sweetly at Sansa.

She smiled back.

“Of course.”

Then, Dany took one of the books of the pile Sansa was reading through. Sansa stopped herself from saying anything. The Queen started flipping through the pages, reading a few at a time. She was interested, Sansa noticed, and actually seemed to understand the matters of the book.

“So, how are your studies going?”

That took Sansa by surprise, but she tried not to show it.

“Studies, Dany?”

“Well, you are preparing yourself for Cersei’s attack, are you not?”

Sansa remained silent. The two women stared at each other for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.

“Oh”, it finally dawned on Dany. “I see. Jon didn’t tell you about my knowledge of this matter.”

“No, he did not.”

“Why are you tense, Sansa?”

Indeed, she was tense. She felt her shoulders and back tighten, her hands were fidgeting at the cloak that covered her body. The truth is that Sansa was completely caught off guard. She didn’t know what to answer, so she said nothing.

Dany nodded and returned the book back to its pile.

“Were you afraid of my reaction?”

“I am certain you would prefer to place someone of your trust. Maybe one of your captains. I hear Grey Worm is an excellent leader, and an even better fighter.”

Dany took a seat across from Sansa with a smile on her lips.

“It’s true that Grey Worm is one of the best soldiers I’ve ever met. And he’s also my friend. But do you think that you are not someone that I trust? Or that I would oppose to a woman ruling Winterfell?”

Sansa leaned back in her chair. Of course, Daenerys was a woman. By that alone she would not oppose to another woman taking any position of ruling. Though, they lived in a man’s world. Her own mother, Catelyn Stark, would trust Winterfell upon one of her sons, but not one of her daughters – who were destined to marry a lord with his own castle. Sansa didn’t resent that. It was simply the way the world was built.

Maybe the world is changing, Sansa thought and smiled a little bit to herself. She had seen a lady knight, a Mother of Dragons, smart women, strong women. Her own sister was a great swordfighter. King’s Landing was ruled by a woman – even though it was Cersei Lannister. Olenna Tyrell killed a King. Sansa killed a lord. Sansa was to rule Winterfell.

Why do you trust me?”, Sansa asked.“

Dany opened up another smile, though a sad one.

“I’ve been told what happened to you since your descent to King’s Landing”, she answered softly. “And I must tell you that I admire you.”

Sansa was left speechless. She stared at the Queen in a mix of awe and fright.

“Why?”, she whispered.

“Because you are strong”, Dany answered without wasting a second. “You are resilient. You are smart. And you’re a survivor. I heard what you did to the Bolton bastard. I also heard what you did to Petyr Baelish. People in this keep talk about you in complete wonder – of how you can handle provisions, the people of Wintertown, the northern lords and ladies. I always try to follow the examples of people I admire. And your actions have been a great lesson for me.”

“Thank you, Dany”, Sansa answered, trying not to stutter. “And I must say that I also admire you deeply.”

“You’re welcome, Sansa, and I thank you”, she smiled again. “All of you Starks are a mystery to me, but I’m glad we’ve crossed paths. I must confess that Arya scares me a little bit.”

Sansa laughed with the Queen.

“I guess she can be scary sometimes.”

“Bran also, though he’s more introspective, I would say.”

She didn’t want to try to explain the greensight to Daenerys, since Sansa already didn’t know much about it.

“He’s a great reader”, she chose to answer instead.

“Yes, he is”, she smiled and it warmed Sansa’s heart to know she cared about her little brother. “That’s why I came to this library. He recommended me some books. I couldn’t sleep and thought I would spend some time reading until the words tired me.”

“Consider the library yours.”

“Thank you.”

A thought was pressing Sansa’s mind since the Queen’s arrival at Winterfell. And now that she was opening about the Stark family, she couldn’t help but to be curious.

“Dany, I’m sorry if I come across to bold for asking you what I’m about to ask.”

That made the Queen grow a little bit apprehensive, Sansa noticed.

“What is Jon to you?”

Daenerys remained expressionless, though Sansa could see behind the mask. She was not wrong, there was something going on with the two of them.

She didn’t press the Queen any further, simply waited for an answer – which came after a long while.

“He’s my friend.”

“Alright. A friend or a friend?”, Sansa asked, emphasizing the second word.

Dany smiled a little embarrassed.

“The latter.”

“Alright.”

Dany leaned forward in her seat, getting a little bit closer to Sansa.

“You don’t seem to judge me, or your brother.”

“Why would I ever do that? You are both adults, leaders of you own Houses. You may do as you wish.”

“I’m glad you think like that”, she whispered, staring at Sansa’s eyes. “You are also a leader of your own House. Soon, you’ll be Lady of Winterfell. Do you have someone?”

“No”, Sansa answered, a second too late.

“There was some hesitation there.”

Sansa remained quiet.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Sansa. I just want you to know that you can trust me. If you ever need me, if you ever have any doubts, you can come to me.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think this will be necessary”, Sansa said. “There’s nobody in my life right now.”

“But there is someone in your mind”, Dany said, and it was not an answer.

Sansa felt herself biting her own lip, though she couldn’t stop.

“Maybe.”

“Well, if it ever becomes necessary, come to me, Sansa”, Dany said while holding her hand on top of the table. “I would gladly help you in whichever way I can.”

“Thank you, Dany. I promise I will.”

The women smiled at each other. The Queen then let go of Sansa’s hand and slowly got up from her seat.

“Good. Now is late and I feel that sleep has finally come to me. Thank you for the conversation, my lady. I wish you a goodnight.”

“Goodnight, your grace”, she retributed.

But sleep didn’t come to Sansa for a long time. Even when she climbed in bed with Arya, surrounded by the warm air that filled the room from the fireplace, she thought about the words that Dany said to her. And she thought about her own words. She had finally admitted, even if just to herself, that Sandor Clegane was someone to her, even if – at least for now – just in her mind.

Chapter Text

Sansa

“Are you nervous?”, Arya asked by her side.

Sansa didn’t even hear her coming and was dragged out back to reality. She slowly turned to her sister, trying to make sense of the words she had just spoken. When she did, an embarrassed smile came upon her lips.

“Can you tell?”

“Not really”, she answered, smiling softly back at her. “I just know you too well.”

Sansa realizes that the years that kept them apart did nothing to ruin the familiarity between the Stark sisters. They were so different from each other. But those same differences completed each other. Their tastes and opinions were opposites. But their minds worked the same way.

“You’ll be great”, Arya continued. “You were born to be the Lady of Winterfell.”

“No, I was born to be married and become the lady of someone else’s keep.”

Arya said nothing to that. She simply turned sideways and stared out one of the windows of the long corridor that lead to the main hall - where all the northern lords and ladies, fighters, armies and Dany’s court were waiting.

She wore black breeches and a grey leather doublet, long enough to cover half of her legs. Needle was at her hip, Littlefinger’s dagger at the other side. Her short hair was braided back from her face. That fitted her much better than dresses and long curls.

Sansa, on the other hand, was wearing a dark grey dress with the Stark insignia on her chest. A heavy black cloak fell on her shoulders, its weight bringing her at least some comfort. Her red curls were also braided, in the northern style, and fell on one of her shoulders. She felt like a warrior, even without the armor and sword. Right now, she was representing the North. She was a Stark of Winterfell, and she needed to remind everyone in that Hall of her blood – both which ran through her veins and which she had shed for her House and for her own life.

And yet, she couldn’t deny the fear than ran through her spine. Fear of failure, of misjudgment in a time when her House needed her the most. Of becoming impotent in a warfare decision, of not being able to give orders.

“You could’ve been the Lady of Winterfell”, Sansa whispered, feeling so unsure of herself.

“That’s nonsense”, was Arya’s answer.

“You know how to fight, you know how to kill, you know the ways of war. Men who are twice your age, or even more, look up to you. You know them better than anyone.”

“And I lack patience, diplomacy and persuasion”, she said without missing a beat, keeping her voice low and calm. “I can’t make them see what I want them to see. I don’t have the empathy you have. I was always meant to be a fighter, not a ruler.”

“I wish I was a fighter”, Sansa whispered, almost to herself. “Even if just a little.”

Arya’s head snapped, turning to look back at her, eyes beaming and a grin on her lips.

“Well, there’s something we can do about that”, she said, conspiringly.

Sansa knew that look in her sister’s eyes. It was the same of when she did something wrong in her childhood. Of when she stuffed Sansa’s mattress with dung. Or when she escaped from the lessons of Septa Mordane.

“What?”, she asked, growing more and more suspicious.

“Fighting is something you learn, you’re not simply born with it. Of course, inclination is always helpful.”

“What are you talking about?”

Arya’s smile grew wider.

“I can teach you how to fight.”

Sansa was almost scared of telling Arya that this was a thought that had been running through her mind for a while now. She was tired of not being able to defend herself. She had been through so much without even allow herself to speak for her own good. Joffrey. Cersei. Littlefinger. Ramsay. But those days were over. She was back home now, she was becoming a ruler. This was the time to learn to fight.

“Yes”, Sansa simply answered, a half smile playing on her lips.

Arya was caught by surprise, she could tell. Once she noticed that Sansa wasn’t japing, she smirked back at older sister and nodded.

“You’re going to be a great Lady of Winterfell”, she insisted.

Sansa found she was able to laugh.

“I can only hope so.”

“You did just fine while Jon was away. This time will be no different. Actually, it will be even better.”

“We weren’t at war while Jon was away.”

“Yes, we were. The battle simply hadn’t begun yet.”

Both sisters turned to see their brothers come through the corridor. Jon was pushing Bran’s chair, both smiling knowingly.

“Ready, Sansa?”, Bran was the first to ask.

“Yes, I am.”

Jon held her hand and squeezed it lightly.

“No matter what happens in there, we’ll be by your side. If the lords say anything, we will defend you right away. The Queen too. And if you wish to speak to them, you do it.”

She nodded and smiled at her siblings. She felt sure a little bit more. If her family – the people she trusted the most in the world – were by her side, that was the only assurance she needed, besides the one that came from within herself. But that last one she would have to develop during her rule.   

They all turned towards the door and opened it, entering the Great Hall.

All the noise from conversations, laughs and discussions suddenly stopped. The four of them were welcomed by the respectable silence of their allies. The northern lords, ladies and knights bowed towards their liege House and waited until they were all seated. Only that the Starks did not take their seats. They stood and Bran remained in his chair, not by the table, but in front of it. Jon and Sansa in the middle, flanked by the youngest Starks.

Sansa could tell that everyone found the position strange but said nothing of it. Dany was already seated at the side, looking directly into Sansa. The Queen smiled at her, and Sansa did the same.

“My lords, my ladies, Your Grace”, Jon said, his low and strong voice resonating through the room. “Thank you all for coming to this meeting, and we apologize for the urgency of it. We don’t wish to prolong this more than necessary.”

“We have an announcement to make”, Arya continued. “It concerns the battles to come and the security of our House, the Houses of the North – both great and minor – and all of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“In three days”, Jon picked up. “Tormund Giantsbane and Ser Beric Dondarrion will lead a small garrison to the Wall. They will be our eyes in there. As soon as the army of the dead reaches Eastwatch By The Sea, we will march North. Most of the army of the northern houses, as well the Queen’s men, will engage in the war against the Night King.”

Men and women shouted war cries. “For the North!”, “The North Remembers!”, “Winter is Coming!”, “For the living!”.

“Apart from those who will depart North”, Jon continued after the shouts diminished. “Some men will stay behind at Winterfell. They will continue their training and be part of the second wave to strike the dead. And, of course, they will protect Winterfell in case any white walker proceeds here. All northern families are welcome to stay behind our walls. Or, if they prefer it, they can stay at their own keeps.”

“The Houses that wish to march North or stay at Winterfell may come forward and state your wishes. We will consider and make a decision in a sennight. We thank you for your trust in House Stark.”

More shouts were exclaimed in the Hall.

“Now, we have another announcement to make”, he continued, all lightness coming out from him to give way to the hardness and seriousness. “I will march North with you all, as will Her Grace, Daenerys Targeryen. In my stead, my sister Sansa will be the Stark in Winterfell and rule the keep, as well as the soldiers, from here. She will be the Lady of Winterfell, with the support from our siblings, Arya and Brandon Stark.”

“Lady Sansa!”, more calls could be heard in respect for her new position. She forced herself to smile, not happily, but assuring her people that this was the best decision for them.

So far, so good, she thought.

"Thank you, my lords, my ladies", she declared loud and clear. "I can only hope that I can be the ruler you all expect and need of me."

More shouts, more toasts in her name. "The Lady of Winterfell!", "Lady Sansa!", "The Red Wolf!". 

She felt relief run through her body. She was afraid of the reactions about her rule, it's true. But this was not the end.

After the celebrations subsided, Jon resumed his speech. 

“To support her in warfare matters and leading and training the men, we would like to place a new Commander. He will receive a lordship title and, after the war is won, lands and a keep. We will also be naming a new Captain of the Guard, who will work alongside the Commander to lead our armies and train the men - and will also receive lands and a keep after our victory.”

Sansa had to force herself to keep breathing. She was tense as never before, trying not to let it show. She raised her chin and stared down at all their bannermen.

The whispers and speculation were filling the hall. Before it grew anymore, Jon put a stop to the suspense.

“My lords and ladies, our Captain will be Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile at Brienne’s seriousness as she heard her name. That was a decision made quickly the night before, though not a difficult one. Bran was the one who gave the idea, actually. According to him, it would help shield some of the backlash they might receive for the new Commander. If Bran saw that through one of his greensights, she did not know. Anyway, it was an excellent suggestion. Brienne was most deserving of the title. She would do it justice.

“Lady Brienne has already pledged her alliance to House Stark”, Sansa said, and turned to Brienne. “My lady, you have served us most honorably.”

“You’ve kept your vow to our mother, Catelyn Stark, and to us”, Arya said, smiling happily at the lady knight. Sansa knew her sister admired Brienne and had insisted on giving her the title herself. “You have our eternal gratitude, as well as our trust. We thank you for your service and gladly give you this title.”

Brienne went forward and bent the knee to the Starks siblings.

“I thank you, my ladies, my lords. I swear to the old gods and the new to keep you safe and serve you until my last day.”

“Arise, Lady Brienne”, Arya said, still beaming. “The new Captain of the Guard of Winterfell.”

There was a round of applause for the lady knight. She knew some of the lords would be displeased to be commanded and trained by a woman. But Sansa, as well as Arya, Bran and Jon, knew Brienne would put these men in their places.

“And now, to our second appointment”, Jon continued, not letting his voice falter. “The new Lord Commander.”

Sansa could help the expectancy, the waiting for the few seconds that separated this moment to the naming.

“Sandor Clegane”, Jon finally called out.

The silence that followed the announcement could cut glass. It left Jon’s voice echoing at the walls, bouncing back and forth until it vanished. Sansa would find the lords’ expression funny if the subject wasn’t so serious.

Well, they didn’t like it, was all she could asses.

Then, steps could be heard, breaking the staggering quietness. Men made way for the new Lord Commander of Winterfell.

Sandor Clegane.

He stood in front of them, his stare jumping from Arya to Jon, but not even glancing at Sansa. He was still resentful, she knew. But there was no return from this.

She saw the new Lord Cerwyn begin to open his mouth to speak. Sansa was faster.

“My lords and ladies, before any of you say anything, know that this isn’t open for discussion”, she said firmly with a little and playful smile creeping through her lips.

Lord Cerwyn closed his mouth right away, though he did not seem happy to do it. No one else dared speak a word.

“I will simply declare my trust for Sandor Clegane right here and right now”, she continued, taking a step forward. “He was my only ally in King’s Landing, while I was kept a prisoner by the Lannisters”, as she said the name, a few heads turned to Tyrion. She ignored them. “He helped me many times in situations I will not detail. The only thing I will say is that he has more honor than any of those so-called knights. Besides that, he helped my sister. He protected her from the massacre the Lannisters love to call the Red Wedding. And he protected her from bandits and assassins who wished to harm her. You can ask her all about it and she will explain it all to you.”

She glanced at Sandor Clegane and was glad to see that he was finally looking at her, with eyes full of things she could not name. Resentment still, but also gratitude perhaps. And admiration.

“And even more, he has been a soldier all his live, but he never swore any vows”, she continued, still looking at him. “He is one of the best fighters in the Seven Kingdoms, and none of you can deny it. My brother Jon can give his assessment of his skills himself. Clegane, alongside Tormund, Ser Berric, Thoros of Myr, Ser Jorah Mormont and Queen Daenerys herself, went North, to the Wall, and helped bring a wight to Cersei Lannister. Because of that, we have a new ally to help us win this war.”

“So, my ladies, my lords, you have placed your trust upon me to lead Winterfell. You have placed your trust upon my siblings when they agreed to name me Lady of Winterfell. So, I ask of you to keep trusting us. In this battle, life and death are just a stroke of a sword away from each other.”

“Winter is finally here”, she finished. None of the lords said anything else. Some looked at them with awe, others with despising eyes. Daenerys was serious and Sansa could see the mask she was wearing to hide her through emotions.

She did not like it. I will have to speak to her, or maybe Jon. She kept that knowledge for later.

She climbed down the step that separated the high table from the rest of the Hall. She stood in front of Sandor Clegane, who followed her every move with his gray eyes.

“Sandor Clegane”, her voice sounding as much as of a true lady as possible. “Will you swear a vow to House Stark? Will you swear a vow to me?”

He stood still for long seconds before she noticed he was moving, his eyes never leaving hers. He bent the knee, one of his hands went to his sword. He removed it from it's scabbard and place it one the floor in front of her. Still, his eyes never left hers. He supported himself with his arm place on his knee, his other arm by his side.

“Lady Sansa of House Stark”, he began, his grave voice sending shivers up her spine and turmoil in her chest.

Still, his eyes fixed on hers.

“This is my first and only vow. I swear to serve you and serve House Stark in the battles to come. I shall protect you and your family, I will keep you safe.”

I could keep you safe, his words came back to her. They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.

“My sword is yours, as well as my strength”, he continued. “Until my last breath, I swear it to you.”

She looked at him in awe for a few moments. He did not say much, but he said enough.

More than enough.

He was not lying, she knew. This was a vow, the truest vow from the most honest man she had ever known.

Now, it was time for Sansa to pledge her own vow.

“And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise, Lord Commander.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

After the announcement, the Stark siblings retrieved for their solar for a private conversation. Not even the new Lord Commander or the new Captain of the Guard were invited. At least not yet.

They entered quietly, not saying a word about what had happened in the Great Hall. Sansa stood by the fire, while Arya and Bran gathered around the round table. Jon, on the other hand, went for the wine, pulling four cups and pouring in them. Then, he handled one to each sibling. When he reached Sansa, he gave the cup to her and toasted before drinking in one long gulp. Sansa nodded in thanks and drank slowly her own wine.

There was still a long silence after that, each one too involved in their own thoughts. Every one of them was worried, that much was clear. Still, Sansa couldn’t stop the small amount of relief that ran through her thoughts. At least, the northern lords weren’t too displeased with her own nomination. At least, the Queen supported her new reign.

At least, Sandor Clegane pledged his vow to me.

Jon took a deep breath by her side, breaking Sansa’s remembrance of what had just happened.

“Well, how did that go?”, he mumbled to himself.

“Honestly?”, Arya asked from her place at the table. “Better than any of us expected.”

“The lords weren’t too opposite of Brienne”, Bran said next. “Clegane on the other hand caused some sparks among a few Houses.”

“The new lord Cerwyn was displeased”, Sansa continued, venom running through her lips.

Jon found his sister’s words strange, looking at her as if she were a different person. She had faced other opposition besides that, specially while he was away. But this one stung the most. Sansa was glad when her brother decided not to say anything about it.

“We can deal with House Cerwyn”, he said instead. “And in time, Brienne and Clegane will reach out to the men. I’m sure of it.”

Instead of answering, Sansa took another sip from her drink.

“The Queen was also displeased”, Bran whispered. “About Clegane, I mean.”

Jon nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know. I’ll talk to her.”

Sansa wondered if he would talk to Dany, his lover, this night. She felt her cheeks burn slightly and turned towards the fire. She wasn’t opposed to the relationship between her brother and the Targeryen queen, but still found the idea strange. And she definitely did not want to imagine what the two of them would look like together.

“But Sansa”, Bran said next. “You did great. You have the support of all the northern Houses.”

She smiled a little to herself and took another sip from her wine.

“I hope that it lasts long enough.”

Arya was about to say something as a response to her commentary when someone knocked lightly at the door. Sansa was the one to answer. It was Brienne of Tarth. Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the new Captain.

“Lady Brienne”, she greeted. “Please, come in.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, my ladies, my lords.”

“You are not disturbing anyone, Brienne”, she responded.

“Actually, we were about to retire for the night”, Bran said, letting out a yawn. “At least, I am. Goodnight, my lady.”

“Goodnight, my lord.”

Jon pushed Bran’s chair from the room and wished everyone a goodnight. Arya followed, but before asked Brienne if she would train with her come morning.

“Of course, Lady Arya. I’m still waiting for the chance to restore my honor and beat you in our next fight.”

They laughed and Arya hugged the lady knight briefly, yet fiercely, before running out the door.

Brienne and Sansa looked at each other and couldn’t help but laugh at the youngest Stark sister.

Sansa walked to the table and poured some wine for herself and for Brienne.

“Thank you, my lady”, she said as she took the cup. They both toasted and drank.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Brienne smiled and her cheeks got a little bit more red.

“I came here to say thank you, lady Sansa. Thank you for trusting me and placing me as Captain of the Guard. This is the highest rank I have ever reached.”

Sansa smiled deeply, feeling profoundly happy for the woman who she now thought as a friend.

“It’s my pleasure to have you with me, Brienne. Not only you’ve kept your vow to my mother, but you’ve also kept your vow to me. We are all thankful to you for serving Catelyn Stark as fiercely as you have, and for serving us, protecting us. I’ll never forget the day you found me after... Well, after.”

“It’s my greatest honor serving you, my lady.”

“Please, call me Sansa. I’ve considered you my friend for a while now, and I do not wish to have us call each other ‘ladies’ anymore.”

Brienne smiled and nodded.

“Of course, Sansa.”

Then, the lady knight placed her cup on the table before going for her belt. She undid it from her waist and took the scabbard out of it, holding it horizontally for Sansa.

“What is it?”, she asked.

“This sword was given to me by Jaime Lannister before I departed from King’s Landing in search for you and your sister”, she said as she pulled out the blade.

It was made of finest steel, Sansa could see that. But it was tainted red, and its handle was ornamented with lions and rubies and gold. Clearly, the Lannister’s handy work.

That brought memories that Sansa would rather forget.

“Why would he give you such a fine sword when his sister wants all of us dead?”

“Your mother, Lady Catelyn, freed him after he was imprisoned by Robb Stark.”

“Yes, I remember when he arrived at the Capitol.”

“She made him swear that he would return you and Arya to her, given that you two were still alive. But once he arrived there, he couldn’t leave.”

Sansa remembered seeing Jaime Lannister without his sword hand during dinners with the royal family. He couldn’t fight anymore, not even with his other hand. And she knew Cersei would never let him go after so much time away from each other. Sansa tried her best not to believe in empty rumors, but couldn’t stop thinking that this one had some foundation to it.

“Alright.”

“Tywin Lannister gave Jaime, his son, this sword. It is made of valyrian steel.”

Sansa was left confused. He remembered when Tywin gave Joffrey, his grandson, a valyrian steel sword – also heavily ornamented. Joffrey had named it “Widow’s Wail”. But his grandfather had said it was one of only two swords of that kind in King’s Landing. So, he gave the other one to his elder son, who had just lost his sword hand. She couldn’t stop thinking about the irony of the situation.

“It’s a great sword, Brienne. But if I were you, I would change the handle and paint over that crimson.”

“Sansa.”

She lady looked up at the knight, who had put her serious face back on.

“This is Ice.”

Sansa was ready to ask what Brienne meant by that when she froze on her place. It seemed even her breathing stopped for a bit as realization dawned on her. Finally, Sansa made some sense of the words that were said to her.

This is Ice.

This is Ice.

This is Ice.

But still, she couldn’t believe it.

“I beg your pardon, Brienne”, she said, swallowing dry. “I do not understand.”

Brienne took a deep breath and placed the blade at Sansa’s hands.

“Tywin forged this sword from Ice, the great sword of House Stark. This sword belongs to you, my lady.”

Sansa’s hands - no, actually, her whole body - was trembling. She had to forcefully hold herself steady as not to drop the sword. It was so light and yet so heavy on her palms. She found herself tilting back as emotions and confusions hit her hard, until her backside touched the desk behind her. When she did, Brienne stood out her arms to hold her in place, but that was no longer necessary. She found her foot.

“Ice”, she whispered. My father’s sword. My House’s sword.

Tears were running through Sansa’s face, but Brienne said nothing of it. Simply looked at her and waited patiently with her hands behind her back.

Sansa looked at the sword, really looked. There was no resemblance to the sword she used to see so much at the hands of her father. The reason why he would bring the sword down to King’s Landing was unknown to her. Of course, he was the Lord of Winterfell, he could do with it whatever he wanted to. But at the same time, at least Sansa thought, Ice really belonged in Winterfell, in the keep where all her ancestors who had held this sword before her were buried for all eternity. It should’ve stayed there.

But there was no use in crying about that. This sword that Brienne carried with her, daughter of Ice, was returned to its place. And it was smaller, sharp and perfect for combat. And it would be used for that same purpose in the battles to come.

Sansa’s mind was set. Swords were made to be used, not exposed for appreciation.

“Thank you for returning Ice to where it belongs”, she said after clearing her throat from choked up tears. “I will ask the smiths to take off this color and change its handle. Then I will restore it to your hands.”

Brienne’s eyes widened and she hurried to say something.

“My lady, I did not return Ice to you with the purpose of…”

“I know, Brienne. And I thank you for it. Yet, as Captain of the Guard of Winterfell, I want you to use it in the war against Cersei”, she answered firmly. Seeing the surprise look on the knight’s face, Sansa softened her voice and continued, this time sweetly. “I cannot fight, and neither can Bran. Arya already has Needle and Jon has Longclaw. You have been using it with honor since your journey North. I don’t see why we can’t keep it that way.”

“My lady, Sansa, I am honored by your confidence in me. But I cannot help but ask if you would prefer to place this sword at the hands of your Lord Commander.”

Sansa was startled by that but did her best not to show it. She blinked a few times too many before answering with another question.

“Why?”

“He will be the one to lead the men. He should be the one to hold it when we go for battle.”

Sansa nodded and looked back again at Ice.

“I will think of it. But I’m still inclined to give it to you, Brienne.”

“Either way, I will be honored all the same, my lady.”

Sansa smiled at her friend and put the sword back in its scabbard, placing it on the table behind her.

“Thank you again”, she said with a relieved smile on her face.

Brienne smiled back a took a bow.

“It’s late and I do not wish to keep you up any longer, my lady.”

“I’m not tired, at least not yet. But I wish you a goodnight.”

“Thank you, my lady. I wish the same to you.”

Brienne turned to leave and as she was opening the door to the hallway, Sansa called for her again.

“Yes, lady Sansa?”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Would you please ask Sandor Clegane to meet me now? I know it’s late, but it’s an important matter.”

The lady knight blinked a few times in perplexity before coming back to her senses and nodding her understanding.

“Of course, my lady”, she answered quietly before closing the door behind herself.

Chapter Text

Sansa

“Lady Stark.”

“Lord Clegane.”

He was standing by the door half open. His eyes hardened at her answer, then quickly softened. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind himself.

Sandor walked towards the fire and stood close enough to feel the warmth from the flames, but stopped behind one of the chairs by the fireplace. He stared at the fire in silence. The only sounds Sansa could hear was her own breathing and the crackling of the burning wood.

She was scared. There was no denying it. She didn’t know of what she was afraid of. Of his reaction? Of his rage? Of his indifference? But Sansa knew she wanted to be closer to him.

She took a step in his direction. And another. And another. Until she was standing behind the other chair, facing him. Still, he did not look at her and continued to stare at the fireplace. She looked too, finding some peace in the heat and in the burning smell. She knew he wasn’t feeling the same as her.

She heard him take a deep breath and looked back at him. Still, he did not look at her.

“I feel defeated”, he said sounding tired.

Sansa was taken by surprise at that. She waited for a few more words, but he said nothing more.

“Were you at war?”, she asked softly. She saw a small grin, or least she thought that’s what it was, on his lips.

“Yes.”

“Against me?”

This time, he looked at her, deeply into her eyes. The tranquility, the soothing gray she found in his iris sent her heart beating faster, stronger. As if a hand suddenly was throwing small punches in her chest, trying to get out.

“Yes”, he rasped.

Another pause and they kept looking at each other. His good side was facing the fire, while his scars were covered by shadows. Sansa didn’t like it, she didn’t like how he kept his face hidden – sometimes with his hair, sometimes simply by changing sides when talking to people. No one should have to hide their scars.

Look who’s saying, some part of her whispered in the back of her mind.

I don’t hide them, some other part answered. They are hard to reach.

“I’m sorry”, she found herself whispering back. “I don’t want to fight you. And I know you don’t care for titles or lordship. But this, your position, will be essentially important to me.”

He nodded and straightened his back, looking taller, bigger than before.

“What do you want then?”, he asked not meanly.

“To make amends.”

He regarded her one more time before nodding again.

“Fine.”

“Fine”, she repeated with a smile.

She took a few steps closer to him, standing in front of the fire, but still far away enough for his comfort.

“Thank you for pledging your vow to me”, she breathed. “I promise I will honor it.”

He laughed a little at that.

“You didn’t leave me any choice”, he said with a grin.

“You were the one who told me to do as I wished”, she grinned back.

There was a spark in his eyes. He obviously remembered what had happened before those exchange of words in the stables.

“Aye, I did”, he cleared his throat. “And now I am a fucking Lord.”

She knew from the beginning that he didn’t care about titles. But she also knew that if he had pledged a vow, his first vow, he truly meant it. Unlike those fake knights, who knew nothing of honor or justice, he would do everything and anything to keep this one he swore to her and her family.

“I’m glad you are”, she said, and he looked at her skeptically. “I mean everything I said earlier today, Sandor. You are the best Commander we could ever hope for.”

“I doubt that very much, Little Bird.”

Her heart soared at the name.

“Well, I don’t”, she smiled at him. “I hope you can trust me.”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, stared back into the flames.

Sansa went for the desk. She held the sword in her hands, still surprised by the lightness of it, and brought it to Sandor. He looked at her with confusion, alternating his eyes between her own and the scabbard in her hands.

“What do you have there?”

She pulled the blade a little out, the steel glinting in the firelight.

“Brienne gave me this sword.”

He looked at the gray metal that surfaced and to the handle of the weapon, recognition glistening in his eyes.

“I’ve seen it before”, suddenly, he appeared furious. “The Lannister’s gave it to her.”

She regarded him cautiously and remembered what Arya told her. Sandor had faced Brienne in battle before. And had lost. She would need to remind herself about it when the time came when her knew Commander and her knew Captain started working together. Make sure none of them would try to stab the other in the battlefield, when they are supposed to fight the Lannister’s army.

“Yes, they did”, she answered. “More specifically, it was Jaime Lannister, to help her keep the vow she swore to my mother.”

“It’s valyrian steel.”

“Yes, it is.”

She offered the weapon to him, and he hesitantly took it. He held with one hand, turning the blade to check on the work. He wasn’t interested in the jeweled handle, with all the rubies and gold that adorned it. His eyes were on the steel.

“It’s a fine sword.”

“This is Ice”, she whispered. “The great sword of House Stark.”

His head snapped to look back at her. He lowered the blade and held it in both of his hands.

“This one is too small for a greatsword”, he said threading carefully.

Sansa couldn’t help but smile at his subtle thoughtfulness. Some other time he would say mean things, calling her silly for believing that was a greatsword.

“I know. I believe its other half is still in King’s Landing.”

Sandor took the scabbard from her, lightly, and put the sword back in it.

“This is Twyin’s work”, she said, feeling the anger scaping her lips. “He melted Ice down and gave one sword to his son, and the other to Joffrey.”

His eyes searched for something in hers, but she couldn’t tell if he found what he was looking for. He simply nodded and made to hand her Ice back. But when he was about to let go, she pushed a little back into his hand. His fingers gripped it back tightly as if not to drop it, and she also didn’t let go.

“It’s yours, if you’ll have it.”

His eyes grew serious again, tightening with confusion.

“What?”

“You’re the Lord Commander of Winterfell. You will be representing me, the head of House Stark, in battle. I want you to wield it against Cersei.”

“Cersei?”

She smiled sadly at him. She hadn’t told him yet about her family’s plan, keeping him in the dark until he was named Commander.

“You told me once you could always sniff out a liar”, she whispered, her hand climbing the sword until it was closer to his. Her fingers just a breath away from his. “Jon told me about the… meeting at Dragonpit. Tell me, did you believe any of Cersei’s words about an alliance against the army of the dead?”

“Not one bit”, he muttered. And then, he smiled devilish. “What was all that about sending a ‘second wave’ of men? Not just to fool the northern Houses, I hope.”

“No”, she grinned proudly. “That was about keeping the information from Cersei. We know she will strike, probably when the war in the North begins. She must have someone in here, one of her little birds. We need Winterfell manned. We can hold a siege probably for a year, if it comes to it. But sometime or another, we will have to win both wars if we want to survive.”

He nodded, still smirking.

“Smart wolves.”

She smiled back, and waisted no time in pushing the sword to him again, before he could talk her out of it.

“Ice should be used in battle against our enemies. I want you to be the one to wield it.”

Sandor grew serious again, a graveness that she felt like it was something to be afraid of. And worst of all, he remained silent.

At that, out of the sudden, Sansa felt insecure once more. He hadn’t denied her, but also hadn’t accepted – as she hoped he would. She was offering him the most valuable material item House Stark had to offer. A sword the had been passed down generations ever since the First Men. And still, he demonstrated nothing.

“I meant everything I said earlier today. I trust you, Sandor”, she said, a tinge of desperation in her voice, hoping that he would understand her meaning. “And lately, I’ve been having a hard time trusting anyone besides my family.”

Still, silent.

Sansa took a deep breath, feeling even more frustrated. How were him able to make her feel so relaxed at one moment, and so nervous at the other?

She climbed her hand a little further. Until her fingers were touching his, ever so lightly. The contact caused her heart to pound madly and she couldn’t stop the deep breath that her lungs suddenly demanded from her. He noticed that, both her touch as her reaction to it. Growing courageous, she placed her palm above his hand, covering only partially his big and calloused hand with her own. She felt him grip the sword tighter.

“I need you to be my ally, Sandor. And if I’m lucky, I hope you can be my friend.”

They stared at each other for what seemed ages, each one frozen in their places. She felt his fingers clench under her own. She wondered if he felt his skin burn as hers did.

Something made Sansa lift her hand and touch his face. The side of his scars. She was as gently as she could, feeling the soft mountains and vales that marked his skin. She stared back at the gray oceans of his eyes and found danger and calm in them. Her thumb traced his scarred lips, feeling the ridges there. He breathed out through his mouth a little, the air touching her skin.

At the stables, he was the one who took the lead. This time, she decided, she would be the one to begin… Whatever that was.

Sansa took a step forward and stood in the point of her feet, still looking at his eyes. She only looked away when she closes her eyes to kiss his temple. And then his cheek. And then his chin. She opened her eyes again, her lips so close to his. When she looked up, his eyes were closed.

“Won’t you say something?”, she whispered, the air coming out from her mouth and touching his face.

He took a deep breath at that and opened his eyes again.

“What do you want me to say, Sansa?”

Their breaths were coming out erratic, but Sansa couldn’t even think about that. She could barely understand the words that were coming through his lips. All she could think was him, and that kiss at the stables, and how bad she wanted him again. To feel him again. To touch him again.

“Why did you kiss me?”, she asked and moved to kiss his good cheek, taking her time to feel the heat from his skin.

“Because I wanted to”, he answered as his finger loosened at the sword, dropping at the floor with a metal clatter against the stone.

None of them cared.

This hand that was holding the sword went to her face, his thumb doing the same as Sansa was doing a few moments before. Touching her lips, so softly. Grazing her cheek, her neck. Spreading heat from her face to her whole body. His other hand moved up to her body, at her waist, barely below her breast. Also moving and touching lightly through the warm fabric of her dress. But still leaving her burning.

“I wanted to kiss you too”, she said, her other hand grabbing at his hip. “I want to kiss you now.”

And she did.

She pressed her lips, not softly, against his. She looked at him, her eyes dead set on his, waiting for a response. And he did not waist time. He kissed her back, and this time she opened her mouth for him, deepening the kiss just as they had in the stables. Her eyes fluttered close and she just felt. His lips against her own. His tongue against hers. His scarred cheek against her skin. His hands. His arms circling her. Her heart in her chest. The air that came in and out from her lungs. The heat between her legs.

She never felt something so wonderful.

Whether last time they were frantic, careless, this time they weren’t in a hurry. Sansa took her time to feel every move from him. Sandor was languid in his movements, his hand touching what he wanted, his teeth clasping her lips between them. She moaned freely, without fear of him listening and running of. She wanted this as much as he wanted. They kissed slowly, but strongly and powerfully.

At some point, his mouth left hers to search for her neck. As soon as his breath touched her skin, her whole body contorted in wonderful pleasure. The skin that covered her whole body shivered at unison. Both of her arms circled his neck, trying to keep him there. And then his tongue touched her right where her pulse pumped blood from her heart to the rest of her body. She moaned loudly. At that, his mouth went back to hers, reducing the noise she was making.

Her body was touching all of his, feeling every muscle that moved against her and because of her. It seemed that they weren’t in the dominant winter anymore, but in glorious summer. She was warm, feverish, burning. And she never wanted to know anything other then that.

As the intensity of that moment slowed down, so did their actions. Sandor’s arms still held her in place, and Sansa’s lips still touched his skin. Until they stopped to take a breath, still erratic and still deep. They looked at each other in the eye, and she couldn’t help the smile the came upon her. And she wasn’t the only one. He was smiling, grinning, as she had never seen before.

He wants me.

His hand started rubbing her back in slow circles, while her fingers brushed his hair at the back of his neck. She sighed happily, not wanting this moment to end.

But of course, at some point it had to.

“What is this, Sansa?”, he finally asked what she was waiting for him to ask.

Before she answered, she kissed him once more, deeply. Then her lips strolled through his cheek, his temple and even his closed eye.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care either.”

He stood still for a second before taking a deep breath and nodding.

“Good”, he rumbled and moved to kiss her, starting all over again.

Chapter Text

Sandor

At first light, Sandor was already training. He challenged the few men who were already awaken to a fight. They weren’t much of a challenge, but were better than nothing. He discounted all his frustration in his blows, stringing the blunt sword with strength and speed. But no matter how much he fought, it still didn’t tire him out.

He hadn’t slept at all for three nights now, and not for lack of trying. 

It felt like he couldn’t get her out of his system. It felt like Sansa Stark had crawled under his skin. 

Sandor hadn’t seen her since the nomination. Actually, since the night he met her at the Stark’s solar. Since she trusted him with that bloody sword. Since she kissed his scarred face. Since she kissed him for true, out of her own will. And he kissed her back. For a long time.

Every night, since that night, he would go to his room and trash in his bed. He had lost count of how many times he had taken himself in hand. Probably the same amount since his squire years. On the second night, he even grabbed a wineskin from the kitchens. But then felt sorry for it, remembering Septon Meribald and his time helping to build that fucking sept in the middle of nowhere. And of course, that night the Blackwater burned, when he held a knife to the Little Bird’s throat.

I’m a fucking mess. Worst yet with wine in my blood.

For the last three days, he had risen from bed early and tried to tire himself out with fighting. It clearly wasn’t working, though he continued to do that every single morning. It brought him some normality, at least to his body - for his thoughts were far way from the training grounds. 

They were on the She Wolf, the Lady of Winterfell.

When he had kissed her in the stables, he never expected her to kiss him back. It felt wrong. The memory of the fragile girl in King’s Landing, of the blows she suffered from knights, came back to him with such force that he stepped back from what he began. But the night in her solar, she initiated it. She was the one who touched his hand, traced her fingers through his scars, then kissed them.

She was the one who asked why he had kissed her. She was the one who said she wanted to kiss him. 

His body was still aflame from her touch, from her mouth, from her gasps and moans. Those haunting blue eyes.

Not such a Little Bird anymore, he thought with a grin spreading through his lips in the middle of the fight. Sansa Stark was truly the Red Wolf now.

It was midday and he had taken down probably the twentieth soldier from that morning, leaving the man panting on the ground. Fighting the women of the keep was a fucking bigger challenge than this. Maybe he could finally take his rematch from the Tarth wench. Or from the little wolf bitch.

“The Hound is loose”, a familiar voice came from behind him, following a howl.

He turned and saw Tormund Giantsbane in the middle of the training ground, holding his battle axe, looking as mad as ever. He was the only one smiling among the men. The rest was probably afraid of him, and not open for a fight with one of the best known fighters in Westeros.

But Tormund didn’t care for the rumors. He pointed his axe in his direction, smiling all the while.

Now that would be a challenge.

Sandor had seen the wildling fight, and he was good. Better than good.

He grinned at his opponent and lifted his sword.

They said nothing more as blades clashed. Sandor was right, Tormund was a fucking great fighter. And better yet - or worse, depending on the point of view -, he didn’t fight like knights or soldiers from the Seven Kingdoms. He hadn’t trained like Sandor had, with armor, swords and shields. Nor was he trained like the warriors from Dorne, with their spears and venoms. He was a wildling, from north of the Wall. He fought with strength, with agility, with a smart perception of his opponents weaknesses. Like a man who had fought too many people, and unimaginable things, and had lived to tell about it. And to fight more of those who dared stand in his way.

And Sandor could tell that any soldier, specially the green ones, would scared shitless of Tormund. While fighting, he would either roar or laugh maniacally. Sometimes both. He gave the perception that he wasn’t afraid of death, for he had come close to it many times. 

Sandor could relate to that. He had never been afraid of dying. For some time, even wished for it. But now, after seeing the threat beyond the Wall, he clung for his life with all his will. But still, he wasn’t afraid of death. He was afraid of becoming one of those things. And he imagined Tormund felt the same way.

The wildling was putting all his strength in his axe. Sandor held his sword firmly as to not let it be thrown away. The men started to cheer and place bets on the fighters. 

Until Sandor was able to knock his head against Tormund’s, leaving him dizzy. And then, pushed his axe with his sword, stumping the wildling in the chest. Tormund hit the ground hard.

Sandor pointed his sword at the man’s throat.

Tormund let go of his axe and put his hands up, I surrender. Then started to laugh again. 

“Mad fucker”, Sandor whispered, pushing his hair away from his face. 

As he looked up, he thought he saw her standing on the upper floor, looking below at the fight. The flash of red disappeared as soon as he saw it, and left him questioning if it was really Sansa or if it was his minds playing tricks.

In a blink, he was splayed at the dirt, breathless. Tormund Giantsbane was standing above him, pointing his axe in his direction, grinning.

“What happened to you, Clegane? The cat got your tongue?”, he japed.

Sandor could hear the men laughing, howling up to the air.

Not so fucking scared now, are they?

Sandor laid back, taking a second to breathe. Then Tormund offered his hand, which he took, and climbed back to his feet.

As Tormund held his arm, he leaned closer to his ear.

“Or maybe it was a wolf, he whispered.

Sandor glared at him as if it was a threat.

Tormund only laughed and went to the barracks. Sandor followed him, putting away his blunt sword and leather armor.

“So”, Tormund started, as he drunk from a skin of water. “Lord Commander”, he said each word slowly.

“What of it?”

Tormund laughed and passed him the skin.

“Wondering how that came about.”

“You and me both”, Sandor groaned, taking a big gulp of water down his throat.

“Oh, really? Who do you think made the decision?”

Sandor glared again at the man, passing him the skin and pushing him out of the way.

“Fuck it”, and left the barracks, deciding to take Stranger for a long ride, until night time.

“Hound!”, he heard Tormund calling after him. Turning around, saw the man was closing in. 

He stopped and waited for him.

“Sorry, brother”, he said, placing a hand on his shoulders. “Just curious about you and...”

“Well, it’s none of your fucking business.”

Tormund smiled kindly at him and nodded.

Sandor left him and entered the stables. But as soon as he reached Stranger’s bay, He noticed that Tormund was close by.

For fuck’s sake.

“Why did you throw 30 southerners to the ground this morning?”, he asked playfully.

“Again, I ask, how is it that a mad fucker like you is still alive?”

“Yesterday, there were another 30 in their sorry asses.”

Sandor handed Stranger an apple and was considering releasing the beast just to see it stump over the wildling’s corpse.

“You’re their Commander now, can’t keep beating them time and time again.”

He was the Commander indeed. But until now, he’s sole duty was to train the men. Tomorrow, on the other hand, it would be the first war council between himself, the Starks and the Targeryen Queen - the last one who was clearly not happy with his nomination. Sandor guessed he had his brother to thank for it. 

“I’m guessing I can do anything I want with them”, he found himself saying.

“You don’t believe that”, Tormund laughed. “And what would your lady wolf say about that?”

“She’s not bloody mine”, he groaned madly. 

“Maybe it is you who is hers”, he laughed again and tapped him in the shoulder.

Sandor’s anger gave way to exhaustion. It seemed that, finally, all those days trainings had finally taken its toll. Or maybe it was Tormund’s tongue. Either way, he felt like he couldn’t keep arguing with the man. 

“She gave me her House’s fucking sword”, he found himself saying, trusting Tormund once again. Not that he would tell anything else about what had transpired between them.

Actually, Sandor hadn’t even accepted the sword. Though that was implied by their kisses that followed the offer. He still didn’t understand her interest in him, after all that he’s done, after his name as a Lannister soldier. But she seemed interested in him all the same, both as her Commander and as... whatever they were.

The wildling stood in silence for a moment, as in surprise that Sandor had shared anything about what was troubling him. 

“Which sword?”, Tormund asked, this time without a laughter.

“Ice”, he answered. “The great sword of House Stark, made of valyrian steel.”

Tormund still looked at him with a confused expression.

Sandor waved his hand in the air.

“It’s one of those things that I have to explain to you about the noble houses of Westeros.”

Tormund smiled sadly.

“Well, we won’t have the chance to have that conversation.”

Sandor nodded. Tormund and Berric would be leaving come morning. 

“Unless we all survive the bloody war”, he said. 

“For some reason I doubt that very much”, Tormund laughed. “But let me tell you something about that girl of yours.”

Sandor was ready to tell him again the she was not his, but held his tongue. It was useless to argue.

“You should’ve seen the way that girl came to us after fleeting Winterfell. When she arrived at Castle Black, she was just a torn girl. She came through the gates in rags, freezing. In just a few days, she was no longer torn apart. She was part of every council, of every negotiation with the northern houses, to retake her home. She wanted to summon more men before going into battle, but Snow was against that decision.”

Sandor was suddenly not tired anymore, listening carefully and anxiously to Tormund’s story.

“On the day of the battle, she threatened the Bolton bastard. And she was right. She went against Snow’s orders and called House Arryn. We won. Bolton died, by her hand. Later, she killed that Littlefinger fucker too. And now she’s the Lady of Winterfell.”

Sandor remained quiet, trying to paint the picture Tormund was setting up. It was almost surreal that the same girl from King’s Landing could be the same one of that story. 

He wanted to know more. 

No, I need to know more.

“So don’t doubt her decision of making you Commander. She’s wiser than all of us.”

Tormund gave him a last punch to the shoulder and left, leaving Sandor to his own thoughts.

And Sandor chew on that thought for the rest of the day. Finally, he was able to sleep, heavily and dreamless. When he woke up in his new room - to match his new position -, his first thought was Sansa Stark. The kiss they shared. The trust she placed upon him. And the vow, his first ever, he made to her in front of the Queen and all the northern lords. 

He hadn’t lied when he made that vow. He would keep her safe, even if it costed his own life. He didn’t swore it for the gods, for he didn’t believe in them. He pledged it to her, the only one that matters. And he would keep it. He would honor it.

And if she wanted him in other ways as well, better yet. He wanted her too.

In the morning, the Stark family was reunited in the front gate to say their goodbyes to the small garrison that would travel to Eastwatch. He stood behind her, his fingers itching to touch her once again. 

As if sensing his presence, she turned and looked him in the face. He felt like the Red Wolf was able to read his own soul with those piercing blue eyes. And then she fucking smiled, knowingly, at him. He grinned back as he saw the pink blush in her cheeks.

Sansa then turned to say her goodbyes to the men after her brother. Surprisingly, she kissed both Berric and Tormund in the cheeks, leaving them grinning like fools. 

“I cannot say how much I am thankful for you”, she said to them. “I hope we can see each other soon.”

“Me too”, Tormund said and then took a small bow. “Lady Stark.”

She laughed a little and bowed her head back.

After the Starks finished their goodbyes, Sandor took a step forward to say his. He shook both hands of Berric and Tormund, but the latter wasn’t content with just that. He pulled Sandor into a embrace and gave him a few slaps in the back. He retributed and parted from the wildling.

“Take care of them”, Tormund whispered. “Take care of her.”

Sandor nodded.

“Don’t get killed”, he answered. 

As the group left for the North, the council was called for an assembly. Sandor entered the Stark’s solar and forced himself not to look at the fireplace, where memories of a few nights ago continued to haunt him. He sat by Arya’s said, who was grinning at him.

“Hound”, she said.

“Wolf bitch.”

She smiled wider and then turned to the other men and women reunited there. The Starks were all there, and Sansa was just a few places away from him. The little lady Lyanna Mormont was also there, as was ser Davos Seaworth, Brienne of Tarth, Daenerys Targeryen and her entourage - including the Imp. They would finally decided the first steps to defend Winterfell and defeat Cersei.

Sansa stood up and the room remained quiet.

“Is everyone ready?”

Chapter Text

Sansa

“We cannot be certain of the number of men in Cersei’s army, but we can assume it is as big or bigger than ours”, Jon said, holding a wooden carved Lion in his hand and placing it on the map, right in King’s Landing. 

Every single person present in the war council was now inclined on the table, trying to see from a better perspective the many possibilities for a strategy. They had been at it for hours, only stopping for a quick midday meal. 

“Does she know we’re expecting her?”, Arya asked.

“No, she does not”, he answered, looking briefly at Dany. “At least, not in the same way we let on.”

“She thinks we believe her”, Tyrion said and laughed a little, probably of his own cleverness on deceiving his sister. “That we are waiting for her to join her forces with ours.”

“Then she does not expect an opposition”, Sandor said, by her right, just a few spaces a far.

Sansa had to forcefully look away from him after a few seconds had gone by. She had not talked to him ever since that night in the same solar they were all standing now. She missed him. Not only his embrace and his kiss – which were the most incredible thing Sansa had ever experienced – but also his strong presence. 

For the last few days, she had been out of her own mind. As soon as she had become Lady of Winterfell, all the responsibilities fell on her lap. She had to talk to the bannermen, coordinate supplies and hold court. At the same time, she continued her lessons with Jon at night, preparing for the council. The only time she had left were used for sleeping. And in sleep, or at least trying to, she thought of Sandor. When Arya wasn’t in their bedroom, Sansa would slip a hand beneath her small clothes and touch herself, thinking of him. It brought her pleasure, the most she had ever had by herself, but still left her frustrated and wanting so much more. 

Sansa attention went back to the council. She could see Sandor’s mind working on the maps and strategies laid before him. It was another assurance that she had made the right choice, and everyone could see it. Jon did not know him well, neither did Dany or Brienne. But all of them were listening carefully to what he had to say. 

“Did you settle on a meeting point?”, he continued. 

“Yes, at the Gift, halfway between here and Eastwatch”, Jon answered, pointing at the map the exact location. 

“Cersei will wait.”

Everyone then turned to look at him, anxious for an explanation.

He breathed heavily and pointed at the map.

“When we get tired of waiting for her and march without her soldiers, Cersei will wait until our forces have reached Eastwatch. Then, the Lannister army will have two options. It will either sail to the Wall by sea or will march North.”, his finger then moved to the waters by the Wall. “Either way, she will wait until the battle with the army of the dead has begun.”

Sansa looked back to the map, observing the wooden figures placed in it. In Eastwatch, there was a wolf and a dragon. In Winterfell, there was the wolf. And all the way South, there was a lion placed in King’s Landing. 

“Cersei will have two options of attack”, Sansa breathed. 

“Yes”, Sandor said, looking at her with an almost imperceptible grin. “She will either sail North and attack our forces while we are fighting the dead, or she will march North, and attack Winterfell first.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone assimilated that information. 

“Well”, Tyrion mumbled. “That’s a backstabbing move. Wouldn’t expect any less from Cersei.”

“We can hold a siege for a year or two”, Sansa replied. “We have enough supplies.”

“Yes, but that will not be enough”, he replied as softly as he could. “Winterfell needs to be manned as well.”

Grey Worm took a step forward to stare at the pieces on the table and nodded.

“Some of the Unsullied should stay at Winterfell”, he said with a thick accent, looking at his queen. “The khalasar will be an advantage in the open field, not in a keep.”

“Yes, but how many?”, Dany asked. 

“One hundred men, maybe two hundred.”

Sandor nodded.

“For a siege, that should be enough. But we can’t count on it. We need to be ready in case of a battle.”

“Winterfell will have some northern houses as guests”, Jon entered the discussion. “And also, their armies. We only have to choose those who will stay.”

“House Reed”, Bran said from his place. “They have enough men and they are one of our most loyal bannermen.”

Jon nodded and smiled. Sansa knew he was thinking of their father’s friendship with Howland Reed. And she knew Bran was thinking of the young Meera Reed, the friend who followed and helped him North of the Wall. 

“They also have skills on how to use forests for resources and in fighting”, Jon added. “Maybe we can use their expertise in our strategy against Cersei.”

“House Mormont”, said Arya. “They have few, but strong men and women.”

At the end of the council, they had a list of all the houses that would stay in Winterfell – and also those who would march North. They would need to hold another meeting with the northern lords and ladies to give word of their decision and handle the upcoming objections.

It was almost nighttime, but this was only the first day of many that would follow with all of them held up in the solar discussing battle plans. Sansa could see the dark circles under Jon’s eyes and the yawns that Podrick Payne was trying – and failing – to hold. Finally, Tyrion seemed to notice everyone’s exhaustion.

“What do you say we call it for the day?”, he asked while getting up from his chair. “Our minds are useless without a few hours of sleep.”

Everyone started to get up and leave the room, with the exception of her siblings. Before Sandor got away from the table, Sansa looked around to make sure no one was paying attention and grabbed his arm lightly. He turned, but not in surprise, as if he was waiting for her to reach him.

“Dine with me”, she whispered while looking at him in the eye. “Tonight.”

He grinned, which made Sansa’s legs slightly tremble. 

“Yes, my lady”, he whispered back and moved to the door, closing it behind him and leaving the Starks by themselves. 

As Sansa turned, she noticed Bran was looking directly at her. He remained that way for a few seconds, before turning his gaze to Arya, who was talking to Jon.

Letting out the breath she finally noticed was holding, Sansa walked towards her siblings, placing a hand in Bran’s shoulder as in thanks. His hand grabbed hers and gave it a light squeeze. 

Jon turned to her and gave her grin.

“You were right, Sansa”, he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Clegane is a fine strategist.” 

She smiled brightly and looked at Arya, to see the same grin on her face.

“He is”, was all she answered. 

Bran moved his chair to the writing desk.

“I will write the letters to the Houses that will remain in Winterfell”, he said while taking a pen and deepening it in the ink. 

“Good, the sooner the better”, Jon replied. He then moved for a pile of books and placed them in the round table were the map and all the wooden pieces were still laying on. “Let’s?”, he asked Sansa and Arya.

They both nodded and pulled their chairs for their next lesson. 

Sansa deeply enjoyed her sister’s presence in her studies with Jon. For her, it was an assurance the Arya would help her in any way she could. She was already great at this – counting men in an army, observing the terrain, planning formations. She didn’t even have to be there. But sometimes she would stay, helping Sansa in her logic to reach a conclusion. Asking questions like “Why is there the need to dig trenches in case of a siege?” or “In what occasion would an army fight with spears rather than with swords?”. 

Bran was a silent comfort. Sometimes he would stop his reading to listening to what Jon had to say, and to also listen to what Sansa would respond. It never failed to amaze Sansa how quickly he learnt his letters again and, without a doubt, he was the most avid writer and reader she had ever seen. 

.

A few hours later, all her siblings had retired to bed. As an excuse, Sansa said she would expend a few more minutes reading in the solar. They would probably find out eventually that she had dinner with a companion. But she didn’t want to explain it. Arya would probably make a scene, and Bran would not question her actions, though it would make Jon suspicious. In the morning, if anyone asked, she would simply say that he came back to the solar to grab a map and she invited him to join her.

Surprisingly, she wasn’t worried about the excuse she would give to her siblings. She was nervous to see him again, to talk to him again.

To kiss him again.

The last time, he had asked her what was their relationship. She chose to answer that it didn’t matter, and he agreed. The truth was that the real answer scared her. The last time she had wanted anything was her siblings and her home back. And that came with a price. And now she was afraid of wanting Sandor. 

Since she saw him in the courtyard of Winterfell that very first day, she knew she wanted to be closer to him. He was an ally, the only one that actually understood what she had gone through in King’s Landing. As for what she had gone through in the hands of Littlefinger and Ramsay Bolton, those were secrets only she was familiar with. 

And later, when she talked to him the second time in the stables, when he kissed her, she noticed she wanted him for more than just his presence and his words. She craved for his touch. 

Sansa was certain that this was the first time she really desired a man. All the previous ones were forced down her throat. Joffrey was the image of a perfect prince, and was a monster. She had used Petyr as much as he had used her. Ramsay was never subject to her desires, only a mean of taking Winterfell back. And she suffered more that ever before. 

She had no doubts about Sandor. He was who he was. No illusions, no deceit. Sansa would secretly tell herself that she would easily marry him. She trusted him as much as she trusted Arya, Jon or Bran. But that union would be impossible. She was the Lady of Winterfell, previous Queen in the North. He was the second son of a minor House. Previous guard of Joffrey Baratheon. She wasn’t ready to give up her House, her family. 

And to add to all of that, he didn’t seem to want marriage, or a title. Perhaps in time they could become lovers, but nothing more. 

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, there was a knock on the door.

Sansa got up from her chair while Sandor opened the door. He stopped in his tracks to look at her, a grin spreading through his lips. 

He barred the door behind him and came closer to her.

“Hungry?”, she breathed.

“Starving”, he rasped.

Sandor wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her closer, his mouth seeking hers. She forgot all her previous worries and just gave in to that kiss. Her hand grabbed the hair at his nape, and his did the same while the other clenched at her waist. 

As soon as his tongue touched hers, she felt like time was running slower, that her eyes were heavy and that the air wasn’t enough to keep her breathing. 

His wasn’t japing, he was hungry. His mouth was almost aggressive against hers, taking what he wanted. She felt vulnerable, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t mind. If it was by his hands, his mouth, she didn’t mind her weakness.

His mouth parted from hers to seek her neck. As soon as she gasped, she could feel the smile that was forming on his lips against her skin. He had found her weakness, it seemed. She only held him closer, her nails sinking into his clothes back and scratching his neck. When he came back to kiss her, his hand started to climb her back, following the line of her spine. 

The it hit her. The fear, the despair, hit her all too strong.

She had to remind herself where she was and who she was with as to not push Sandor away. 

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

But he seemed to notice that something was wrong, for he kissed her softly before stopping and taking a step back. 

“What’s wrong?”, he rasped, his breath still fast.

“Nothing”, she whispered as her hands seeked his body again. 

But he clearly noticed her lie.

“Sansa”, he breathed and he held the back of her head, but did not kiss her. “Tell me.”

Tears started to well up in her eyes and her voice got stuck in her throat. But he waited for an answer, and would wait until she was ready to talk.

“Sandor, I-“, she tried, but still, she was not brave enough. “I can’t talk about it. Not now.”

He took a step away from her, nodding in understanding. But she went after him again, throwing her arms around his shoulders and holding him close.

He kissed her again, but this time so softly that the tears were threatening to spill from her eyes. She let him kiss her, hold her, bring her comfort as no one had ever given her this way. 

“Little Bird”, he whispered, his forehand touching hers. “What happened to you?”

She didn’t know if he was asking her or just thinking out loud. Looking at his gray eyes, she felt her heart beat faster. And then she noticed that this always happened whenever he looked at her. Only with his eyes, Sandor was able to set her heart in flames. 

“It’s not a pretty song”, she whispered, her face hiding in his neck. 

Then, he brought her to the chairs near the fireplace and sat across from her. She wanted him closer, but held her tongue from saying so. He wouldn’t cave him. He wanted to listen, he wanted to know. 

And she told him. As much as she could. She didn’t go into details of what Ramsay had done to her, but it remained implied. That he had raped her was no surprise, to anyone. It was what law allowed. For a wife to be subject to her husband’s will, no matter the cost. 

But she also told him of happier times, if that is how she was supposed to call it. While she was married to Tyrion, no kingsguard touched her again. In the Vale, she made a few friends who taught her a little bit more of how the world worked. In the Wall, she came to know the wildlings and their way of life. While traveling North, she met the keeps of their bannermen. And she told Sandor of that day Arya and Bran came back to them. 

He listened carefully to her, and did not interrupt her once. His body was inclined foward, showing her his interest in her story, but his expression remained expressionless - with the exception of when it hardened during the darkest parts. 

When she finished with her tale, they kept quiet for a while. Both processing the information. Sandor was trying to wrap his mind around what she had told him. And Sansa was dealing with the shadows of her mind, trying to understand if what she felt was relief or sadness. He finally knew. Maybe not all of it, but enough. The darkest scars needed to be kept hidden for longer.

“Come here”, he finally rasped, breaking the silence of the room.

She took a deep breath a got up from her seat. As soon as her legs were almost touching his, Sandor grabbed her and sat her on his lap. 

Her arms circled his neck, as his enveloped her back and her legs. He kissed her, once, deeply. It left her breathless.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered against her cheek. 

“Thank you”, she whispered back and kissed his scar. “But none of this is your fault.”

“It fucking is”, he was mad. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve protected you. I let them beat you.“

“No, you shouldn’t”, she kissed him again, trying to make him understand. “Ever since that night I regret that I didn’t accept your offer.”

“I scared you.”

“You did. But I was so blind”, she kiss his lips softly and then went back to kiss his face. “You were always there for me. But I only noticed it when it was too late.”

He touched his forehead to hers again. She closed her eyes and just stood there, letting herself be embraced. It was the only thing she needed at that moment. 

“I’ll kill him”, he said and she snapped her eyes open to see him again. “I’ll fucking kill him. All you need is to say the word.”

Sansa was confused at that. She had killed Ramsay herself. Littlefinger‘s body was burnt. Joffrey’s corpse was rotting all the way South.

“Who- Who are you talking about?”, she whispered.

“The Imp.”

Sansa was still lost, but only for a moment. And then it dawned at her. Sandor wanted to do justice to her. The only other man who had betrothed or married her was still alive. 

“Sandor, Tyrion never touched me.”

“Sansa-“, he tried to argue, but she didn’t let him.

“No, you don’t understand”, she insisted, feeling her cheeks burn. “He never bedded me.”

The look on his face would’ve made her laugh if the subject wasn’t so serious. Who would imagine she was capable of leaving the fearless Hound confused?

“Nor did Littlefinger, for that matter.”

Sansa noticed he wasn’t relieved. And he wasn’t supposed to be. Her first time with a man was with the cruelest one. Again, Sandor did not know the details. But he didn’t need to. To know that Ramsay was the one, was alone a horrible thought.

He is grieving, Sansa finally understood. 

She brought her had to his cheek, stroking lightly those scars she worshipped so much. He looked at her deep in the eyes and she felt a single tear run through her own face.

“He got what he deserved”, she whispered, kissing his good cheek. She didn’t need to explain who she was talking about. He knew. “I made sure he paid. I killed him.”

He kissed her deeply, his fingers running through her hair.

“My wolf”, he whispered against her lips, sending shivers across her skin and her heart beating faster. 

Sansa gave herself into that kiss, embracing him as he embraced her, never wanting to let go.

.

When they finally ate, the food was cold. But they didn’t mind. It meant more time to spend together. 

It was late when that finally parted, each one going to their own rooms. Before they went their respective ways, he held her close once more and kissed her deeply and softly. She smiled against his mouth and kissed his neck before climbing the steps to door.

As soon as she entered, the first thing she noticed was that her sister was standing near the fireplace, still wearing the clothes from earlier.

“Arya?”, she asked, closing the door behind her. “What are you doing up?”

Sansa noticed she also still had Needle and Petyr’s dagger strapped to her hip. For a second, she thought the worst. That she had seen her with Sandor.

“Waiting for you”, Arya answered with a grin and crossed her way, opening the door again. “It’s time for your training.”

“What?”, Sansa looked and the bed and saw breeches, a white shift and a pair of leather boots laying on it. “What is this?”

“Clothes”, Arya as if it was obvious. “It’s much easier to fight in breeches than in skirts.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

Arya was taking her to the broken tower - the same one from where Bran had fallen all those years ago. The serpentine stairs were uneven and slippery. But while her little sister climbed it with sure steps, Sansa was cautious not to stumble or fall from a crack on the stone or something else.

She was wearing the clothes Arya chose for her: a linen tunic, warm leather pants, a pair of boots and her own cloak to protect her from the cold. She had braided her hair quickly and tightly, and brought a lantern with them to illuminate their path. Though Arya seemed to not need it, nor was she in a hurry. She hadn’t said a word since they left the bedroom, though Sansa could see the small grin on her sister’s lips.

She knew from the start that Arya was excited about the idea of training her. She simply didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. After all, it would be a perfect opportunity for Arya to get even from their silly fights of their childhood.

We’ve grown. We are sisters in true now.

The nervousness to start her fighting lessons were keeping her mind from crawling back to Sandor Clegane, but just barely. Only a few minutes before, she was in his arms. Kissing him. Holding him. Laughing with him. She was probably the only person who had seen him that way. Content. Passionate - if that was the right word to describe him. Guarded down.

And it was only a few minutes before that she was telling him about the past few years. She didn’t want to tell him all of that, all the ugly details from her history. But now that she had, she felt like at least a fraction of her worries were gone from her mind. Sandor knew. And he did not judge her, like Sansa knew many of the lords that were now guests in Winterfell did.

The small lightness she felt made her only want to be with him more.

Once they’ve reached the top of the tower, Sansa put Sandor away from her thoughts and concentrated on getting ready to fight. She helped Arya push the heavy wooden door, entering the abandoned room. It had vines coming from one window and there was a wall missing, expanding the view to the woods. There was also furniture piled up in one corner, probably rotten from the humidity.

Sansa placed the lantern on the stone floor and waited for Arya, who was assessing the room, to say something. When she turned and looked at Sansa, she grew serious and her face remained expressionless.

“Take of your cloak”, she said firmly.

Sansa hesitated, but did as Arya said.

“Now”, she continued before Sansa could place her cloak on the floor besides the lantern. “Go to the bottom of the stairs and climb them back again.”

Sansa stared at her, without moving, holding the heavy fabric in her hand.

“What?”

“You heard me”, Arya said, impassive.

“We’ve just climbed it.”

“And now I’m telling you to do it again.”

Sansa couldn’t possibly understand her sister’s reasoning, but found that it was useless to go against her now. So, she took the lantern and moved to the door.

“Leave it”, Arya said behind her.

Sansa turned baffled at her sister.

“What if I trip in one of the steps?”

“Then you will fall.”

Again, there was no use in contesting Arya. So, she left the lantern on the floor, not to carefully giving the noise it made when it hit the stone.

Then she turned, took a deep breath and was cautious while climbing down the stairs, swearing out profanities in her mind the entire way. It was too dark, she couldn’t see a thing. Once she reached the ground floor, looked at the door to make sure it was closed. Surely, if someone saw her – doing what she was doing and dressed in man’s clothing – would be ready to call her insane and probably ask for help. She started to climb up again, just as careful as before. She tripped only twice in the middle of the way, but found her balance quickly without falling.

Once she reached the top, Arya was waiting for her by the door.

“Again”, she said with a playful smile. “But this time, faster.”

“Arya-”

“Do it.”

And she did. But this time, while climbing back, she tripped and fell, hitting her knee. A searing pain climbed through her leg. Sansa held herself from crying out. She got up on her feet and continued climbing the steps. She was faster than before, but that small accident put her behind.

“Again”, Arya said once she finished the task.

“No.”

Arya seemed to be mad.

“What?”

“I just fell!”, Sansa answered, equally angry. “I hit my knee and it is hurting. I can’t keep doing this. I’m going to bed.”

Arya stood in front on the door, stopping her from entering the room.

“How are you going to get out from this tower? Or go to your bedroom?”

Sansa opened her mouth to answer, but Arya was quicker.

“Yes, you’re going to climb up and down more stairs. So, you can do it, you simply don’t want to.”

Sansa closed her mouth and stared at her sister. Arya took a deep breath and moved away from the door, though Sansa would not enter.

“Stop thinking you will trip or fall or hurt yourself in anyway. Don’t think about failing. Think about reaching the top, and only that.”

“Why?”, Sansa questioned her, this time a little calmer. “What is the use of climbing stairs? I should be swinging a sword, not running in the dark.”

Arya unsheathed her sword and came closer to her sister.

“Because your legs are weak and you can’t run fast enough or long enough”, Arya said, touching Sansa’s leg lightly with Needle. “You need to make them strong. Then, it will be your arms. And you will learn to control your breathing. And at the same time, you will have to learn how to swing a sword. Maybe even wield a dagger.”

Sansa stood silent after that, taking all in. She had to remind herself that her sister had an intensive training at Braavos – though there were somethings that Sansa still didn’t know about it. Arya knew what she was doing and if Sansa wanted to learn, she would have to do as her little wild sister told her to. Even if that meant having to climb up and down that damned tower every night.

“Alright”, she whispered seriously. “I will do what you say.”

Arya let out a timid smile and sheathed Needle.

“But when will I have a sword?”, Sansa asked, playfully.

“When you deserve it”, Arya laughed and pointed at the stairs.

Sansa took a deep breath and went on to earn her training with her little sister.

.

When she woke up the next morning, she didn’t even remember how she had come back to her room the night before. Her whole body was aching, her muscles screaming for the excessive training. Arya was right, after all. Her legs were weak, as was her back and her belly.  

Arya laughed when she saw her agonizing and asked for a bath to be brought to their chambers. Sansa laid down on the warm water and wished to never leave that place.

The next few nights were the same. Arya would tire out Sansa with the stairs. On the third night, she asked Sansa to bring a few items with her while climbing up to the tower. It was supposed to make her carry some weight, adding strength to her muscles. Sansa only felt pain come morning.

On the fourth night, Arya asked her to bring up a sword from the armory. A blunt training one. Again, Sansa was not allowed to bring any light with her, and had to be careful not to draw anyone’s attention. It was late in the night, but apparently some men were happy enough to stay up and drink with the soldiers.

She entered the armory and it was warm from the brazier used to melt the steel. Luckily, she was alone. She tried her best not to make any noise and went for the place where blunt swords were kept. When she reached it, she almost kicked the wooden support and dropped it all on the floor. She was fast enough to grab it before it fell and made any noise. She grabbed one of the weapons and darted for the door.

When she reached it, she could hear the men still laughing and singing drunken songs. They were near, but it was dark outside. If she was quick, no one would see her.

“Hound!”, she heard one of them yell out. “Why don’t you come and join us?”

Sansa was unable to move.

“No”, she heard him rasp just as close as the soldiers.

With all her training, Sansa hadn’t seen him as much as she would’ve liked. The had dinner together a few nights before, and she would cross paths with him along the keep and in the war council meetings. But ever since she poured all her secrets in him, they hadn’t talked, really talked, to each other. She missed him.

But he couldn’t see her like that. Sweaty, dressed as a boy, with a blunt sword in her hand.

She had to think fast. She couldn’t stay forever in the armory. But she couldn’t risk being seen. Specially by him. And he wasn’t drunk as the other men.

“Come on!”, the same man insisted. “Won’t the Lord Commander drink with his soldiers?”

Sansa could sense the venomous sarcasm in his voice. It made her blood boil with rage. She knew people would be suspicious of him, would not trust him at first. But she thought they wouldn’t try to mess with him.

“Fuck off”, he answered.

That made her smile a little bit.

Then she heard a cup hit the stone floor. Everyone was silent.

Sansa dared spy through a little crack in the wooden wall of the armory. The man was standing up now, walking wobbly to stand face to face with Sandor.

Now she could see his face. Sandor was expressionless, though his scarred mouth was twitching lightly. Only someone who knew him would notice it. He was mad. It reminded her of the Hound, of Joffrey’s shield when he was holding court. It was frightening.

“The big, bad Hound”, the man laughed, opening his arms to his friends. These were smart enough to keep quiet and not even smile. “How is that a Lannister dog came to be the leader of the Stark’s army?”

Sandor grinned wickedly. At that, a shiver ran up Sansa’s spine.

“A dog I might be”, he answered, taking a step forward, towering over the soldier. “At least I’m not a rat.”

A dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats.

It scared Sansa, that he could so easily turn back into the Hound. Violence and rage were emanating from him. But at the same time, it was thrilling.

You shouldn’t mess with the Hound, she thought to herself.

“What did you do to Lady Sansa to make her so keen on naming you Commander?”, the man asked in a low voice. “Did you get to smell her sweet-”

Before he could say anything else, Sandor’s fist fell on his face. Hard.

Sansa covered her mouth with her hand, stopping herself from saying anything or even breathing louder.

She could swear she heard bone cracking.

The man fell on the floor and spit blood. He started to get up again and Sandor grabbed his collar.

“Cross my path again and I will kill you”, he whispered lowly. “Or maybe I’ll let Lady Sansa feed you to the hounds.”

Sansa didn’t know if she should smile or cry at that.

They call you the Red Wolf. Maybe I should start calling you that.

Sandor dropped the man in the floor and took a second to assess his friends. They were all quiet, trying to avoid his gaze. Satisfied, he started to walk away from the group.

In the direction of the armory.

Sansa looked around to see where she should hide and decided to stay where she was, back against the wall. He would see any movement, he would hear any sound. She stood quiet and held her breath.

She heard his steps moving closer. When he crossed the door, she saw his shadow on the wooden floor. He didn’t stop to look, as she thought he would. Sansa notice she could smell him, even from a distance.

When the sound of his steps was far enough, she got out of the armory and darted to the door that lead to the broken tower. She heard running steps behind her but dared not to look. She climbed the stairs as fast as she had ever been. She reached the top and closed the door shut behind her, her heart in her throat.

“Are you alright?”, Arya asked, getting up from the edge of the window. “Did anyone see you?”

“No, I don’t think so”, Sansa answered, gasping for air.

“What took you so long?”

“Nothing”, she said, shaking her head. “Just a few drunken soldiers.”

Arya eyed her suspiciously but said nothing of it. Then she pointed at the blunt sword in her hand.

“Are you ready?”

Sansa looked at the blade and nodded at her sister.

“First, let me see your stance.”

.

It was another night until Sansa could see Sandor again. At the end of the war council, everyone started to leave the solar. Before that, Arya gave her a knowing look, meaning that this night’s training was going to happen. Sansa nodded almost imperceptibly and followed the people out. Sandor, as if reading her mind, as falling behind the group, letting everyone pass him in the long corridor. Until he stopped, she stopped right behind him.

When there was no one else in sight, he turned to her. Before he could do anything else, Sansa launched herself into his arms, kissing him with all her might.

For a moment, he didn’t seem to understand. But then his arms enveloped her tightly in an embrace. She held Sandor’s face in both of her hands, her fingers slowly stroking his cheeks – both scarred and whole.

Sansa couldn’t stop remembering how he punched that man’s face, how he somehow protected her from evil mouths when he thought she wasn’t looking. That was only a glimpse of Sandor that she stupidly forgot it existed. It was the same gesture that made him take off his cloak and cover her nakedness in the Throne Room.

Her tongue sought his with hunger. He retributed in that same manner, hastily. They didn’t have much time and the corridor wasn’t a safe place for them. But the thought of taking him whenever she wanted, wherever she wanted was making her blood sing and her sex tingle.

I want you so much more than this, she thought words that would never dare say out loud.

She kissed him one more time, deeply, slowly. She opened her eyes to see his gray ones, as if he could see her mind. That only made her blush.

“Thank you”, she whispered.

“For what?”, he rasped.

She simply kissed him again one last time before letting him go and walking besides him to the dinner at the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

Sandor

Sansa Stark was driving him mad.

Every time they met was pure bliss and the hottest of the seven hells. He would do no more than kiss her and touch her. He did not hold her body in anyway improper - at least, not more improper than what they were doing, breaking the barriers of their status and the modesty of noble houses.

But he wanted to. He wanted to do so much more to her. She seemed to want him too. Sansa would touch him the same way he touched her. His scars, his neck, his hair, his back, his hip. She would also hold her own body close to his, too close, in a way that he could feel all of her. And he knew she could feel all of him.

He made a silent promise that he would never do anything to hurt her. But godsdamnit, he was about to lose control.

They were seeing less of each other now. She was too busy with her lessons with Snow and the council meetings. Besides that, she had a castle to rule. As soon as the northern army marched to battle, she would be responsible for Winterfell – including all the lords that remained in the keep, rations, weapons, refugees and, of course, the battle against Cersei Lannister. The army was still in the keep, but she had already begun her duties as Lady of Winterfell.

He usually met her in the Stark solar, either after dinner or they would eat in the room. Normally, the food would get cold before any of them felt hungry. She would talk about her day, about the northern houses, about her siblings. He shared little, preferring to listen to her than talking about his own past. There was not much to say, anyway. He already told her about his journey with the wolf bitch, there was no use in exploring more than that. When they were done talking, they would kiss and hold each other.

He tried his best not to push it any more than what was safe. More times than not he would slow things down when she wanted to speed them up. And he knew the noble Sansa Stark was left frustrated, just as he was. She would sigh and disentangle from him reluctantly. They never talked about it. About what they both wanted. And he wouldn’t be the first to say anything, for he swore to never touch her. Well, at least not touch her any other way than the way he touched her now.

When they parted, she would put a mask of courtesy, pretending she wasn’t disheartened. He didn’t like it. It felt as if she was lying. But for the first time he wasn’t in the position of asking her not to lie. He was lying too. And he felt that Sansa knew he was as frustrated as her.

Sandor also doubted her closeness, her warmth. He suspected her real intentions. He was damaged, a burnt dog. It was surreal to even think that she was able to hold any affection for him. No words or promises were exchanged. And that was driving him insane as well. Some part of Sandor told him that he should break it off as soon as possible, preventing anymore damages. But every time he saw her, that idea vanished. Sansa Stark was the best thing that had ever happened to him, even if she was not his to begin with.

He would keep it up as much as he could. He would probably die in battle, all of them would. This was his only chance.

Little Bird.

Red Wolf.

Sansa.

He would take from her only what she was willing to give. Nothing more.

.

It was the hour of the wolf. He had just come back from a training in the woods with the best fighters of their army. Besides, he wanted to know a little more about the forests and how they could use it in their advantage. Hopefully, the Reed’s would have more knowledge than any of them. Cersei didn’t know the North, nor anyone in her army. She also didn’t know winter. She wouldn’t be careless to let her men freeze, but maybe there was something that they weren’t prepared for.

The Tarth bitch went with him, as well as her squire, the Payne boy. They hadn’t said a word about his plan, only followed his orders. He still hadn’t accepted his own defeat against the lady knight, but he couldn’t deny her skill. She was one of the best swordsmen of the Seven Kingdoms. Shit, maybe even better than himself – given that she had practically given his own ass to him. And he could see that she cared for the Starks. Maybe if he didn’t survive the war, she could protect them, protect the Little Bird, in his stead.

Everyone was practically sleeping in their horses. They had skipped dinner, but were too tired to eat. After returning to the safe wall of the keep, he sent the men to rest. He put Stranger back in his stall and brushed the snow from his back. He even gave him an apple before leaving.

He was on his way to his room, his new room with his new bed, hoping to pass out in sleep when he heard it. The distant clash of steel on steel. A swordfight.

Drawing out his own blade, he followed the noise. Sandor’s instincts began to work. The castle was completely empty at this time, everyone was in their beddings - with the exception of the night guards. But they never practice this late and if they were, they would do it at the training grounds. Something was strange, he could feel it.

He followed the noise to the armory, and then further, standing beneath the broken tower. The same one from where Bran Stark had fallen when Sandor himself was last time in Winterfell, during Robert’s visit. There was no mistaken now. The fight was happening on the top of the building.

He found the door easily enough, unlatched. He climbed the stairs quickly and quietly, his sword ready on his hand. The sound grew louder, echoing through the stone walls.

Sandor reached the wooden door, taking a deep breath. Then he pushed it with his foot forcefully, entering the room. His sword lifted itself above his shoulder to strike.

A pair of blue eyes and red flaming hair stopped his hand.

She had a sword in her hand. There was no mistaking it was a blunt one. Its end pointed to him.

Her hair was done in a braid that was falling apart. Her face was shining with sweat. Instead of her dresses, she wore breeches and a tunic. She looked nothing like the Lady of Winterfell, but so much of the North. And so fucking beautiful it hurt.

He could see she was angry, maybe even scared. But finally, after long seconds, she seemed to have recognized him. Her eyes widened and her sword lowered a bit.

“Ouch”, she yelled out as another blade hit her back.

“Dead”, the little wolf bitch said behind her.

Sansa turned to her sister with an angry look in her face, while Arya was grinning.

The youngest Stark sister looked at him and waved her sword.

“What are you doing here?”, she asked. “Care for a fight?”

Sandor darted his eyes between the two Starks waiting for an answer, but none came. He could see, even in the low light, that Sansa was blushing and avoiding his gaze.

“What the buggering hells is going on here?”, he demanded.

“None of your business.”

“We’re training”, Sansa answered at the same time as Arya.

“What?”

Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again to look at him, she seemed surer of herself, though her cheeks were still flaming pink.

“Arya is teaching me how to fight.”

That took Sandor by surprise. She was looking back at him, as if waiting for him to say something. But more words came out from his mouth.

He took a good look at her. No wonder she was sweaty and wearing men’s clothing. His eyes trailed her legs, a part of her body he had never seen before. It was still covered by fabric, but still amazed him. She had long legs. And that tunic was leaving little to imagination. The curve of her breasts visible through the white linen, even in the dark. She didn’t seem to mind, though, nor did she seemed to notice he could see much from her in those clothes.

“Why?”, was all he managed to ask.

Arya remained silent at his question. This was clearly Sansa’s choice.

But she also was quiet, staring at him with those ocean eyes.

“Little Bird?”

“I want to learn how to defend myself”, she answered firmly.

He held himself back from grinning.

Good girl.

“Why?”, he asked as softly as he could.

She seemed to get mad.

“How can you ask me that? Out of all people?”, she replied. And Sandor was right, she was angry. “What would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t come back for me at that riot? Or if you hadn’t stopped me that day on the battlements?”

He opened his mouth to say that he didn’t mean that, that he didn’t doubt her motivations. But stopped himself. He wanted to know what was behind her actions.

When Sansa noticed he wasn’t going to say anything, she took a step closer in his direction. The frown still on her face.

“What if I knew how to fight when I escaped King’s Landing? What if I had been able to defend my aunt from Littlefinger? What if I had fought my way out of Ramsay’s grasp? I’m tired of getting beaten. I want to fight back for once.”

This time, Sandor let himself grin.

“Good.”

Sansa was startled, but her expression was still fiery.

“Show me what you got”, he said, taking the blunt sword from Arya and pointing it at Sansa’s.

“What?”

He took a stance and waited for her. Arya took a step back, reclining to the stone wall to watch the scene. Sansa turned back to look at her sister, who nodded in approval.

Sansa turned back to him and also took a stance.

He let her hit first.

The strength of her blows didn’t even compare to his own. Though Sandor could feel that she was putting more force than necessary. He wasn’t attacking her, only blocking. Not that he would ever use all his might. It would only hurt her.

She didn’t get one single hit, but she had the right feet work, the right movement. Just as her training as a noble lady, she had an impeccable posture. He didn’t know how long the Stark sisters had been training, but he could see Arya’s work. The speed and the lightness were all there.

Sandor could see that Sansa was focused, studying each of his movements and her own. But he was also observing her. The way her eyes darted from one point to another, the way her feet pointed his way, how her left hand closed in a fist when she was about to strike. Her long legs dancing beneath her, her body following. Her hair a blaze in the dark.

If Arya wasn’t there, he would’ve thrown Sansa against the wall and devoured her already.

“Good”, he said to break his thoughts. “Now, you block me.”

She didn’t assimilate the change in their dance. So, when he struck, she didn’t block. The blade just touched her skin, his hand stopped before the sword made any contact.

“Focus, girl.”

She didn’t answer, but he saw one of her eyebrows lift at the name.

This time, she blocked. He could’ve used strength to break her defense, but it would be pointless. He continued to go for the most predictable places in her body, which she would always catch. And then, after some time had passed, he started to go faster, sneakier. He hit her arm, her leg, her back.

Finally, when she was tired out and frustrated, he made to strike her neck, stopping the blade centimeters from her skin.

She breathed heavily, her blue eyes piercing him with a mix of rage and complicity. At that moment, Sansa reminded him of the hounds when the pack went hunting, daring each other for the prey. He imagined it was the same with wolves.

He could smell her from where he stood. She was intoxicating even when sweaty. From his position, he could see the swell of her breasts under her shirt.

Damn her.  

He gave her a long and longing look before lowering his sword and parting from her. She pushed the hair away from her face and took a deep breath, recovering from the fight. They stood silent for a while, each regaining their breaths and assessing the other.

“You did good”, Arya said from the corner, almost giving Sandor a scare. He almost forgot she was there.

Sansa turned to her in a snap, as if she had also forgotten. But she didn’t smile at her sister compliment.

“He hit me every time. I did not hit him once”, she said, expressionless.

“How long have you two been training?”, he asked as he gave the blunt sword back to the wolf bitch.

“Every night for three sennights.”

Sandor grinned at that.

“You did good”, he repeated. “Keep at it.”

She opened her mouth to say something but decided otherwise. Instead, she took a deep breath and nodded at him.

“Thank you”, she whispered, never forgetting her courtesies.

He nodded her way and turned to get his sword back, sheathing it in its scabbard.

“You weren’t so gentle with your words when you taught me”, Arya said from behind him. He turned and he could see she had a knowing smile on her lips. “And also, you would always strike me.”

He glared at the girl, trying to understand what was behind her eyes.

“You were raised a wolf bitch, not a lady like your sister.”

She shrugged as if she didn’t mind it and walked past him, crossing the door way and climbing down the stairs.

He and Sansa were left alone.

Sandor looked at Sansa and she was putting the two blunt swords in a corner in the wall, where it would stay reasonably hidden from anyone who entered the room and wasn’t looking for them.

When she turned, she caught him looking straight at her. He saw her cheeks blush again, a deep red. Not only the fires from the lamps were illuminating her and the room, but also the moonlight that prevailed from the clouded sky. She looked wild. Her boyish clothes in a disarray, her hair still escaping from her braid and her pale skin glowing.

He suddenly felt as if it wasn’t safe for him to be alone with her.

Sandor wanted her. Badly.

But she didn’t seem afraid as he was. She took a step closer to him, and then another. Until she was almost touching him. And then she was. Her hands touched his forearms and climbed his arm. Then his shoulders. Until her own arms were circling his neck, her chest against his.

Against his better judgment, he caved. His hands went for her hips, and the climbed to her waist. The fabric of her chemise was thin. He could feel the heat and the texture of her skin. One of his hands climbed to her breast, but he did not touch it, only under it. She sighed deeply and kissed his neck, licking his skin.

That sent him over the edge.

In one swift move, he had her back against the stone wall. His mouth sought hers hungrily. He bit her lip and she gasped, opening her mouth to him. And then his tongue found hers. He tasted the familiar taste of her, the one he was so addicted. She was moaning, he was groaning.

His hands climbed down her body, touching her hip, her soft behind and finally the back of her thighs. He lifted her, drawing their bodies closer. She gasped again and her arms tightened against his back.

He was trying to keep his groin away from hers so she wouldn’t feel his hard on. But apparently, she had other ideas. Her legs tightened around his hip and she rub the inside of her legs against him. There was no doubt she could feel him now. She opened her eyes, pupils dilated such that he almost couldn’t see the blue iris. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. And then, she sighed once more.

He kissed her again and moved against her, rubbing against her. He groaned again. Not even when he had fucked whores, entered them, he had felt this. It was greater than any sensation. He kept doing it, again and again, feeling closer to Sansa than ever before.

His mouth climbed down her neck and kissed her chest where the tunic was opened. He licked her skin, tasting sugar and salt. She moaned loudly and he was glad Arya was far away from them now.

Sandor felt the pressure building in his pants. He was about to embarrass himself if he didn’t stop that. Against his own will, he parted his groin from hers. As soon as he did it, she felt her try to rub against him, but only found air. She opened her eyes and saw him looking at her. He saw the understanding dawning at her, and she breathed out frustrated. Still, he leaned at her and kissed her one last time before letting her legs fall from his hip and reaching the ground again.

Her hands traveled down his chest until they were resting at her sides.

They were both breathing hard, erratic. She didn’t say anything, and he was glad for it. If it was another courtesy, it would drive him mad.

Instead, she turned to grab her cloak. She put it around her shoulders and without looking at him, went for the door. Before she could reach it, Sandor grabbed her arm lightly. Sansa turned to him with such longing that felt his chest tighten. He held her face in his hand and kissed her once more. She gave in, kissing him back slowly, tenderly.

“You fought hard, Sansa”, he whispered against her skin and then looked at her deep in the eyes. “All those godsdamned years, you fought. You don’t need a sword to do that. That’s why you’re here now, as the Lady Stark of Winterfell.”

She was teary eyed, but nodded in return.

“Thank you”, she whispered back. “You fought as well, didn’t you? With or without a sword.”

“Aye, I did.”

“Against your brother?”

He closed his eyes at that, trying not to think about the last time he saw Gregor in Dragonpit, about his wish of revenge.

“Yes”, he said without sentiment.

Her hand reached his scars and stroked them lightly. He could barely feel it, but just the action brought heat to him. She leaned and kissed his good cheek. Then, removed her hand and kissed his scarred one. And finally kissed him one last time on the mouth, opening up to him and leaving him burning again.

“Goodnight, Sandor”, she whispered against his neck.

“Goodnight, Little Bird.”

He watched as she went through the door and climbed down the stairs. He waited for long minutes on the top of the tower. He rubbed his hands on his face, remembering the feel of her, of what had almost transpired between them. He was still hard, frustrated as ever and feeling like Sansa was a witch that had put a spell on him. Or a wolf that had sunk her teeth in his flesh.

Either way, he was fucking ruined.

Chapter Text

Sansa

“Lady Sansa is here, Your Grace”, Missandei announced after opening the door to the queen’s quarters.

“Please, let her in”, Sansa heard Dany’s voice from inside the room.

Missandei, handmaiden and trusted advisor of the queen, smiled at her and stepped aside so Sansa could enter. She took a deep breath, deciding to leave all her worries – about war, about the people of the North, about her family, and about her heart – outside that door.

One of the many guest rooms was now being used as a bower and bedding for Her Grace, though there weren’t many changes. The stone walls were still dark, with few tapestries hung on them. The furniture was from House Stark, since the Queen hadn’t brought her own. It was a spacious room, with a fireplace always lit and a view to the woods.

“Your Grace”, Sansa said, taking a small bow.

“Lady Sansa”, the Dany said, with a smile on her lips. “Please, take a sit”, she motioned to the chairs near the fire.

She sat down and noticed that on the table besides her, there was tea and sweets – and most importantly, lemoncakes.

A laugh escaped her lips. Sansa took one in her hands, marveling at the treat. She couldn’t believe it was real. The last time she had eaten one was in King’s Landing. The winter was harsh in the North, the snow far thicker than the one from her summer childhood. There were no more lemons growing, and the glass gardens of Winterfell were still being rebuilt.

When Sansa lifted her eyes back, Dany was sitting by her side, smiling at her reaction.

“How- How did you find these?”

“I brought lemons with me from the east. They are still abundant in Meereen. Winter hasn’t reached there in years.”

The Queen served them both steaming hot flowers tea, which smelled wonderfully of spices, passing her one cup.

“Your brother and sister told me these were your favorites.”

“Yes, they are”, she whispered, putting it down on the plate. “Thank you, Dany.”

She simply smiled and took a sip from her own tea. Sansa did the same before taking a small bite from a lemoncake. It was incredibly sweet, with a fine sour layer that left her mouth watering and wanting more.

“It’s incredible!”, Sansa laughed, more with herself than with the Queen. It reminded her of her childhood, even before she went South with her father, a time when all her brothers were alive, as were her parents. Even the maester, Luwin, and Rodrik, the castellan, and old Nan, and Hodor.

Gods, I miss them, she thought, doing her best to hold her tears.

They sipped their tea and ate the lemoncakes in silence. Sansa was still delighted about the flavor before she noticed Dany had grown serious, pensive. If it were before, before everything, she wouldn’t have noticed the change in her mood. But Cersei taught her well, as did Petyr.

It was one of those unnamable things that pointed it out. Suddenly, the crackling of the fire seemed louder. Also, after some time, Dany had stopped eating, the last lemoncake she had grabbed still in her hand. Her breathing was shallow, and her eyebrows were slightly arched. Her Grace knew how to put a mask, but Sansa was also good at this game.

“Dany?”, Sansa called, breaking the distraction of the Targaryen Queen.

She turned her head, her eyes still unfocused.

“Yes?”

“Is everything alright?”, Sansa asked, putting her cup down.

“Yes”, she said, a tone too high.

Sansa noticed that but didn’t say anything. She would wait until Dany was ready to talk.

The queen opened her mouth, and closed it again right away. Then, took a deep breath and sunk in her chair, in a way Sansa had never seen the Queen do – who always sat with her back straight and her shoulders thrown back in a posture that Septa Mordane would be proud of. Her cup was resting in both her hands, above her belly. She looked at the fire, contemplating the flames.

“There are somethings that I can’t say to anyone in this keep”, she whispered softly.

Sansa was listening carefully – and anxiously – to what Dany had to say, holding herself back from inclining forward on her seat. The Queen had summoned her, not the other way around. Though Missandei said it was only for tea, she knew Dany well enough by now to know better.

“Tyrion is my Hand, my most trusted advisor, and a friend. But he is a man”, she continued, talking in a low voice. “So is Grey Worm. Your brother too, but above all he is my lover.”

Sansa swallowed dry at that comment, failing miserably to hold the crimson from her cheeks. But she understood her meaning. There were things a woman cannot tell her lover.

“Missandei is my friend, and she already knows all my secrets and does not judge me for them.”

Sansa reached her hand to hold the queen’s. Dany looked at her and smiled softly, sadly.

“I shall help you in any way I can”, she whispered.

“Thank you, Sansa”, she squeezed her hand back. “I need you only to listen to me.”

Sansa nodded and waited.

“I’ve made many mistakes in my life. Some weight me more than others. I let my husband kill my brother.”

Sansa did not react to that. She knew siblings could be cruel. Her own never wore, but she knew that was the case of Tyrion’s sister. And Sandor’s brother.

“He threatened to kill my son, to kill me. In the holy soil of Vaes Dothrak. He deserved to die. I loved him, even though he never gave me reason to. I named Viserion in his honor, so that my brother would have an honorable remembrance of a dragon with his name instead of ‘The Beggar King’, she said with contempt the awful nickname. “And I lost him too. My dragon. I drove him to death.”

Dany was crying now, silver tears spilling through her face. Sansa held her hand tighter, hoping it would help soothe her sorrow.

“It wasn’t your fault”, she tried.

“No, it wasn’t. But it feels like it was. He was the smallest one, the most playful. He reminded me of the best part of my brother, the one he only showed me when we were children. He could be light as a feather when he wasn’t plotting revenge and our return to the Iron Throne.”

She took a deep breath once more and continued.

“And then I killed my husband. I couldn’t save our son and ended up killing both.”

Her voice faltered and she covered her mouth with her hand, holding out a sob and failing. Sansa was struck by that graveness of Dany’s cry. Something in her stopped and shivered. Dread filling her veins.

“What happened, Dany?”, whispered.

“A witch. She told me she would help him, but Drogo only got worse”, she said through tears. “Her village was sacked, and the women raped, including herself. She wanted revenge. And she got it. She killed my moon and stars, and my son, Rhaego, still in my womb.”

Rage filled Daenerys face as her tears still flowed down.

“I burnt the witch. And then I burned my husband and my son. And in their fire, I walked into the flames and hatched my sons.”

Her hand went to her belly, gripping it tightly.

“And now I can’t have any more children”, she whispered. “I have no heirs, only my dragons. The Targaryen line will die with me – either if I die in this war or in King’s Landing, sitting on the Iron Throne.”

Sansa nodded in understanding and kept holding her hand.

“That means that I need to pass the Iron Throne to someone, to another House”, she said looking at Sansa. “The first person that comes to mind is Tyrion. He is the heir to House Lannister and is the complete opposite of his siblings.  And the second person, actually, the second House that I can think of is House Stark.”

Sansa felt as if she was struck.

Her body stilled and she was left wordless. Dany looked at her with a smirk, surely from her reaction. She wasn’t crying anymore. This was the Queen speaking, as if sharing secrets with her council.

“Your Grace, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can”, she whispered, squeezing Sansa’s hand back. “I’m not saying right now I am naming House Stark my heir. Though you Starks would be great rulers, not only of Winterfell, but of the whole Seven Kingdoms.”

“We rule the North, not Westeros”, Sansa said.

“Yes, and maybe that’s why there weren’t any wars up here before my father was dethroned. Technically, House Stark would’ve been my enemies. Ned Stark helped Robert Baratheon, the usurper, take the Iron Throne. And yet, I hear that he was an honorable man and only joined the war because his father and brother were killed, and his sister kidnapped. All by the hands of my family”

Dany turned to face Sansa, holding both her hands.

“When I met Jon, we agreed on keeping our ancestors’ mistakes where they belong. In the past. I intent on following that agreement.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Dany. I truly do”, she whispered. “But I’ve been in King’s Landing. I lived with Court. That is not our ways.”

“I understand that. And I know you Starks well enough by now to know that North is not only a place, but also its people and its customs.”

But then, Dany’s excited and convincing expression fell.

Again, Sansa was filled with worry. The queen already expected her reaction, that she would deny the Iron Throne or anything to do with the southern politics. Surely, Jon would too. So would Arya and Bran.

She saw Dany’s eyes fill with tears again, though these would not run.

“Dany?”

“I made many mistakes in my life, Sansa. And there is one that has been pressing on me lately. And I feel that if I don’t tell anyone, it will drive me insane.”

The queen slowly stood up and walked towards the fireplace. She then knelt and held out her hand, touching the flames as if they were water. Sansa had already heard about Daenerys’ ability. She had heard people whisper, “Fire cannot kill a dragon”. And now she was seeing it before her eyes.

She followed and stood by her side. Dany then stood back again and looked at her.

“I killed Randyll and Dickon Tarly.”

Sansa opened her mouth to speak and closed it right away. A shiver ran through her spine.

Oh, no. Sam.

“Does he know?”, she asked.

The queen didn’t need to ask who she was talking about.

“No, not yet”, she whispered. “I haven’t told Jon yet neither.”

No.

Jon and Sam were best friends, as if they were brothers who shared the same blood. At this point, he was considered family. The Night’s Watch had that power to turn strange men into close brothers.

“Who knows?”, Sansa asked, softly, staring at the flames.

“Tyrion. Missandei. Grey Worm.”

Good. They were loyal to Daenerys and wouldn’t say anything behind her back.

“You need to tell him before any ravens arrive.”

“Yes.”

“He has a mother and a sister. They surely already know.”

“Yes.”

She turned to look at Dany again.

“And you need to tell Jon.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I know”, she whispered somberly.

They stood in silence for some time. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the former Queen in the North. Each one deep into their own thoughts.

 “You don’t judge me”, Daenerys said, cutting the silence.

Sansa noticed it wasn’t a question.

“I simply wonder what happened.”

“They refused to bend the knee. They were loyal to House Lannister. Tyrion tried to convince me the other way, but I dismissed it completely.”

Fire and Blood, Sansa thought. 

“I know that old saying”, Dany said. “Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. I’m trying to prove that I am not the bad side of the coin. But every time I think about that day, I remember Viserys and his own madness. I acted just like him. Just like my father would act.”

She took a deep breath and looked at Sansa again, her eyes gleaming.

“That day, before I ended House Tarly, your brother convinced me of not burning King’s Landing down. That if I did it, I would be no better than Cersei. I did not burn a city, but I burned a family.”

“You’re better than Cersei, Your Grace”, Sansa said in a heartbeat. “You don’t know Cersei as I do, but anyone can see that.”

Again, there was that silence. But it wasn’t as uncomfortable as before, when the Queen arrived at Winterfell. It was a silence of comprehension, where people would respect the time needed so that they could assimilate and reflect on what was happening. Sansa smiled sadly at that. It was the same silence the she and Arya sometimes held up.

“If you want, I can be there when you tell Jon”, she whispered. “All you need to do is ask.”

Dany smiled softly, and sadly at her.

“Thank you, Sansa”, she answered while holding her hand. “But that’s something I need to do alone, as a queen. Even if she’s speaking to her lover.”

Sansa nodded and smiled back.

“Thank you, Sansa”, Dany repeated. “They call you the Red Wolf, but I guess that wolves also have a heart.”

“Maybe dragons have one too.”

The Queen laughed out loud at that.

“I hope you don’t mind if I call you my friend. I am desperately in need of one.”

Sansa smiled and took the liberty of hugging the Queen.

“I do not mind”, she answered honestly. “I cherish it.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

Sansa left Daenerys feeling like her head was spinning in an endless spiral. She saw the Targaryen Queen with different eyes now. She was not invincible, almighty. She was a woman, who had known pain and sorrow and betrayal just as Sansa had. Who had loved, and lost loved ones just as she had. She smiled, remembering how she called them friends. Sansa also wanted more friends, people to devote to after all those she had lost. She already had her brothers, her sister, and Brienne.

And Sandor , some deep part of her told her – even though “friends” was not the best word to describe what they were.

Sansa walked to the Godswood, seeking the silence and the solitude to think, to question - her own mind and also Dany’s declarations - and maybe even to pray. She saw no one in her way there, and was glad for it. She needed time, if only just a little.

The snow covered everything. The ground, the roots of the weirdwood tree, the pond. All was blessedly white. Except the bloody red of the leaves and the sap that ran from the face carved in the wood. When she was a child, she feared the old gods, not understanding why they needed those scary faces to see and hear. After King’s Landing, after spending so much time away from anything that resembled the old gods, she felt comforted by her father’s gods.

She remembered the first time she had seen it since coming back home. It was in her wedding ceremony to Ramsey. She felt comforted too then. And she was so, so wrong.

But it was also the old gods who gave her strength to fight back. The gods, the snow, the woods. The North. It gave her the resilience flee from Winterfell, her home. To seek Jon. To go against him to call the Vale. To feed Ramsey to his hounds. It gave her heart back, the one she had lost in the South.

She knelt on the frozen ground to pray. Briefly and silently, she thanked the gods for bringing her family safely back home - even if they could not protect every her parents and her other brothers. And asked to keep protecting her loved ones in the wars to come.

When she got up again, she saw something dark behind the weirdwood tree. She walked around it and saw Bran, sitting on his chair, covered in warm furs, looking at the white trunk.

“Bran?”, she called out, but he didn’t listen.

He wasn’t looking at the carved face, but at the back of it. Which made Sansa slightly confused.

Is he not praying?

As she came closer, she noticed his eyes. They were white as the snow that covered the ground where she stepped on. His head bobbed lightly, up and down, as if he was sleeping and couldn’t hold it up.

“Bran?”, she called again, but he didn’t answer.

So, she held his head on her hands, trying to keep it steady. When she looked deep into his eyes, she felt like she could see snow falling in his iris. It wasn’t a reflection from her surroundings. It wasn’t snowing that afternoon.

And then he whispered, something so low that she could not understand. Sansa closed the distance between her ear and his lips and heard him speak a different language, something ancient and singular. It took a few times until she understood it.

“Dracarys.”

What?

And then, Bran turned in complete disarray.

He gasped for air and stretched his arms towards her, but didn’t hold up to her. His eyes still blank. He continued gasping for air, as if he couldn’t breathe anymore.

His fragile body started shaking. First lightly, and then violently, throwing him from his chair.

Tears started to fill Sansa’s eyes and she felt the same despair of the day they cut her father’s head. The same feeling that there was nothing she could do, that all evil was out of her reach to be expelled.

“Bran!”, she screamed into the air, throwing herself in the snow to grab on to her little brother.

He was shaking like something she had never seen before. His face was dragging on the snow, probably leaving his skin burning. It looked painful, it looked dreadful.

She continued screaming his name, as if trying to wake him up.

Though she knew he wasn’t sleeping. This was something else entirely.

Please, please don’t. Bran, please , she pleaded in her mind. She felt as if death was near, creeping into the Godswood to take her brother away.

“Help! Please, someone help me! Bran!”, she yelled her heart out up to the sky.

She didn’t hear the foot steps crushing the snow behind her. When she finally noticed she wasn’t alone anymore, there were hands holding her arms and dragging her away from her little brother.

“No, no! Let me go!”, she screamed and kicked.

She wasn’t aware of that person calling out her name until she stopped shouting.

“Sansa, stop!”, Sandor said from behind her.

She turned to him then and the first thing she saw were his gray eyes darting between her and Bran. But instead of those calming sea waters, they looked scared, full of storm.

Something snapped in him and he moved into action, leaving her side to kneel besides her brother. Sandor noticed Bran’s eyes too, still white but with red veins almost bursting from exhaustion.

“Please”, she whispered now, tears running freely through her face. “Please, help him. I don’t know what to do. Please…”

Bran was still shaking violently. But Sandor didn’t seem to know what to do either.

“I can’t move him”, he whispered.

“Please-”

He came back to her and grabbed her shoulders.

“Sansa, I may hurt him if I try anything”, he said firmly, trying to make her understand. “We need to call a maester.”

“I won’t leave him.”

He held her in his arms tightly, as if trying to make her stop shivering and trembling just like her brother was, and kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll be right back. Do you hear me?”, he asked into her hair and she nodded slightly. “Stay with your brother. I’ll bring help.”

He let go of her and stood up to run back to the keep. Before he could leave the weirwood tree clearing, Bran slowly stooped shaking.

“Bran!”, she screamed again, crawling her way back to her brother’s side. “Bran, please!”

Sandor came back running and knelt besides Bran again, holding his face in his hands.

Bran’s eyes were turning back to its original color. His skin was still pale, but there was a light tint of red on his cheeks from the effort. He was breathing deeply too, catching air as if he had spent a long time underwater.

In the blink on an eye, Sandor held on to her brother and lifted him up in his arms. As fast as he could without shaking the boy, he strode towards the castle. Sansa got up and darted behind the two.

As they passed the yard, Sandor turned to one of the men there. It was Gendry, she noticed, looking dirty from working in the forge all day.

“Call the maester to Lord Bran’s room”, he said, firmly, sounding so much like a Commander. And added, shouting: “Now!”

Gendry nodded and sprinted towards the keep.

As they continued their way through the corridors, people would give passage to Sandor and start whispering about the scene. The big, mean Lord Commander, formerly Joffrey’s Hound, carrying the youngest Stark in his arms, being followed by the Lady of Winterfell, with tears in her eyes.

Sansa ignored them, holding back the contempt from her face and focusing on helping her little brother.

Once they reached the door to Bran’s room, she walked in front of them opened it. Sandor laid her little brother in his bed and proceeded to take his wet cloak away from his body and draw the bed’s fur to cover him.

“It’s alright, little wolf”, she could hear Sandor rasp, though it seemed far away. “We’ll heat you up in no time.”

He started rubbing his arms through the furs, warming him up, bringing blood back to his body.

Bran didn’t say anything, but now he was fully aware of what was happening around him. He nodded at Sandor and took a couple of deep breaths, though his teeth were clattering from the cold and the fear.

Sansa couldn’t move herself from where she stood, with her back against the wall by the door. She didn’t even notice how she got there, but now it was the only place she could be. Her body was shivering, her skin feeling like it was crawling. The tears had stopped as she anxiously waited.

I am  afraid , was the only thing she could assess from her state. The other part of her mind was only keeping track of the scene in front of her.

Sandor by her brother’s side, taking care of him. Slowly, she began to lose the dread, the fear. Heat was coming back to her body, as it was coming to Bran’s.

After long minutes, the Wise Wolf turned his head to look at her. As their eyes locked, he gave her a little smile, saying her without any words that he was alright.

Then, she let her breath, that she hadn’t even noticed she was holding, come out in a shudder. She nodded at her brother and the tears started spilling again.

Thank the gods , was all she could think, though she also had another person in mind to be grateful about.

After a few more minutes, Sandor stopped rubbing Bran’s body as he had fallen asleep. Sandor let himself take a deep breath before standing up from the bed and turning around to her.

As he looked at her, his eyes widened. Sansa didn’t have to say anything. He walked to her and held her tightly in his arms. Her hands gripped the front of his cloak as she let herself cry out loud, muffling the sounds in his chest.

“Little Bird”, he whispered, kissing the top of her head again. “It’s alright, he’s alright.”

She couldn’t answer him as her sobs filled her chest. She just held him tighter, never wanting to let go.

But at some point, he had to. She heard it too. The steps coming from the corridor, hurriedly. Sandor reluctantly undid their embrace and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. She couldn’t help but look into his eyes once more.

“Are you alright?”, he whispered softly.

She nodded and quickly, kissed his scarred cheek.

“Thank you”, she whispered back. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank-”

At that, Jon and Sam entered the room, both catching air from the sprint there. Luckily, their timing was perfect, for Sansa and Sandor weren’t in a compromising position. His hands were still on his shoulders, but their bodies weren’t glued anymore, but at a safe distance. He was only a man consoling a young woman. Nothing more.

Jon didn’t even paid them any attention, walking to Bran’s bedside. Before he could ask anything, Sandor took his hands away from Sansa and turned to Lord Snow.

“He’s asleep”, he rasped.

“What happened?”, Samwell Tarly asked, since Jon seemed lost for words, stepping closer and touching Bran’s forehead, checking for any sign of fever. She knew there was none.

“It’s the Three Eye Raven”, Sansa whispered.

Jon turned to her then, looking like the world fell on his shoulders. “He was standing by the weirdwood tree, his eyes blank”, she continued. “I’ve seen him like that before, he wasn’t in his body.”

“Why is it doing this to him?”, her brother whispered.

She finally found the strength to move from the solidity of the wall to stand by her little brother’s bed.

“Bran, he- He’s been keeping track of the Night King”, she said, placing her hand on his asleep face, trying to find any sign of a fever. There was none. “He- He told me every time the Night King looked at him, something like- like this  happened.”

“Like this?”

“This was stronger than the last time I saw it, more violent”, she said, covering her mouth to hold her sobs. “I told him to stop if it ever got too strong.”

Now, Arya came running into the room, going straight to Bran’s side. Gendry surely had already told her what he had seen. She was scared, Sansa noticed, as she had never seen her before. She touched Bran’s cheek and pushed the hair away from his face.

“What happened?”, she whispered.

Before any of them could answer, Her Grace, Queen Daenerys entered.

She was careful, taking small steps until crossing the threshold and standing by Sansa’s side. It only took one glance around the room, noticing Jon’s face, Arya’s position and Sansa’s tears to understand that something bad had happened.

“Is he well?”, she asked softly, placing a hand on Sansa’s back.

“We don’t know”, she answered.

“He doesn’t have a fever”, Sam commented, checking Bran’s temperature again.

“The boy was shaking”, Sandor rasped from his place at the corner of the room. Sansa didn’t even notice how he had ended up there, hiding from everyone. “Spasming all over the ground.”

Sam nodded and touched Jon’s shoulder.

“It could have been a seizure. He’s alright now, just needs to rest.”

“It’s hard to rest with all this noise”, Bran rasped from his bed.

Everyone was struck by his sudden awakening, turning heads to look at him. His eyes were swollen, as he hadn’t slept in a long time. His pale skin had some redness in his cheeks. He hadn’t moved from his position, tucked away beneath the covers, but his eyes were assessing each and everyone in the room.

Sansa sobbed and she ran to his side, wrapping her arms around his body and kissing his sweaty brow.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again”, she cried, though a little laugh escaped her lips.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, sounding so much like the little boy he was before she went South.

As she untangled from him, Bran searched for someone in the room, until his gaze landed on Sandor.

“Thank you, Clegane”, he said, smiling a bit.

All eyes turned to him. Sansa smiled a little at seeing his discomfort.

He didn’t say anything, only nodded back.

“Bran”, Arya said as she sat by Sansa’s side on the bedding. “What happened?”

He looked around the room. Jon was closer now, standing behind Arya, and Dany was at his side. Sam stood near the door, and Sandor closer to the foot of the bed.

Bran took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them back, it seemed that they were clearer, determined, as if he had shaken off the tiredness.

“The army of the dead has breached the Wall”, he said, firmly.

The room was dead silent. None of them knew how to react, still in disbelief.

“That’s not possible”, Jon whispered. “The Wall is standing for thousands of years. It never-“

“Now it has”, Bran answered, sounding irritated. “The Night King tore it down at Eastwatch By The Sea.”

“How?”, Sam asked, looking petrified. “It is an immense block of ice, stones, iron.”

Sansa turned to look back at Bran and saw that his eyes were widened in distress.

“Bran?”, she asked, softly.

He turned to look behind her, at Dany, who looked the most confused person in the room.

“He has Viserion”, he said.

Sansa saw Dany confusion grow bigger for a second, until it hit her. Then, she stood still, her breathing stopping.

“I’m sorry”, Bran whispered.

The Queen had tears in her eyes, something she had never showed in public, Sansa was sure.

Jon looked at Daenerys with a quiet anguish. Sansa saw him stand his hand to grab hers, but then chose it otherwise. Instead, he punched the wooden bed stand behind him.

“How long?”, Jon asked quietly. “How long do we have?”

“They are already marching south, though slowly”, Bran answered. “If we want to keep the battle as far away from here as possible, we need to move as soon as the sun is up come morning.”

“I’ll ready my men”, Dany said, sounding so much like a Queen, though her eyes were stilled filled with tears unspilled. “We will leave before sunrise. Excuse me.”

She turned and left the room with hurried steps, her back tense. Sansa took a quick glance at Jon, and just knew that he wanted to go to her.

She turned to Bran and saw the defeated look he had on his face.

“Are you well?”, she asked him.

“Yes, I just need some sleep”, he whispered and then held to Jon’s hand. “I’m sorry, I cannot see him right now. I can’t keep track for another few days-”

“You need to focus on getting better”, Jon said before he continued. “Thank you, Bran. Thank you”, he said as he kissed their little brother’s head.

Jon straightened his back and walked towards Sandor, who was still quiet and still against the wall.

Jon offered his hand to the Lord Commander, and as soon as he grabbed, Jon pulled him into a tight embrace, tapping his back two times.

“Thank you for helping my brother. Thank you.”

Sandor was obviously startled by the demonstration, but still tapped Jon’s back as an answer. Once they parted, they exchanged nods.

“Let’s leave Bran to rest.”

Arya learned to kiss Bran’s cheek - something that Sansa had never seen her do - and left the bed.

Sansa came closer and pushed his hair from his face again.

“I will come later to check on you.”

Bran just nodded and wiggled a little in his bed, making himself cozier.

The five of them left the room and closed the door behind them.

“I need you with me to call out bannermen”, Jon whispered in the hallway, already dark as the night approached. “All of you. I’ll ask them to attend to the Great Hall. Meet me there in a few minutes.”

He turned and walked along the corridor, Samwell close behind him.

Before Sansa noticed any movement, Arya gave Sandor a quick hug. He looked startled again. He probably never felt something like gratitude before, surely not by the Lannisters. And surely not by Arya.

He gave her a little tap on her back. As soon as he did it, she turned around and walked away from them without another word.

Sansa and Sandor watched the scene transfixed. While he had a confused look on his face, she was smiling at the pair.

He looked at her then, worry written on his eyes. He raised a hand to her cheek, holding her face and stroking her skin lightly.

Sandor didn’t ask her anything, didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Sansa grabbed his wrist, keeping his hand there.

“Thank you”, she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

He took a deep breath and closed the distance between them. First, kissing the top of her head. Then, kissing her forehead. Her cheek. And finally, her lips.

It wasn’t a frantic kiss, like most of their previous one. This was slow, gentle - but never cold. Sandor always left her burning, yearning for more. This was no different. Even though their bodies weren’t as close as before, nor their hands were traveling as they used to. This was simple, easy. And so, so warm.

“Are you alright?”, he rasped once they parted - too soon for her taste. And his too, she noticed.

“Yes”, she whispered and gave him a last kiss.

“Good”, he mumbled. “Now let’s go to your brother and put an end to this.”

They walked through the corridor side by side, though with a proper distance from each other. If anyone saw them, would think them to be only a lord and a lady following to the Hall.

As they entered the room, already full of people. Their bannermen. The northern lords who would fight and live and die through this war.

Sansa and Sandor followed to the end of the Hall, standing in the dais alongside Jon, Arya and Daenerys - now with eyes free from tears.

As the last bannermen took a seat, Jon took a step forward.

This is not the end, Sandor, she thought. It’s only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Arya

There was only a few hours until morning, the sky was at its darkest time. But every single person of Winterfell was moving around. Even those who were staying in the keep were helping in anyway they could. Sansa was helping manage supplies. Brienne and The Hound were checking on the soldiers, making sure to select which men would form the army that would fight the Night King - and those men who would stay. Arya and Gendry were counting up and carrying every weapon made of dragonglass that were going to be sent North. Gendry himself had forged most of those, working almost non stop, night and day, until every arrow had a dragonglass head and every sword had a dragonglass blade.

There were still many crates to be loaded on the wagons. She was tired, too tired. And she knew Gendry was too, it was clear in his face. But they never stopped. The whole castle seemed to be in a frenesi, expectation and anxiousness and, of course, fear running through everyone’s skin.

Arya couldn’t stop thinking of Jon. He could very well die in this battle. She had just gotten her family again. She wasn’t ready to lose another brother. He was being realistic when they said their chances weren’t that good to start with. That they didn’t have any other choice but fight.

Once Arya had caught Jon in their solar after a war council meeting with his head on his hands. She knew he was holding a weight on his shoulders. She knew he thought he was driving everyone to their deaths. They all were. Jon, Bran, Sansa, Daenerys, Tyrion. Arya herself. But again, Jon was right when he said they didn’t have a choice. And if the Night King was defeated, there would still be Cersei left to finish. If he wasn’t... well, everyone would be dead, even the Lannisters.

Besides Sansa and Bran, that was the only thing that made Arya stay in Winterfell. She knew from the beginning that the decision was hers and hers alone. She was the one to make the call whether she would march North and fight against the army of the dead or stay in Winterfell, with her sister and brother, and kill Cersei - the most persistent name on her list. She imagined cutting the lioness head, or driving Needle through her heart, or simply slitting her throat. Arya fantasied about that more than she would admit, even to herself. Everyone else was either dead or had been removed from her list. But not Cersei. Never Cersei.

Arya took her mind of the lioness death and went back to work, carrying another crate. And another. And another. Until every single one was loaded in the wagons. She and Gendry were dead tired, sweat covering both brows.

Gendry went back to his workshop and Arya followed. He grabbed from his table something covered by leather. It was long enough to be a sword, at least that was Arya’s guess. He turned to her and handled her the wrap.

“Give this to your sister”, he whispered to her.

Arya was startled by that. She grabbed the package and felt the weight of it. It was lighter than she expected, but she hadn’t ruled out the sword yet.

“Give it to her yourself”, she answered, handing him back.

But he didn’t take it.

“Tell her it was a lot of work but it was worth it.”

Arya stared at him and it finally dawned on her.

“You will die”, she whispered, feeling her heart beat so loudly that she feared someone else would hear it too.

“I’ve fought those things before and survived. This time will not be different.”

“Stupid bull!”, she was mad now. “You told me yourself they were impossible to kill!”

“Aye, I did. But we have no choice.”

She remembered Jon’s words then. Everyone was aware that the chances of the living were low. But it seemed that no one cared, that every single person was willing to fight for humanity, for life.

He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in, until she was looking right into his eyes.

“I’ve run and hide for the last few years and I’m done with it. Besides, I’m the smith who made all those weapons. I need to make sure they work.”

“You are the last living member of your House”, she insisted.

He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head.

“Yes. And I need to represent my House in the battlefield.”

“If you die, your House dies with you.”

Gendry sighed deeply at that.

“M’lady-”

“Don’t M’lady  me!”, she threatened. “I’m your friend, not your liege lord!”

“For now, you are my liege lady”, he smiled. “And you are also my friend.”

He hugged her then, embracing her shoulders and pulling her against him. She had no choice but to hold him back. They were both sweaty and neither of them cared. She just breathed in the leather of his clothes and the smell of his skin. He kissed the top of her head and that made her eyes swell with tears, though she was decided not spill any of them.

“This sword is for you too, you know?”, he whispered, confirming her suspicion. “I worked hard on it. Use it well.”

They parted reluctantly. She looked up to him again and he had that grin he used to wear on their way North, all those years ago.

“Gendry-”

But before she could say anything else, he took her face in his hands kissed her lips. It was quick, but left Arya in shock and sent her heart beating faster.

Gendry stared at her and she knew he was about to apologize. Before he could do that, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled for another kiss. He held her back, one hand on the back of her head and the other on her waist.

This time, it lasted.

It was Arya’s first kiss and she didn’t knew what to expect. She certainly didn’t expect the initial confusion of tongue and teeth clashing. She didn’t expect the warmth spreading through her body. Or the sensation that time had stopped and that everything was quiet besides them. At one point, she punched his chest and she couldn’t even understand why she had done it. He didn’t seem to mind though, and just held her closer.

When they parted, Arya could feel her cheeks burning. Gendry seemed as bewildered as she. They took deep breaths as they recovered. Only after a long while did they smile at each other. Arya even giggled.

He handled her the sword again, which she had dropped on the floor.

“Use It well, M’lady”, he said as he kissed her cheek.

“Stupid bull”, she mumbled. “Come back alive, and not like a White Walker.”

“I promise”, he said as he took his belongings and walked out of the workshop, leaving her alone.

She waited a few moments until her heart slowed down and the tears in her eyes vanished.

Come back alive. Come back alive.

Chapter Text

Sansa

She was in the yard, talking to Grey Worm, the Queen’s Commander, discussing supplies and weapons. They needed to make sure the army had everything it needed for the march North. Thankfully, everything seemed right. The state of the weapons, the numbers of men and weapons, rations, water and horses. They had prepared themselves well.

Sansa notice Arya waiting for them to finish to approach. Grey Worm rolled his sheet with every count and bowed to her, moving to talk with the other captains.

“Gendry asked me to give you this”, her sister said as she handled her a wrapped object. “Are you planning on fighting now?”

Sansa widened her eyes, realizing what the object meant. She looked around and seeing that no one was searching for her, grabbed Arya’s arm and dragged her to a quiet corner of the keep.

“Sansa, seven hells!”

“Shh! I need to show you this.”

She placed the sword on a worn out table and started to undo the leather package. As it unfolded, Sansa could finally see the blade. But she felt her mind was playing tricks on her. The color wasn’t right.

She covered her mouth to hide a laugh, as she looked in awe at the sword. The handle was simply done, with just rough bronze and brown leather. But the blade was something else. It was the same Valyrian steel of before, that was certain. But it was a deep indigo color, reminding her mother’s eyes.

Gone was the Lannister crimson. Gone were the Lannister jewels and stones. Gone was the gold. This was a true northern sword, even if half of it. But Ice only made Sansa believe that soon the Starks would have the greatsword back in on whole weapon.

“What is this?”, Arya asked by her side.

“It’s Ice”, Sansa wasted no time in putting it simple.

She explained how Brienne had returned the sword to her and how she believed the Starks should decide who should wield it.

“It’s yours if you want to”, she said to her little sister, who looked at her with awe.

“Give it to Jon”, she whispered.

“No, he already has Valyrian steel. You do not.”

Sansa had thought long and har about it. Sandor was her first choice to wield Ice, since he was representing her. But she wouldn’t do it behind Arya’s back. It was her decision too.

“Yes, I do”, she answered, unsheathing Littlefinger’s dagger. “Besides, this sword is too big for me. Give it to whoever you want.”

Sansa nodded and stared at the blade again.

“I have someone in mind”, she mumbled.

“Could it possibly be our new Lord Commander?”

Sansa tried to hold a smile, but failed miserably.

“Yes. I told him I wanted him to represent me and House Stark on the battlefield. He didn’t like the suggestion.”

“That’s exactly why you should give it to him.”

Sansa laughed out loud at that. Arya always seemed to want to make Sandor’s life miserable, even though she knew they cared for each other.

“You are

the Lady Stark, Sansa”, Arya added after they both stopped laughing. “And you are right, you should be represented by your Lord Commander.”

It didn’t escape Sansa how her sister had included “your” in that sentence, but said nothing of it. Instead she hugged her and kissed the top of her head.

“Thank you, Arya.”

She held her back in a tight embrace and let her go.

“It’s almost time”, she whispered and walked away.

Sansa put Ice back into its wrap and left it at the solar before coming back to the yard.

Snow had started falling, though lightly and without any wind. Arya was right. Everyone was almost done and soon, it would be time for the army to leave.

She asked to speak with Sandor and Brienne, her Commander and her Captain. They met at the entrance of the keep, keeping themselves dry from the falling snow and little warmer near the torches.

“How is everything?”, she asked once they were alone. “I spoke to Grey Worm, and the supplies are all loaded.”

“The men who are leaving are armored and armed”, Brienne said. “I made sure that none of the men who are to stay in Winterfell are leaving.”

“Or that the ones who are meant to leave are staying”, Sandor added.

“Good. Thank you, both of you”, she sighed. “Tomorrow, before noon, we will start the war council with the remaining northern lords. I want Lady Lyanna there, and Lord Tyrion as well. I shall speak with both of them today. Is there anyone else you think should participate? Or not participate?”

That seemed to startle Brienne more than it did Sandor. Surely, she wasn’t expecting her council on such matters.

“I don’t believe so, my lady”, she finally answered. “But I will think on it.”

“Thank you, Lady Brienne.”

The lady knight bowed and left them to go back to her duties.

Besides her, Sandor chuckled - or at least that was what Sansa thought.

“It suits you way too well”, he rasped and turned to face her.

“What suits me?”

“You being the Lady Stark of Winterfell.”

She couldn’t hold her smile.

“Thank you”, she whispered, feeling her cheeks warming up.

“My lady”, he bowed and walked away, his cloak sweeping the floor beneath him.

She wanted to tell him about Ice, finally trust the sword to his hands. But it was too soon. She would wait until Jon had left, until the war council tomorrow had ended. There would be plenty of time for this in the next day.

Sansa took a deep breath and turned back to the yard. As she did it, she noticed Daenerys was looking right at her at a not so far distance. She was speaking to Ser Jorah, her trusted advisor. But she didn’t seem to pay much attention to what he was saying. Until she broke the state and answered the knight.

Sansa knew she had seen the exchange between her and Sandor. There was no way she wouldn’t. But Littlefinger taught her well. As soon as Dany and Jorah parted, she walked towards the Queen as if nothing had happened.

“Your Grace”, she called out. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you Lady Sansa”, she answered seeming quite happy and finding funny the formal name. “Thank you for your help in preparing the army.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Dany”, she said. “It’s my duty.”

The Queen took Sansa’s arm and twined with her own.

“We are all set to leave”, she whispered. “Would you walk with me to the gates?”

“Of course.”

They did it in silence, watching the men around them finish the preparations and say their goodbyes. She saw Sam hug Gilly and little Sam, and Grey Worm kiss Missandei. And then, she saw Sandor give a tap in Gendry’s back. That made her smile, even against her better judgement.

They reached the place they had arranged for their department. Jon and Dany would boost the men’s morale before leaving. It would also be the place where Sansa, Arya and Bran would stand as the Starks in Winterfell, holding the keep until the war was over, and the war against Cersei - though only a few people knew about that yet.

She looked at Dany and she had her eyes closed, face up towards the sky, taking deep breaths.

“I’ve never seen snow before coming North”, she whispered. “The East is hot and dry. Barely rains. This feels like a different world.”

She opened her eyes and looked at Sansa, holding both of her hands in her own.

“We may all die soon, but I’m glad I met your home. And that I met your family. If we do not survive, at least I will die with rich memories.”

“We will survive”, Sansa answered. “I will not die until we take Cersei down and you take back the Iron Throne.”

Dany laughed at that, and nodded in agreement.

“And I hope I see you as Queen in the North someday.”

Sansa was startled by the Queen’s declaration.

Is she saying-

“Thank you, Your Grace”, she said and took a small bow.

Dany wrapped her arms around Sansa and hugged her closely.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me Your Grace .”

Sansa laughed and hugged the young queen back.

“Can I ask you a question, Sansa?”, she asked quietly as they parted.

“Of course.”

She saw the Queen think long and hard before finally asking.

“Is Sandor Clegane your someone?”

Sansa felt like her world was crumbling down. She looked around to make sure no one was listening, but they were alone. Even though she tried to contain her emotions, it was useless. She imagined that was what Littlefinger had felt during his trial. There was no escape, no excuse - even though the crimes were extremely different. She felt the rubor on her cheeks, her breathing quickening it’s pace, her heart punching faster.

“I beg of you, please , don’t tell Jon. I will do-“

“I would never”, she interrupted. “You can trust me, Sansa. I don’t know what you see in the man, but I can tell he means a great deal to you. I don’t judge you, just as you don’t judge me.”

Sansa nodded and breathed again.

“He- I don’t know what he is to me.”

“A friend?”, Dany asked with a smile on her lips.

Sansa laughed a little, feeling the fear vanishing from her body.

“Yes, maybe something like that.”

“Tyrion, and also Jon, told me he is nothing like his brother”, Dany whispered, taking a quick glance at Sandor. “The Mountain killed my nephews when the Usurper took my father down. They were just babies. They told me his younger brother is much different. Never took any vows, refused to be knighted and deserted the Battle of the Blackwater and the Lannisters. Is all of it true? I would like to hear it from you.”

Sansa nodded and took a deep breath, glancing quickly at him as well.

“No one hates his brother more than him, I can assure you that”, she answered carefully, not willing to break her promise to Sandor. “He protected me in King’s Landing. He protected Arya. He fought alongside you and Jon north of the Wall. He protected Bran yesterday. I trust him completely, with my family and with my life.”

“Good”, Dany said, smiling at her. “One day I would like to hear these stories. For now, we must part.”

Jon approached them just as they finished talking.

“Are you ready, Your Grace?”, he asked. Surely, he didn’t know Sansa was aware of their relationship.

“Yes, my lord.”

The men were all waiting for their words in the yard. Arya joined them on the small dais. Sandor and Brienne stood behind them, the trusted leaders of House Stark.

Jon took a step forward and assessed the men who would fight in this war and in the wars to come. He breathed in and looked up at the sky, snow still falling.

“Our father would never tire of saying our House words. Winter is Coming. He would say it at any occasion, be it a happy one or a dreadful one. He said it after he executed a deserter from the Night’s Watch saying he had seen a White Walker. We all thought he was lying. Now I know he was telling the truth. This time, the dead have an army. A massive army. If we don’t stop it, all life will end and we will be part of his army as well. We are not fighting for glory, for gold, for lands, for kingdoms. We are fighting for life. Winter is here, men. And we shall survive it.”

Everyone yelled out in cheers. Snow! The White Wolf! For the living!

Then, Dany took a step forward and as soon as she began to speak, the sunlight began to illuminate Winterfell through the clouds.

“I’ve seen what’s out there and I can tell you is something to be afraid. They are many, they are strong, and they do not stop. But so are we. We are many, we are strong, and we will not stop until we have won this fight. I know you don’t know me well. I’m a foreigner and our families were probably enemies not so long ago. But we are on the same side. Men and women are fighting for the living. My dragons are fighting for the living. We have weapons, we have armor, we have strength and we have fire and blood. I will fight with you until my last breath. I hope I can be the Queen you deserve.”

A short silence was followed for more shouts, startling even Dany herself. Fire! The Dragon Queen! For life!

And then, the men started to move. The khalasar, the unsullied and the northern soldiers started to walk away from the keep, through the gates. She turned to the side and saw Jon and Arya hugging each other tightly. He whispered words to her and kissed her head. As he untangled from her, he went for Sansa. They hugged fiercely as tears spilled from Sansa’s eyes.

“Come back home”, she whispered in his ear. “Come back to us. The lone wolf dies, but the-“

“The pack survives”, he continued and kissed her cheek, cleaning her tears with his thumbs. “You’ll do great, Lady Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Snow”, she laughed and hugged him for the last time.

Then she said her goodbyes to Dany, hugging her and spilling more tears for the Queen.

“Thank you for being my friend, Sansa”, she whispered.

“Thank you, Dany.”

Soon, the whole army was marching. Jon and Dany were on the top of their horses, moving through the gates. Arya and Sansa stood there, waiting and watching until the yard was empty. Even when they all left, they stood there, watching the gates, until every man had disappeared in the hills and the dragons were no longer visible.

The people who were staying in Winterfell had already left the yard, seeking rest and food. But not then. It was Sandor who interrupted the Stark sister’s watch.

“It’s time to rest”, he rasped behind Sansa, testing his hand on her shoulder.

She turned to look at him and saw the tiredness in his eyes, forming dark circles around it. She nodded and then pulled Arya’s arm so they could walk together towards the castle, Sandor close behind them. Before she could climb the steps to their room, she turned around to him.

“Thank you”, she whispered.

He chuckled tiredly.

“Courteous even when you don’t have anything to thank me for”, he rasped then and left them, heading to his own quarters.

Sansa and Arya climbed to their rooms and reaching the door and opening it, they noticed that Sansa’s belongings were no longer there. As head of House Stark, from now on she would occupy the room that used to belong to her parents, and later to Jon.

But neither Arya nor Sansa seemed to mind it. They only took of their cloaks and boots, leaving their clothes on, and laid on the bedding, drawing the furs over them. Sansa slept a dreamless sleep, awaking only at noon to begin her first day as Lady of Winterfell.

Chapter Text

Sansa

“Thank you, my lords, my ladies, for your presence”, she said while entering the Stark solar with Arya and Bran. “I apologize for the short notice. The departure of the army caught us off guard.”

Everyone stood up to welcome the Stark siblings, waiting for them to assume their seats around the table. Sansa took the seat that previously belonged to Jon, with Arya by her right and Bran by her side. Sandor was at her left, and Brienne just after him. Around the table there was also the Hand of the Queen, Tyrion Lannister, Lady Lyanna Mormont, Missandei, the new Lady Karstark, the new Lord Umber, Lord Yohn Royce, as well as all the other representatives lords and ladies from northern houses who had stayed in Winterfell.

The previous day passed in a blur. Sansa had to prepare the accommodations to every soldier, man, woman and child who were to remain at the keep. She had checked the supplies, grains and livestock for the war, as well as winter.

At night, there was a simple dinner with every guest in the keep. It was expected of her, specially because none of them knew yet about the battle they were about to engage against Cersei Lannister. There was a sentiment of mourn for the men and women who had travelled North, but also the distinct peace before the storm - which no one knew when it was going to strike.

She sat with her siblings and her Commander and Captain. Bran had remained in his bed for the whole day, resting from his previous encounter with the Night King. Sansa had checked on him many times between her duties. She was not longer worried, neither was Arya. He seemed to be recovering well, even though he didn’t have enough energy to even eat. Samwell Tarly had sad that if it ever happened again, there wouldn’t be any need of medicines. They should only wait for it to pass.

The next day, they all rose early, trying to do as much as possible and calling their bannermen to join the council meeting by noon. There was food, water and wine for everyone. The Starks didn’t expect the meeting to end so soon.

“And we would like to thank all of you for your help in the preparations for my brother and Queen Daenerys’ departure”, she added.

The people present all nodded in approval. But still, Sansa could see most of them were still confused.

“I will be direct”, she smiled briefly before continuing. “Cersei Lannister agreed to help us fight the army of the dead. Yet, she gave us no reason to believe she would actually hold to her part of the agreement. We - House Stark and House Targeryen - are deeply suspicious that she means to strike us at our weakest.”

At that, the noise in the room started. Lords and Ladies were protesting, arguing among each other and at her. The ones who participated on the previous councils were in complete silence, only observing the scene. The only one besides them who remained quiet was Lady Lyanna, who actually observed them, the Starks.

That was expected, of course. They wouldn’t be glad to be fooled into staying in Winterfell only to fight another battle. They didn’t know what they were dealing with in the North. But they also didn’t know what they were dealing with in the South.

The shouting was long and Sansa was beginning to get tired of it. She looked at Arya, who stared at each face, trying to figure out what they were saying. Bran seemed to be doing the same, though looking like his mind was far way from the room. Then, she looked at Sandor on her left and saw his hand clench into a fist over the table.

Before she could interrupt the noise, Tyrion’s chair was dragged on the floor as he got up. The sound of it was enough to make the lords pay attention to the man. He walked to the pit of wine and poured himself a cup. Without any hurry, he took his place again, placing the cup on the table in front of him. He looked around the table, seeing the perplexed faces that stared at him.

“Since we are here to waste time, I prefer to do it with wine”, he suggested while taking a sip. “How about you?”

Sansa had to hold a laugh and even a smile before retaking her stand.

“We would be fools to trust Cersei”, she said while standing up. “We expected more time until the fight in the North began, at least a couple of moons. But it’s here, and Cersei is still in the South. Our guess is that she will either strike Jon’s and Queen Daenerys’ forces by the Wall, sailing to Eastwatch By The Sea, or march North to Winterfell, striking us first. Either way, we cannot let her pass and hit our army in the North.”

“And if she is sailing North, how will we stop her from reaching Eastwatch?”, Lord Umber asked.

“The Greyjoys are sailing their ships from the Iron Islands”, Bran answered. “Theon and Yara will be prepared for any advances by sea.”

“Greyjoys?”, Lyanna Mormont questioned.

Arya laughed cynically.

“We are not exactly happy about it”, she said, looking sideways at Sansa. “But they are Queen’s bannermen. And Theon helped my sister escape the Boltons.”

“He burned Winterfell!”, Lord Royce exclaimed.

“And Winterfell still stands”, Sansa interrupted at cross before he could say anything else. “It’s not time to dwell on the past. We need to make plans for battle.”

She took a seat, and looked at Sandor, who nodded in understanding.

He stood up and pointed at the map.

“We believe Cersei will strike us in both ends, in the North and in Winterfell”, he said firmly, even looking quite uncomfortable with the attention. At least that’s what it seemed to Sansa, who was familiar with his positions and expressions. “And my guess is that she will send her main forces here.”

“Why?”, Royce asked, this time calmer.

“In King’s Landing, before she accepted our agreement, she said she would deal with whatever’s left of us . I don’t believe she expected us to lose the battle in the North, only to lose most of our men. So, she will take her time, but one day she will arrive - here and at the battle against the dead.”

“She’s waiting for our signal”, Sansa said. “I have a message ready for her, signed by Jon. I want to send a raven to her today, calling her to fight for the living. As the Commander said, she will take her time. We will be ready until she arrives, both at Winterfell and at the northern coast.”

“How many soldiers does she have?”, Lord Umber asked.

“We don’t know”, Sandor put it simply.

“How can we make battle plans while not knowing the size of our enemy forces?”, Royce questioned.

“We have no fucking choice”, Sandor rasped, getting angrier by the second. “We can either wait and do shit or do something about it. Which one do you prefer, Lord Royce?”

“We are still studying our possibilities”, Sansa stood up again, speaking as firmly as she could. “Perhaps we can hold a siege, perhaps we can meet Cersei in the open field. Either way, we will fight this war. This is House Stark calling our bannermen. You can either stay and fight for your lands, your people, your independence, or you can leave the safety of the walls of Winterfell and go back to your own keeps. You will be safe there, I’m sure. The choice is all yours, of course. But all of you swore an alliance with House Stark. I recommend you to choose honor and loyalty, instead of fear.”

.

The meeting didn’t advance much after that. The northern lords left, and only the original council remained. While everyone was still settling, pouring wine and eating before discussing the results of the reunion, Sansa turned to Sandor, who was still staring at the map.

“You did well”, she whispered to him. “Better than well, actually. You captured their interest.”

He snapped his head to look at her, looking confused for a while. But then he opened one of his grins.

“You were not so bad yourself, Lady Stark”, he rasped. “Finally showing your fangs.”

She smiled at that, and then motioned to the map in front of them.

“What are you thinking?”

“Bronze Yohn is right. We need to know more about Cersei’s force.”

It had passed through Sansa’s mind of putting Bran to that task, for him to use his greensight to investigate Cersei’s army. But after what happened only a few nights before, his last encounter with the Night King, Sansa was weary. She did not want to push her brother too much further. He was already set on keeping eyes on the North, she knew. He was probably thinking on keeping eyes in the South as well, once he regained his strength to continue his watch. She didn’t want to lose another brother for something so small.

“We will find a way”, she whispered.

Sandor did not answer - probably didn’t want to disagree with her. It was alright. Sansa knew it was just wishful thinking of her part.

“Perhaps I can be of some use to you in that matter.”

Sansa looked up to the Spider, Lord Varys. Always discreet, Sansa had even forgotten about his presence in the council. She remembered him from King’s Landing. Always so slippery. No one ever knew what was on his mind. Just as no one knew what was on Littlefinger’s mind. Sansa did not trust him, even though Tyrion and Daenerys seemed to do just so. Sandor tensed by her side. Apparently, he mistrusted the man as well.

“What do you mean?”, she asked skeptically.

“I may have lost many of my little birds, but I still have a few years here and there”, he answered with his neck high.

Tyrion laughed bitterly.

“Perhaps you have one of your little birds in the capital?”

“No, the capital was lost to me after the incident with High Sparrow”, he said as he walked around the room. “But I do have ears in the East.”

“Out with it”, Sandor rasped.

Varys looked slightly offended.

“Cersei has been trying to hire the Golden Company.”

Arya snapped at her side.

“They are mercenaries.”

“Yes, they are. And Cersei has gold from the vaults of Highgarden.”

“Gods dammit!”, she punched the table.

“How many men?”, Sandor asked.

“There are still no news of a closed deal. But as soon as it reaches my ears, I’ll notify you. My ladies, my lords”, he bowed slightly as he walked out the door.

Sandor was swearing by her side, staring at the map. They knew from the beggining that the army of Winterfell wouldn’t be massive. The priority was the war against the dead. Still, it left them all on edge.

“Well”, Tyrion took a deep breath while sipping his wine. “I believe it’s time for all of us to rest and eat. Tomorrow will be an even longer day”, then, he walked to Sansa and bowed slightly. “You did great, Lady Sansa. Perhaps the northern lords can learn something from you about leadership.”

“Thank you, my lord”, she said sincerely.

After her allies and her Commander and her Captain left, Sansa remained in the solar with her siblings. Arya seemed angrier and angrier, probably thinking how her wish of taking Cersei’s name off her list seemed more and more distant. Bran, on the other hand, seemed somber. Sansa feared he would start his watching again soon, but also knew it was useless to try to convince him otherwise.

They sat in silence, each one deep in their own thoughts about what the future held for them - whether it was war, blue eyes looking back or revenge.

.

After dinner, Sansa went to her room, the one suited for the Lord Stark, now Lady Stark. A bath was brought up, with steaming hot water. Only the thought of it was enough to make her relax a little. Her mind was at full speed ever since the council began. She knew she did well. She was firm, direct, objective. She tried to be as her father and Jon. They were natural leaders, even though at times they seemed cold.

But at the end, the words she had said to the lords and ladies came from her, not from her father nor her brother. Perhaps that spirit was in every Stark. Sansa knew Arya could be just like that when she wanted to - which meant most of the time. But perhaps Sansa was molded by everything that happened to her. She was beaten, humiliated and raped. She lost innocence. The real world brought the cold, and not warmth.

As she leaned into the water, she closed her eyes for a minute, allowing herself to feel the heat, the comfort. She submerged her head, wetting her hair so that she could oil it. Then, she started to rub the rosemary oils on her skin.

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel , she remembered a distant thought she once had as she observed the light from the fire shining in her arms and legs. Never had this been more true. She was no longer a king’s bride with her head full of songs, or a tortured victim full of pain and sorrow. She was a ruler, with a weight on her shoulders and that single desire of survivors to win. She didn’t have a master anymore. She was the master of herself. The Red Wolf.

She smiled at herself, thinking about her exchange with Sandor after the council. He told her she was showing her fangs.

Coming from him, this is the best compliment I could possibly get . Sandor Clegane was not a liar. She could feel them too, and also her claws. The wolf finalize coming out.

Out of the sudden, the idea crossed her mind. She was rubbing the soap on her chest when the thought came to her, and her hand stilled. Her eyes were not focused anymore, staring at the brazier without attention. Her mind was elsewhere, the same place where that idea was. It took her long seconds to move, her breath - which she didn’t even notice it had stopped - coming out through her mouth in a sigh.

She remembered every time she had thought about how she wanted to be closer to Sandor Clegane. That first day when he arrived at Winterfell - though she couldn’t yet name her desire for what it was. When she first spoke to him at the stables. The dinner when he sat by her side. Their first kiss and how she remembered ridiculously how he had never kissed her before. All their encounters after that one. When he swore his vow to her. When he listened to her while she told her story. When he protected her from evil mouths. How he fought with her during her training with Arya. And how he held her and rubbed himself against her - when she finally was certain he wanted her as well.

Ever since his return to Winterfell, she had wanted him. She was now the Lady Stark. No more rulers over her life, no more masters, no more cages. She was free.

Slowly, as if she was scared of ever ruining this possibility she had painted in her mind, she finished her bath and got out of the water. She brushed her hair by the fire, letting herself dry by the heat of the flames. The idea, the expectation growing inside of her, sending her skin shivering.

Once she was dry and hair hair fell in shining waves across her back, she got up and put on the simplest nightshift she could find. A cream linen one, the hem at her knees. She put on a cloak across her shoulders and grabbed Ice in its leather scabbard, holding it firmly in her hands.

She looked out the window. It was dark, late in the night. Some people would still be in the Hall dining. Others would have gone to bed already. She planned an excuse for her wondering at this hour. She was taking the sword to the solar before going to sleep. She repeated the exact sentence she would say in her mind a few times.

Sansa went out the door and noticed, gladly, there was no one in sight in the corridors. She was quiet and fast on her way to his room, knowing it from memory from when he became Lord Commander and had to move his things to the new quarters.

As she reached his door, she could feel and listen to her heart pounding on her chest. She took a few quiet breaths before knocking. After waiting long seconds go by and no answer, she let her breath come out. She knocked again, but there was only silence. Then, she turned the handle and the door opened. Quickly, she entered and closed it behind her. There was no one in the room, though the fire had been burning for a while, given the warmth of the room. She noticed he had put a metal plate in front of the brazier, probably making sure it would spread to the room. Her chest tightened at the thought of what he had gone through. How much pain he had suffered to still fear fire after so many years.

Sansa took off her cloak and put it on top of the small table in the room, covering Ice with it. She took a moment to look around, noticing there were few personal objects there. Only a few blades, a leather bag and a closet with his clothes inside. She through about the things she kept underneath her bed, including his bloody Kingsguard cloak. Would he not have any possessions he held dear? Though she already knew the answer was no.

As she walked back towards the table, the handle was disturbed. Sansa didn’t have time to think before the door opened and Sandor walked in.

Chapter Text

Sansa

As Sandor entered, he looked up and saw her.

He stopped, his eyes widened. For a few seconds, the door remained opened before he remembered to close it. Still, he stared at her, and she stared at him, feeling her cheeks burn and her heart skip a beat.

She thought of wolves when they gathered to begin the hunting. Assessing each other, understanding if every single one was ready for what was coming. If they were strong enough. If they were hungry enough.

But Sansa couldn’t read him. He swallowed dry. His eyes were widened. The burnt side of his lips was twitching. He was barely breathing. He didn’t move. She knew Sandor wanted her as much as she wanted him. And she knew he was conflicted.

But she wasn’t.

“Are you afraid of me?”, she whispered, not exactly knowing where she found the courage to break the silence and provoke him this way.

“Yes”, he breathed the air held in his lung.

He didn’t mean to answer that. It was a mistake, a slip. And that seemed to make him angry.

“Put on your cloak and leave-“, he started, finally moving, taking a few steps in her direction.

“I’m not going anywhere”, she interrupted.

Growing braver by the second, she slowly got closer to him, one step at a time.

“I want you”, she whispered, feeling her entire body become red.

“You don’t know what you want”, he said as if it was a threat. As if he was  a threat.

“But I do”, she said in his same tone. “Sandor, I’m not a maid anymore.”

He took a few steps back then, like he was afraid of getting too close to her.

“You’ve never been with a man willingly”, he rasped, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s about the same damned thing. Like hell I’m going to be your first.”

Sansa was not letting him grow distant from her.

“If it’s not you, than there will be no one else”, she said, this time more softly, and getting even closer to him. And closer. And closer. “Can’t you see that? I want you.”

Sandor was not a man of words, but of actions. He wasn’t much of a talker, and didn’t care for listening much to people - besides those he actually liked. Words were replaceable. Words were deceitful.

So instead of saying it, Sansa showed him.

She flung her arms around his neck, bringing his mouth to hers. She teased him, bit his lip until he opened up to her and kissed her back. All the while, she was running her fingers through his hair, his neck, his back, his shoulders. Not so slowly, he caved in. Sandor embraced her, holding her body tightly to his. His hands ran up and down her body, gripping at her behind, her back, her neck, her waist, even her breast.

Once they came up for air, he went for her neck. Kissing, licking, biting. Sansa’s whole body was on fire, burning in anticipation for what was coming next. When he kissed her lips again, her hands started to find their way among the clasps of his clothes. She managed to take his cloak of his shoulders and let it fall on the floor before he grabbed her hands, stopping her actions.

“Sansa”, he whispered painfully, his grey eyes still conflicted. “I promised you and myself that I would never hurt you. Don’t make me break that promise.”

She was startled by his declaration. How could he ever think-

She stood on the top of her toes so that she could kiss his face, his scars. She took her time, running her hands down his chest, slowly descending and kissing his neck, his chin, his cheek. Until her mouth was on his again.

“I know pain”, she whispered against his lips. “I know hurt. You can’t hurt me, Sandor.”

A dam in him seemed to break. He turned her and pushed her back against the wall, just as he had that night on the broke tower. But he didn’t grab her legs like she thought she would. He held her tightly, his mouth on hers getting hungrier and hungrier. She continued working on his clothes, her hands trembling all the while. Once she managed to undo his jerkin, she motioned for him to lift his arms, taking off his tunic as well. Underneath all that, was him. Only him.

That affected Sansa like she never thought it would. She had seen men with their chests bare before. Her brothers, soldiers, common folk. But no one looked like Sandor. He had black hair on his chest, all the way down to where it disappeared under his trousers. And he had muscles like she had never seen. No wonder he was so strong, so fierce with a sword. Old and new scars covered the skin on his arms, his chest, his abdomen, even his neck.

She hugged his body, wanting to feel him against her own. Slowly, she started kissing his neck, descending to his shoulders, his neck, his chest, giving attention to any scars she found on her way. She felt them, curious about their texture, about how deep they were. Some seemed like scratches. Other seemed like cuts, taking a piece of meat away.

At one moment, she noticed Sandor was tense. He wasn’t responding to her touches anymore, nor touching her back. She looked up and saw his face. He was breathing raggedly, and his eyes were widened again. It took her a moment to understand.

No one has ever touched his scars like this.

She felt like tears were gathering in her eyes, threatening to spill. His scars ran deep, not only those visible, but also those that marked his heart, his mind, his memory.

She hugged him tightly and stood on her tip toes again to kiss him.

“I have scars too”, she whispered, looking deeply into his eyes.

As she untangled from him, she lifted her left leg to his hip. Instinctively, he held it. Then, Sansa guides his hand to underneath the hem of her nightshift, on the back of her tights.

She felt his warm fingers trace the fine lines of the scars that Meryn Trant left there. She was looking at his face all the while. He seemed confused at first. At then, his eyes hardened as he understood what caused them. He was there that day. He was the one who called it off. Still, it left scars on her skin.

Then, Sansa guided his hand further. Past her tights, past her behind, she put his fingers on her back, right on the center of her spine. She took a deep breath and motioned for him to go up. He followed the line of her backbone, tracing the ugly and rude scar Ramsay left there. Sandor traced it up to the point where it ended, almost at the back of her neck.

Sandor let out an enraged breath, embracing her tightly. She hid her face in his neck, kissing his skin while he ran his fingers on her scalp. He was comforting her, just as she was doing just moments before.

Then, Sandor lifted her face so he could kiss her. It left her burning again, a kiss that she would remember. He ran his hands through her body, finally seeming to break his walls that was keeping him distant from her. He lifted the hem of her nightshift up to the point where his hands held her body, skin to skin. It was the first time Sandor held her this way and she couldn’t stop the moans that came from her lips, only to be swallowed by his mouth.

“Damnit Sansa”, he groaned. “What do you want from me?”

He sounded like he was speaking his mind without intending to. But Sansa wanted to know his mind, just as she wanted him to know her mind.

“Everything”, she whispered back. “Give me everything.”

And he did.

That was the point of no return. Something in him changed, just as it changed in her. They surrendered. Sandor stopped fighting back and started giving in to what he wanted. Sansa gave herself into his embraces, this time not fearing that he would stop them before they reached somewhere. His eyes were dark with desire and his mouth searched for hers with hunger and passion. He would bit her lip, sending shivers to her core.

At one point, he took a moment to take her shift and throw it on the floor alongside his own clothes. She was left only in her smallclothes. Sandor looked like a wolf then. He observed her body, tracing every curve, every different color, every texture.

Then, he touched her breast as his fingers touched her nipple. Only that was enough to send Sansa moaning again. He closed the distance of their bodies again and grabbed the back of her tights, lifting her against the wall. She locked her feet on his small back, keeping him close. He took a nipple to his mouth, sucking her and leaving her wet. She grabbed the back of his head and threw her own back, giving herself to the feeling. He did it to the other breast as well before moving them to the bed.

He gently laid her on top of the furs, kissing her with his body on top of hers, the weight of him sending jolts to her sex.

After a long time, or a short time, he got up and circled the bed. Then, he pulled by her feet, u til her legs were dangling from the mattress. He looked at her as of asking permission. It took Sansa a moment to understand what he meant to do. Randa Royce, during Alayne’s stay at the Vale, told her about how only a few men were willing to take a woman this way, though it was most pleasurable to her.

Sandor, for the second time, bend his knee for her.

He took her smallclothes away and look at her mound. Sansa felt her face and chest burn red from embarrassment. But he didn’t mind. He looked at her once more, his gray eyes seeming like could read her mind and her desire, before kissing her sex. Her moan was instant, and she didn’t mind one bit if anyone heard. His tongue was hot and wet against her lips, sending the most intense feeling she had ever felt in her life. She tried to brace herself in her elbows, looking at his actions. But soon enough, her bones felt like they were made of water. She collapsed back on the mattress, her head shaking from side to side. Sansa didn’t know what to do with herself. And then, he licked the same nub she used to touch at night under the covers.

She moaned loudly, giving herself to the most wonderful feeling. He kept going faster and faster, until Sansa was sure she was losing her mind.

“Sandor”, she moaned as she became undone, coming against his mouth.

He licked her through all of it. Never had she climaxed so intensely. Her pleasure wasn’t just on that little nub, but on every bone, every muscle, every piece of skin. Shocks ran through her, edging between pleasure and pain.

He chuckled, or at least she thought he did, sounding so distant from where she was. Soon, he was kissing her. She threw her arms around his neck, feeling his tongue - that was just in her woman’s place - with her own. He took her in his arms briefly to move her to the center of the bed. He continued touching her, tasting her, making her go insane with the sensations.

“Fuck, you are perfect”, he whispered against her mouth.

She didn’t now how to answered that with words. So she did it with actions. She kissed his neck, dragging her nails against his back and sending his skin shivering just like hers was.

She looked down and started undoing his breeches. He took them off, along with his smallclothes.

Another moan escaped her mouth.

His was big. Much bigger than Ramsay. Sansa didn’t know what to expect, but she wanted to find out what his size would mean for them.

He kissed her once more before taking a moment to look at her, his eyes dark with want.

“It’s going to hurt”, he rasped to her.

“You can’t hurt me”, she whispered and kissed him again.

Slowly, he positioned himself at her entrance and leaned in. It didn’t hurt, at least that was not how she would describe. He was filling her, expanding her insides. Once he was fully sheathed into her, his head hit something deep inside of her that send another bolt of pleasure.

“Sandor”, she moaned again, not knowing what she wanted to say to him.

He leaned in, touching his body all along her own. The feeling of his muscles, his chest hair and his manhood inside of her was enough to make it begin all over again. He started moving, slowly, rubbing against her walls and hitting that very same point over and over again.

Sansa held him against her, looking deep into his eyes. They were sweating, their breathing ragged, their skin burning. As she began to moan again, just as he was groaning, he took her mouth in his, his tongue playing seductively with her own. Soon enough, she was about to climax again. She grabbed his hair at the name of his neck and pulled at it, sending him to kiss her neck and push into her deeper, faster, in complete abandon.

She said his name again. How many times, she did not know.

“Sansa”, he groaned against her throat before lifting his face and looking into her eyes. “Come for me again, my she wolf. Come for me.”

And she did. Her whole contorted again, much stronger than before when he used his mouth on hers.

“Sandor!”, she yelled out as it hit her. “Gods.”

It felt like waves from the ocean were hitting her, flowing through her veins and bringing pleasure again and again to every part of her body. She was shaking as she held on to Sandor, who was still moving into her, making her pleasure last. Until his own came over himself. She felt it too, his manhood twitch inside of her and the heat of his seed feeling her.

“Fuck, Sansa”, he groaned as he came.

His body shook as well, tensing up and then relaxing when he was done. He tried holding himself up as if not to crush her, but that was not what Sansa wanted. She embraced him again and pulled him towards her. He let her and let his weight come over her.

They remained like that for a long time, until their breathing slowed down and the sweat that covered their skin cooled down and make them shiver with the mixture of hot and cold air.

He rolled from the top of her, laying by her side. Then, he took the furs and pulled them over their bodies. Sandor pulled Sansa closer to him, and she gladly surrendered. Under the covers, she laid the top half of her body over his, searching his mouth with her own.

They kissed slowly, longing for each other, touching whatever skin was near. Too soon, the tiredness from the last few days caught up to them. Sleep came before they could say much.

“Sandor”, she whispered against his chest.

“Little Bird”, he rasped back, kissing the top of her head.

I will never stop wanting you , was what she thought before falling asleep, words that she still not dared say.

Chapter Text

Sandor

He woke up knowing exactly where he was. Which rarely happened. Sometimes, Sandor would wake up thinking he was still traveling North with the wolf bitch. Others, he thought he was at that fucking cold prison cell at Eastwatch By The Sea. Or in King’s Landing, at his old quarters. They were all shit situations that he had to endure.

But his new room at Winterfell was the best he ever had. It had become familiar, comfortable. The first room he looked forward to, and wished to stay at after he was done with his duties for the day. It was warm, the bed was big enough for him - which never happened in the capital - and he didn’t have to drink into stupor anymore to forget his own existence. He was content with his life in the North - the only life he had ever felt proud of.

Besides that, Sandor woke up knowing exactly who  was there with him. How could he ever forget? Sansa Stark was his first thought as soon as his mind noticed he wasn’t sleeping anymore. She had been his first thought for a while now. But this time, it wasn’t only imagination or a fantasy. It was a recent memory. A remembrance.

He could remember her vividly - her face, her body, her smell, the feeling while he was inside of her. It was the most intimate thing he had ever experienced. He had fallen asleep and woken up feeling  her. She was pressed by his side, her head was on his shoulder, and one of her arms was holding his abdomen. Her legs were entwined with his own, and he thought he could feel her sex against his thigh. The one thing that called to him most than all the others was the warmth from her skin heating his own.

Reluctantly, Sandor opened his eyes to find a dark lit room. The flames were low in the brazier, throwing shadows on the walls. And then, he looked to his side to find the Lady Stark of Winterfell asleep in his arms.

Sandor couldn’t help the smug grin that was spreading through his face.

She was fucking beautiful. Her hair was flowing in waves behind her, spreading through the bed in the empty space of her side. Her skin was so white, and had small freckles on her shoulders and chest. Her eyes, that were closed so peacefully now, were the deepest of blues. Her lips soft and pink. The red flames of the fireplace only enhanced her beauty - if that was even possible.

He couldn’t help the thought that she was too beautiful for the likes of him. It pained him. It made him mad. It made him suspicious of her real intentions - even though she had given him no doubts of her desire.

He noticed the furs had slipped from the top half of her boy and her back was out to the cold air. He made it to grab them and pull them over her body, but something stopped him.

Her scar.

Until then, he had only felt it. But when he finally saw the hideous line on the center of her back, he couldn’t help but feel his blood boil in rage. It looked so fucking wrong in her. She wasn’t supposed to have gone through it, none of it. Sansa Stark had been deceived, betrayed and tortured more than anyone should ever be in a lifetime. She didn’t deserve any of it. She was a Little Bird, lost in a pit a snake, and had become the Red Wolf at a high price. Too high.

He dared touch it again, tracing the scar lightly with his fingertips. Though his fingers were calloused, he could feel it very well. It was a deep cut, and badly healed. And the most awful thing was the contrast with the skin of the rest of her back, so smooth and soft.

He wondered who gave it to her, though he had a pretty good idea. He wanted to fucking strangle the bastard, torture him until his body couldn’t take it anymore. But again, there was no use. The Red Wolf had already taken care of it, beating Sandor on this race.

That scar only made Sandor understand her better, and confuse him at the same time. He couldn’t warp his mind around the fact that she had come willingly to his bed. Yes, they were together before  - if that was the right word. But this was different. She trusted him too much, in a way he didn’t trust himself. In a way he believed no one should trust any other person besides themselves.

He was still tracing her scar when the Little Bird stirred in her sleep, rubbing her body and face against him. Only that was enough to make him hard again. This was the most satisfied and aroused he had ever been. He retrieved his hand from her back to run his fingers through her scalp and hair. She moaned lowly at that, drawing a chuckle from Sandor.

He watched her without any hurry. He could see in her face when she was fully woken up. The moment her hand ran softly through his chest and the smile that surged in her lips, when she noticed who was there with her. In his room. In his bed. He also felt her hips tilt slightly, making her sex rub against his thigh and drawing a shaking breath from her.

“Is it morning yet?”, she asked in a whisper, her eyes still closed.

“Not yet”, he rasped back, enjoying how her cheeks grew red even in the dark light of the fireplace.

Still blushing, she opened her eyes to stare at his chest. Her lips kissed his skin softly, again and again. His hand on her head stilled for a second before it continued tracing her scalp.

She lifted her head to seek his eyes. As they stared at each other, studied each other, they remained in silence. Sansa was smiling, and her smile grew bigger by the second. He knew the images of the night before were running through her mind, just as they were running through his. That send another jolt to his cock, making it even harder. And he felt her moving again, rubbing skin on skin.

But at one point, her eyes hardened a bit as she stretched her back without moving her arms away from his body. Her squirming seemed to make her notice the Sandor was touching her there while she was asleep. As they locked eyes again, there was a silent understanding between them. It was a question on his part, his eyes pleading for an explanation, and a confirmation on her part that she would answer his doubts - not only for him, but for herself, finally saying the words out loud.

She took a deep breath before kissing his skin again.

“He told me he wanted to see a wolf spine”, she whispered as she lifted her head to look into his eyes again, just like a wolf would stand in front of a challenge. “He used the same knife he used to cut Theon.”

His whole body screamed at tension, demanding movement, demanding action. Demanding violence. But he didn’t indulge it. Instead, he let out the air in his lungs and kept rubbing her head, moving to her neck, trying to comfort her while she told her story.

She seemed to noticed this simple gesture, but said nothing of it.

“Ramsay had a lover”, she continued, moving her hand to stroke his neck. “Myranda, a commoner. She used to go... hunting with him. She hated me for being married to him, even though I only suffered in his hands. Maybe she suffered too.”

“Ramsay tied my hands to the bed as she held my legs back. He straddle me and tore my clothes until he reached my skin. And just cut me. He told me he wanted to see bone. I’ve never felt so much pain.”

“Then, he ordered Myranda to clean the mess. I was still tied down while she wiped the blood and sutured me. She was not gentle. It was a petty vengeance against me for drawing attention from her lover. I couldn’t sleep on my back for weeks. During that time, he didn’t touch me.”

What did they do to you, my wolf?

“He wanted to break me, until I stopped fighting”, she whispered with a voice filled with grief and rage, and her eyes filled with tears. “So I did everything I could to not let him get what he wanted. I resisted. I fought back. I survived. And he’s dead now.”

Sandor was left speechless. He held her body tightly against his, and kissed her with all the gentleness he could muster. She gave in to him and kissed him back slowly, tenderly, like no one else had ever done before.

“You are so strong”, he whispered against her lips between kisses, and moved to kiss her neck. “So fucking strong.”

A single tear ran through her face while she continued to kiss him. There was something so intimate in lying down, naked, kissing each other. And as they kept going, as he kept trying to comfort her, the heat between them started to grow again.

Hands were no longer touching back and neck, but every piece of skin they could find with the intention of feeling and arousing. Sandor turned on his side, so they would face each other. Her hand climbed his thigh until it grabbed his behind, a move that only made him grin and realize how her walls were breaking down - and they had only fucked once.

He grabbed her calf and threw it over his thigh. Then, he pulled her even closer, chest touching chest, hip touching hip. His cock was rubbing against her mound, drawing deep moans from both of them. His fingers were tracing her nipple while hers here caressing his  back. Until she grew bolder and brought them to his manhood. As soon as she touched him, he groaned loudly against her neck. She grabbed it but didn’t seem to know what to do exactly. So he showed her how to move her hand, to stroke his length, drawing more breaths from both of them. She was a fast learner.

As he stared into those deep blue eyes, her desire and arousal were clear. He forgot momentarily about his doubts, his questionings about how in seven fucking hells would she ever want him. But she did. In this moment. In his bed. She wanted him. And he wanted her so fucking bad.

“Sandor”, she whispered against his lips before kissing him deeply, her tongue moving in a erotic motion against his. “Please.”

His fingers moved down her body until they touched her nub, right above her opening. That enough sent her moaning again and closing her eyes. When she opened them again, her pupils were completely dilated, the blue almost gone.

“Tell me what you want”, he rasped as he stroked her.

She moaned again before she could answer.

“I need you”, she whispered while staring back at him. “Please, I need you again.”

Sandor felt that he would do anything for her, she only needed to ask.

Slowly and carefully, he sheathed himself inside of her. She felt so, so good. Like nothing he had ever experienced before. Tight. Warm. He waited until she adjusted to his size - and for him to feel that fucking amazing feeling of being inside of her - before moving. They didn’t stop kissing and touching the whole time, drawing moans and whispers and pleadings from each other. Since they were on their sides, he could see all of her, touch her breasts, her stomach, her behind, her nub. And she would touch him back, sliding her hand through his abdomen, his thighs, his back. Their bodies were sweating, their breathing were ragged.

He knew she was close when her hand stopped at his back, grabbing his muscles, and she started moaning helplessly. He was close too, but wanted to make her come first. He wanted to see the pleasure in her face before he found his own.

“Please, don’t stop”, she pleaded ever so courteously. “Don’t stop.”

He felt his muscles begin to tighten, his body begging release. She was too perfect for him to hold himself back.

“Just let it go”, he whispered in her ear before kissing her deeply. “Come for me, Sansa.”

And that seemed to be the spark that set her aflame.

He could feel her pussy clenching around him, the muscles of her legs and her body shaking with pleasure. She moaned loudly and he kissed her to muffle the noise. He kept moving while she came, prolonging her climax. And he knew he was close behind.

While she recovered from her fall, she grabbed his behind, urging him to keep moving.

“Come for me”, she whispered while staring at him and blushing deeply.

All he could think was how she had got so spirited before coming with a force he didn’t expect, groaning in her neck.

His seed filled her again while he kept moving. When they stopped, breathing ragged and bodies sweating, he was still sheathed inside of her, slowly softening.

While they held each other, Sandor couldn’t stop thinking about not falling asleep. He wondered - and feared - about what would happen when morning came. Once this night was over, she would go back to be the Lady of Winterfell, and he would go back to be her Lord Commander. There would nothing left of this, and he wondered how in seven hells had he lived everyday without her.

The Little Bird seemed to have woken up from her sated state for she had begun to stroke the hairs of his chest again. As she did this, he also stroked her back, warming her body from the cold air.

“Is this how... copulation is supposed to be?”, she whispered in his hair.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips and drew his head back to look at her.

“Copulation?”

She smiled back but still blushed.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I now?”

“Do not mock me, my lord”, she laughed while she slapped his shoulder lightly. “What would you call it?”

He kissed her lips lightly.

“A word my lady would think too crass.”

“You are right, I would.”

“So I shall not say it”, he said as he kissed her forehead. “But yes, this is how it’s supposed to be.”

She hugged him tightly again, pressing her body against his and bringing heat to his skin once more.

“No wonder people seek it so badly”, she whispered.

Sandor knew she wanted to say something more, but he would not press her. He only waited patiently for her to spill the words.

“Did it-“, she tried. “Did it feel this good for you too?”

He smiled, not mockingly, at her question. She couldn’t tell how it had been for him. Yet. He was determined to make her know, if she was still willing to welcome him to lie with her.

“This is the best I’ve ever felt in my life, Little Bird.”

He could feel her lips forming a smile against his chest.

“Me too”, she whispered.

They kept holding each other, caressing each other until the inevitable morning came. The room was already dark, the flames from the brazier vanished, when the first rays of sunlight covered by clouds came into the room from the window.

They didn’t have to say anything before they started moving. She untangled from him, kissing him once more before standing up and putting her nightshift back on. He dressed his breeches again before helping clasp her cloak back.

“What will you say if anyone see you in the corridors?”, he asked.

“That I was checking on Bran to make sure he is well”, she answered in a beat, probably having rehearsed it before.

He nodded in approval.

“What if you meet your sister?”

“That I had a nightmare and was walking it off.”

“She will not fall for that”, he chuckled.

“She will not fall for anything. She knows when I’m lying, just like you do”, she laughed with him. “But that doesn’t mean she should know the truth.”

He nodded again, trying to imagine how the little wolf bitch would react to what happened between them, before kissing Sansa long and deeply - forgetting completely about the youngest Stark sister. The Little Bird’s arms went around his neck, bringing him closer to her.

“Thank you”, she whispered between kisses.

“Such a courteous bird”, he rasped, feeling himself getting aroused all over again.

As they untangled, she looked at him while biting her lips. She turned to the table and grabbed and bundle of leather left there.

“This is for you”, she said as she gave him the package.

He already knew what it was before he undid the binding. He didn’t expect the deep blue steel, that looked like the color of her eyes, and the new handle. But it was definitely Valyrian steel, and it was definitely her House sword.

“Please, wield it in my stead”, she whispered while covering his hand that held the sword with her own. “You swore me your sword and your strength. This is your sword from now on.”

She looked and sounded so much like a ruler, like the true Lady of Winterfell. He couldn’t help the feeling akin to proud that filled his chest.

“Yes, my lady.”

She smiled brightly at him before kissing him one last time, deeply and longing.

“I have training with Arya tonight. I will come to your room after that.”

“I’ll wait for you then.”

He opened the door for her and waited until she disappeared in the low lit corridor, racing to her room.

As he closed it, he knew he wouldn’t get anymore sleep. So, he started moving. First, taking a cloth and ice cold water to wash himself fast - both to take the sweat off his body and to keep his arousal down.

As he dressed and climbed down the steps to begin his day, Sandor couldn’t stop swearing for the night to come sooner. Maybe nothing was over yet.

Chapter Text

Sansa

After saying goodbye to him - in his chambers, kissing him one last time, while his chest was bare, with his seed still running down her thighs - she only saw him again at the war council, in the afternoon. Since then, she had bathed, eaten, done a number of chores as her role of Lady of Winterfell demanded. During all that time, Sandor Clegane had been on her mind, urging her forward, since once she was done for the day, she could crawl back into his arms and his bed.

She was talking to Bran, Arya and Brienne at their solar, trying to pay attention on what they had to say, making sure the four of them knew what would happen during the meeting. Sansa’s back was to the door, but she knew the exact moment he had entered - only a few minutes before the northern lords.

Sansa forgot what Arya was saying and turned to see him. Sandor stopped on his tracks when they made eye contact, standing frozen on his spot as if he had been caught doing something wrong. She smiled while she remembered the night before, and this morning. He grinned too, surely thinking the same.

Sandor was right. It was the first time she had laid with a man willingly. Joffrey never married her. Littlefinger couldn’t risk losing the North from his grasp. What Ramsay did was violence, rape.

Sandor Clegane was the first man she had ever made love with. And never in her life had she felt so much pleasure.

She didn’t expect how the touch of skin on skin would feel. It sounded so silly when she thought about it later, but his skin was so warm . And together, they made heat. When his mouth kissed her woman’s place, she also didn’t expect the feeling of silk and water, the humidity and the heat that emanated from his tongue. But of course it would be like that.

She had learnt from her lady mother, from her septa, from Cersei Lannister, that pain was the only thing she would feel during her first time with a man - but that it was something she had to endure, no matter what. That her husband should find his pleasure in her body, and she was supposed allow it.

When Sandor’s manhood entered her, finally entered her, it felt like something was cutting through her body, tearing her apart, flesh and bone. But instead of pain, there was the most intense pleasure she had ever felt.

As she stared at Sandor now, even close to her siblings and other people, she couldn’t help the heat and wetness forming between her legs. She wanted Sandor again, even after taking him this morning, just a few hours earlier.

She couldn’t wait until night came.

At the same time, Sansa tried her best not to think about what the future held for them. She dared not name the emotions that surrounded her mind, her body and her heart. But they were there, they were there for a while now. She had to keep them nameless, unknown. For she was the Lady of Winterfell and she had a war to win. And after the war was won, who knew how the world would be left? Who knew which Queen or King would rule the Seven Kingdoms? If they would still be alive? If she would have a choice?

So she kept her feelings at bay. For now.

Before she turned back to the conversation at hand, she noticed Ice’s handle strapped to his hip. That only made her smile grow wider, which she had to control and put back her serious face.

Sandor made his way around the table to join them. Instead of standing by her side, he stood behind Arya, looking right at her. Sansa knew he did it on purpose. She did her best no to blush - probably failing miserably - and payed attention to what Brienne had to say. He said nothing, only listened.

When the northern lords and ladies had finally arrived, the Starks had already settled it all. Each took their seat, and Sandor took his usual place by her side, which only served to make the blood sing in her veins. They looked intently to each other, trying to be discreet and not show emotion, not smile.

Once everyone was ready, the council began.

“Good afternoon, my lords and ladies”, Sansa started. “Thank you for reuniting with us. Have you given thought to the demands we made at our last conversation?”

“We have, my lady”, Yohn Royce answered softly. “The Vale will follow the Starks on battle. There’s just one matter. Why call Cersei’s forces now? Shouldn’t we wait until the battle in the North has been won?”

“No”, Sandor rasped by her side, though this time without sounding harsh. “We need to fight the Lannister’s army while we are strong. If we wait, the men who remain in Winterfell will also have to fight against the dead. It’s our job to make sure Lannister’s soldiers don’t reach the North, so we can win both wars.”

Lord Royce seemed satisfied with the answer, for he didn’t even had to look to his comrades before continuing.

“The Vale is loyal to House Stark. We will follow the call.”

Sansa nodded and slightly bowed her head.

“We thank you, my lord.”

Lyanna Mormont was next, standing up to speak - though she had proven her strength and firm hand throughly, and had no need to speak louder to prove her might.

“Bear Island follows House Stark.”

And on and on the northern houses that remained in Winterfell declared their support in this battle. Sansa felt her heart beat stronger, louder, in her chest. They had a chance of defeating Cersei, though a small one. They still awaited information on Cersei’s bargaining with the Golden Company, as well the number of soldiers in her forces. As Lord Commander, Sandor did his best not to show any anticipated worries on numbers. He was working with the men they had, building a strategy along with Brienne - and now, with the inclusion of the lords seasoned by previous wars - that would work even in the worst scenario.

But she was the one to give the final word, even if she would always ask the opinions of her Captain, her Commander, and most of all, her siblings. The responsibility was on her and her alone. If they all died at the end of this war, if her House met its end, it would be all on her. The Lady Stark who was unable to save her lineage.

And if they won, if despite all odds they lived and screamed victory in the end, she would the Red Wolf, the daughter of Ned Stark who saved the North against a tyrant queen.

Sansa was making history, she knew. That terrified her. That thrilled her.

After all alliances had been pleaded, it was time to talk soldiers. Brienne rose to her feet, her armor glistening in candle light.

“For now, we have nearly twenty five thousand strong men ready to fight. Among them, there are Her Grace’s Unsullied, Northerners and Knights of the Vale. We still expect more soldiers to arrive, raising our numbers to thirty thousand soldiers.”

“Who are these soldiers we await?”, one of the lords asked.

“Cragnomen”, Bran answered. “Lord Howland Reed has also responded to the call and is on his way here as we speak.”

Sansa could see how that information put everyone on edge. The cragnomen were not known for their battle skills, but for their swamps and their strange connection to the old gods. The last time Lord Howland had participated in any war was when her father had marched South alongside Robert Baratheon to depose the Mad King. Since then, no one has ever heard any tale of the Reeds ever leaving Greywater Watch. With the exception of his children, Meera and Jojen, who had helped Bran beyond the Wall. The boy had died in the North, but Meera was the one who brought Sansa’s little brother home. For that, she was forever grateful. And she could see that Bran was a little more than nervous to see her again, since they hadn’t parted in the best conditions.

As silence filled the room, Brienne resumed her speech on soldiers, horses and weapons.

As she listened to Brienne, Sansa noticed how her palms were sweaty. She dried them on the fabric of her dress and rested her hands of her thighs. She sensed Sandor move slightly, almost imperceptibly - and Sansa only saw it because she was sitting right by his side - and covered her hand with one of his, calloused fingers stroking her skin and sending another wave of warmth through her body.

She wasn’t paying any more attention to what any of the northern lords were saying in response of the Captain’s declaration, and she honestly didn’t care. She only marveled at how Sandor Clegane, famously known as the Hound, could send her shivering and feverish with a single touch.

Slowly, trying her best not to move her body, she turned her hand up and stroke his fingers back, entwining them with her own. It only lasted a few moments, but she saw how the good side of lips twitched slightly upwards, in a subtle smile, and how he squeezed her hand. It did nothing to calm her racing heart, keeping the beat fast and her breathing erratic. It warmed her skin and it vanished her worries.

Before the discussions reached its end, she let go of Sandor’s hand so he could stand up and talk strategy. They didn’t have much to begin with. Without anymore information on Cersei’s forces, there wasn’t much he could do. But, at the same time, he was thinking of different possibilities of how the battle would go. Luckily, they had the Greyjoy’s to take down any Lannister ships they found in northern waters, making sure none of them reached Jon’s and Dany’s troops. But chances of that happening were low to begin with. Why face the dead, a much difficult war, when Cersei could make sure her living enemies were dead before the battle North was over?

“Cersei will march North, that much is sure”, Sandor declared while staring at the map. “She doesn’t expect an army in Winterfell, but she expects someone to be here. Specially Lady Sansa, Lady Arya and Lord Bran. She will want to take down the keep, occupying Lord Jon and Queen Daenerys war base. So we can think of a siege. But she may try to pass Winterfell and go straight North, taking other keeps before taking Winterfell. So we need to be prepared for that as well.”

“With your agreement, my lords”, Sansa said. “I will send the raven tonight, calling Cersei to join our forces.”

She took the small roll and undid the paper, showing it to the rest of the table:

Your Grace, the dead have breached the Wall. The time has come for you to march North and help the living win this war. We shall meet at the Gift. Jon Snow, Lord of Winterfell.

Everyone stared at each other, and then at their counselors, before nodding.

“Aye”, Lady Lyanna said, breaking the silence.

“Aye”, Bronze Yohn followed.

“Aye”, Lord Umber continued.

It was an unanimous decision, even by the Queen’s counselors, Missandei and Tyrion Lannister. Sansa held her smile, not letting the triumph she felt express on her face.

“Thank you, all of you. I shall go to the rookery myself to deliver the message. This council is done for the day. Goodnight.”

Everyone stood up as she left the table. She avoided Sandor’s eyes, knowing that later that night she would join him again. Before she exited the room, she felt Arya’s presence by her side, following her to the tower.

They walked in silence, a strange quietness for the two of them. The only sound that accompanied them was their steps on stone, the howl of the wind and the ravens once they reached the rookery.

Carefully, Sansa opened the cage to the bird destined to King’s Landing and strapped the message on its leg. Once she released the raven, both sisters stared at the northern view. Earth and trees covered in snow. No other color beyond white, grey and black. The air seemed think because of the cold and the snow, making Sansa’s spine shiver.

“You did good”, Arya said by her side.

“Thank you”, she answered, smiling down at her sister. “Perhaps we can win this war.”

“Perhaps”, she nodded and turned to look at Sansa in the eye. “Lady Brienne and Clegane also did well.”

Sansa knew that tone, having heard from Arya time and time again. She was provoking, and wanted Sansa to know she was provoking and not being completely oblivious. She didn’t know what her sister knew, or even suspected, of her relationship with Sandor. But she knew something was happening, that much was certain. 

But Sansa wasn’t ready to tell her yet. She had no assurances.

“The chances we have, we owe to them”, she answered, also showing a knowing smile.

Arya grinned back, recognizing that Sansa would not give anything up this day.

“Training tonight?”, Arya asked while turning to descend the steps.

“Yes. I’ll meet you after dinner, at the tower.”

“No”, Arya laughed and continued with her back turned. “The Godswood.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

She didn’t have many boy’s clothes to begin with and had to deal with the ones Arya gave her when they first began training. But tonight, they would fight in the Godswood, in the open air and snow. Sansa put on her thickest cloak, braided her hair, and hoped that the exercise would keep her warm enough.

Arya was already waiting on her, dressed in leather, her cloak laid down by the Heart Tree. Of course she would be prepared for the cold.

“I need to find you better clothing”, she said as Sansa took her own cloak off her shoulders and rubbed her arms up and down before taking the blunt sword.

“Yes, please”, she tried to say as her teeth clashed.

Without another word, Arya took a step forward and stroke. Sansa blocked it, the motion beginning to feel natural to her body. At that, their dance took place. She knew her little wild sister always held back. She had seen her move faster than her own shadow. Even when she killed Petyr in the Great Hall, the knife slit his throat in the blink of an eye.

Even so, Arya never hit hard, preferring to strike with intelligence, finding the very best spot to defeat her opponent. That was how she won over Brienne and Sandor, who were both much bigger and stronger than the small Stark lady.

Sansa was getting hit repeatedly. But thankfully, her body was warming up. With that, her body was trembling with anticipation - and not from the fight.

Even though she had learned to enjoy the lessons in sword fight, she was anxious to take a warmth bath, dress in her nightshift and reach Sandor’s chambers. The memories of the night before were too fresh in her mind.

I will never not want this. I will never not want him.

But while her mind flew away, her body still suffered from Arya’s care. Sansa noticed how her arms were slower, how her footwork was completely late and, at time, wrong. Though she could see it, and knew how to fix it and stand in the right position and strike at the right time, she simply couldn’t. Her mind and body were disconnected, each involved in their own functions.

At one point, it proved useless to continue training. It was too obvious that something was off. Even though Sansa knew it, she knew Arya was the first one to notice her unbalance.

But before they stopped, Arya had  to put Sansa on the ground, where she laid with her back on the snow after a single motion from her little sister.

“Where is your mind right now?”, Arya asked, sounding slightly annoyed, as she took ragged breaths from the fight.

“What do you mean?”, Sansa asked back as she got back to her feet, dusting off the snow from her clothes and hair.

“You are distracted”, she touched the sword point to Sansa’s ribs.

“I’m striking as hard as I can!”

“And blocking nothing.”

Sansa said nothing and turned her back to her sister, taking deep breaths to steady her lungs - and not let her sister see her eyes, finding the truth she kept hidden in them. After she regained her posture, she turned back, raising her sword to start another round.

“Sansa-“, Arya started saying, but closed her mouth right away.

“What?”, she questioned, trying her best to sound gullible.

Arya stared at her for a few seconds before shrugging and giving her a cynical smile.

“Nothing”, she answered, also sounding naive, before letting her blade fall on Sansa again.

.

She rushed to her chambers, glad to see her bath was almost finished being drawn. As soon as the maids left, she barred the door and started removing her clothes. None of them ever asked why Sansa wore breeches and tunics during the night, and she also never gave any explanations. They surely noticed that she was sweaty and dirty, and knew that Arya also asked for a bath before going to bed. It only took a few connections to understand what they were both doing. No one ever said anything, probably not wanting to question their liege ladies nocturnal activities.

Also, ever since Sansa had escaped from Ramsay’s grasp and fled to Castle Black, she never asked for the help of another person to help her bathe or dress again. The last person who had taken this task was Myranda, and the image of her scrubbing Sansa’s hair, removing the dark paint from her red threads was too fresh in her mind.  It haunted her thoughts the threats, the constant fear of being at her mercy - besides the ones of her husband. And the night he cut her back and Myranda stitched her up. The ugly names she called her, the things she promised she would do to her after Ramsay tired himself of his wife. Keeping her alive, but just.

Sansa sunk into the hot water, putting aside those awful memories. Instead of jealous evil lovers, she thought of calloused fingers, muscles and scars.

She was getting warmer just thinking about what the night had in store for her.

She got out of her bath quickly, wasting no time while drying herself and putting on her nightshift. She stood in front of the fires just enough so that her hair would not be so wet and put on her cloak.

As she got out the door and paced her way to his room, Sansa was quick and light in her feet, barely making any noise. Her hand guided her through the walls when there were no torches to light the corridors and stairs.

Arya’s training served me well,  she thought while smiling to herself.

Before she could turn to Sandor’s corridor, she was met by Brienne in full armor.

“Lady Sansa”, she gasped, scared at her quietness and speed.

“Brienne”, she answered, trying to sound calm and unsurprised, as if it was completely normal to find herself in the corridors of Winterfell this late.

Apparently, it didn’t work.

“Is everything alright?”, the lady knight asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Brienne still eyed her confused, looking behind her at the empty corridor.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, Brienne, thank you”, she answered simply before adding, carefully, just the right amount of lies as if not to get caught in her made up story. “Just taking a walk to the kitchens for some tea. Would you like some?”

“No, thank you, my lady. Surely someone can bring it to your chambers.”

Sansa smiled to her friend, trying to be as genuine as possible.

“No, it’s alright. I like to drink it there. And where have you been?”

She noticed Brienne still had snow in her hair and armor, and she was clearly tired from the day.

“Patrols, my lady. We rode around the Wolfswood to recognize the terrain.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I won’t keep you up any longer. Goodnight, Brienne.”

“Goodnight, my lady.”

“Call me Sansa”, she said before parting.

Brienne smile and nodded.

“Of course, Sansa”, and turned around to the corridors that lead to her own room.

As soon as she was alone again, Sansa took a deep breath, letting the fear and the anxiousness leave her body with the air from her lungs.

Too close .

It took her a few seconds before starting to move again, Arya’s words echoing in her mind.

Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake.

Once she reached Sandor’s door, she could hear her own heart beating, loud and fast from the fear of almost getting caught. She didn’t even knock, just pushed it open and entered his chambers. Closing the door behind her and barring it, making sure no one would disturb them.

As she turned, she saw Sandor sitting by his desk, maps laying on it as well as a cup and a pitch of wine. He stared at her with urgency, confused by her sudden entrance.

“I met Brienne on my way here”, she finally said, breaking the silence and confusion.

He chuckled at that, breathing out the air he was holding and getting up from his seat.

“You’re lucky she’s so daft”, he rasped.

“She’s not daft”, Sansa replied, trying not to feel offended on behalf of the lady knight. “She’s just- naive.”

Sandor nodded and reached for a second cup, filling it with wine and standing it up for her.

She closed the distance between them and took it, taking a small sip of the dark red. It was warmed and spiced, expelling the cold from her body instantly.

She couldn’t help but notice he was drinking again, though he didn’t seem drunk. The pitch was still very much full, as his cup was not even half empty. The last time she saw him drinking was at dinner in the Great Hall, when he sat by her side on the dais, before their last fight. But he had barely touched it. During their private encounters, he would only drink water. Surely, that was on purpose. He didn’t want to  get drunk. The images in her head of when he was constantly in a state of drunkenness, when he found his way to her room during the Battle of the Blackwater, seemed so distant now. He was no longer the mean and drunk Hound while in Winterfell. He was just himself.

“What are you doing?”, she asked, staring at the maps laid out in front of them.

“Thinking”, he answered, running his hand through his face, obviously tired. “We need to be prepared for the worst.”

“Which would be?”

“Cersei hires the Golden Company. Fifty thousand men, besides those she has in her own army.”

Sansa nodded, taking the piece that represented the mercenary army.

“So, a hundred thousand men army”, she concluded from the math they had drawn in their meetings.

“At least”, he added, taking a sip from his wine.

She put the piece back and turned to face him.

“Battles have been won against greater odds”, she said, repeating what Jon had once said to her and trying to sound convincing.

Sandor chuckled a little before turning to her and seeing the look in her eyes, dead serious. Instead, he grew serious with her, though there was still that smile on his lips.

Silently, he turned his body to face her too, and as he put his cup down, his fingers went to the clasp of her cloak. Undoing it, he threw it on the chair behind himself.

As soon as the weight of it left her shoulders, she felt a sudden shiver run down her spine, expectation and excitement running through her body. She knew that look now, the one he carried in his eyes, that cautious and silent motion he did when he was aroused, reminding her so much of a wild animal doing its hunting. A wolf. A hound.

This was the second night she ever spent with him, but Sansa felt that this, this intimacy, this knowledge, had been going for centuries.

He pushed her shift at the neck to the side, leaving her shoulder exposed. Still, without saying anything else, he leaned down to kiss her there. As soon as his lips touched her skin, a sigh left her mouth and she closed her eyes, diving into the sensation. He then climbed to the column of her neck, and at that, Sansa couldn’t help herself anymore, couldn’t help herself from touching him. Her hand went for his head, grabbing the hair at his nape and keeping him there, making her sigh more and more.

His arms wrapped around her body, lifting her slightly so he didn’t have to lean so much. Because of it, they were as close as possible, chest touching chest, hips against hip.

As his lips climbed again, kissing now her jawline, her cheek and finally her mouth, he looked at her deeply in the eyes, and she marveled how he was testing her, assessing her reactions at every kiss, at every touch. He kissed her softly, shortly, drawing back time and time again to look at her face. Until she couldn’t stand it anymore, wanting to drown in him.

“I will win this war for you”, he whispered against her mouth, lips still touching at every word. “We will win this war, no matter the odds.”

It was a promise, she knew that much. Sandor Clegane didn’t say anything in vain. This another oath of his, a pledge of his willing to fight for her, to help her survive this game.

He made her so weak, she could not form words.

No, this isn’t weakness. This is strength.

She nodded, both to herself and to him, before pulling his face to her and kissing him deeply, like she wanted to. This time, he didn’t back out.

She untangled her arms from his hair and shoulder to work her way through the hem of his tunic, without any success. Seeing her distress, he briefly parted from her to take it off. Then, at the same time she tried to undo the laces of his breeches, he tried to lift the nightshift from her body, both struggling. Frustrated, she groaned against his mouth as he grinned. When she stopped, he took her shift. And then, his pants were gone, his manhood hard and hot in her hand.

Both naked, Sandor lifted her and brought her to his bed. She embraced him with her legs as he laid her down on the mattress, not willing to let him get away.

He didn’t put his mouth on her like their first time. Neither did his mouth searched for her breasts. From their locked position, he entered her in one slow and certain motion, and Sansa was excited enough, wet enough already for it not hurt. A long moan and a deep groan filled the air. This was raw. Flesh on flesh. She didn’t know where he ended and where she began. She was filled, and yet hungry for that sweet release.

She twined her arms around his torso, grabbing at the muscles of his back, as he braced himself on his elbows by both sides of her head. As he moved in and out of her, taking his time at each thrust, he leaned down to kiss her. Again. And again. And again.

She moved her legs up and down his own, feeling muscle and hair and scars against her skin, drawing even more sensations for her body to unravel on. And their was that thin layer of sweat again, making their bodies slide against each other. As the pressure grew, she tried to move with him, taking more of him inside of her, faster.

But it was him who was setting the pace. And he knew exactly what he was doing, keeping their climax at bay until they couldn’t hold it any longer.

At one point, she was moaning at every one of his thrusts into her, short and sharp. Every time he entered, it brought her closer to that edge. At every time he drew back, it seemed to keep her distant again from the precipice. It was driving her insane.

When it hit her, that wonderful bliss - strong and powerful -, she didn’t say anything. The sounds and moans that left her mouth were wordless, filled with pleasure and despair. When she opened her eyes again, the waves still hitting her, she saw Sandor looking down at her, eyes widened and mouth opened. He was still pushing into her, in and out, seeking his own pleasure after giving her so much.

Sansa felt powerful for making a man like him so aroused.

She moved the hair from his face, leaving his scars uncovered and illuminated by the warm light of the brazier. They seemed so much softer, and she didn’t know if it was because of the flames or the lovemaking. She touched it, just as she had done once in her room at the Red Keep, with the sky black and green and the battle raging outside.

He still looked at her, this time in wonder at her work with his hair and scars. She lifted her body to kiss him, at first full in the mouth, and then climbing down to his jawline, his neck, his chest. She wanted to make him come, to make him feel as much pleasure as she had just felt.

And then he did. His body pumped faster into her, and she felt the exact moment Sandor’s seed left his body to fill hers. He continued moving, prolonging the feeling for himself and her, until there was no more strength and only sensation was left.

He lowered his body on hers, and she continued kissing him as she gladly marveled at the weight of his body. Their tongues were slow against each other, feeling everything they had to offer.

Finally, he bit lightly at her lower lip, and let his body fall by her side, laying his chest and belly on the mattress. One of his arms was still bracing her waist and his face was nuzzling her neck. It was Sansa who covered themselves with the furs, keeping them warm during the cold winter night.

They said nothing as they fell asleep, their actions more than enough to say anything that they might have wanted to. Words were not sufficient. Never would be.

Chapter Text

Sandor

Knocks on the door woke him up. Sandor immediately opened his eyes, drawing a quick breath and his body jerked in shock. Then found himself staring at the Little Bird’s wide blue ones. She was as tense as he was, her mouth open as she took shallow and rapid breaths. He took a look around the room to find that it was still dark outside, the flames doing so little to illuminate the chamber.

It was not possible that the sound was only in his imagination. She was awake as well, scared even. Staring at each other, they remained in silence, alert and waiting for more knocks.

Three loud hits on wood roused them again, making his body jump into motion and sitting on the bed.

“Lord Commander!”, a man shouted from the other side. He recognized as being one of the guards on the walls. “Wake up, my lord!”

He looked back at Sansa to see her already getting up from the bed, taking her shift and cloak in her arms. He got up as well, putting on his breeches and tunic. Still, the knocks went on, rushing him to be quick and driving him insane with annoyance.

“I’m coming”, Sandor shouted back.

Finally, the noise ceased, making the silence even more noticeable. They had to be quiet about it.

He looked around the room, trying to find a way to hide her. As she put on her cloak, he held her arm softly, as if not to scare her and make her do any sound. It was useless, for she still snapped her head, eyes widened and fearful. He motioned for the bed, and she nodded in understanding, taking a deep breath to calm herself before climbing it. As she laid there, he took a long into her eyes, which seemed more assured, though still alert. Finally, he covered her body and red flaming hair with the furs, which were voluminous enough to hide her frame beneath them.

He took a last look around the room, making sure no sign of her presence was in sight, before opening the door.

There were two men, both soldiers, standing in armor and weapons in hand. They looked scared by him, which was usual. Even though he trained with them and worked with them everyday for the past months, men would still look at him as a stranger, a scarred foreign in the North. There were also the maids and common folk in the keep. But that was another story.

Above all, the two guards who stood in front of him looked stern, a graveness in their expression that screamed urgency, maybe even danger.

His first thought since waking up with their disturbance was that they had been discovered. That maybe Brienne had told someone about Sansa’s strange walk in the night and followed her to his room. Or that she was not found in her own chambers and now they were looking around the keep. Seeing live steel held ready to a fight only made his suspicions grow, though he would still not betray himself, standing tall and serious and under control.

“What’s the meaning of this?”, he questioned after a long silence, seeing that none of those soldiers said anything, his patience and anxiousness reaching its limit.

The one on the left cleared his throat before speaking.

“We’ve seized Jaime Lannister, my lord.”

He felt his body tense up again, his hands clenched into fists. His mind raced to the last time he saw the bastard. All red and gold in armor at Dragonpit, with a golden hand replacing the one he lost, following Cersei around like a damn cub.

“What?”

“He came in through the gates, only a few moments ago”, he finally spit it out. “He wore a hood and claimed to be from Wintertown to enter the walls.”

“When he was finally inside, he announced himself to be Jaime Lannister”, the other continued.

None of this made any sense. Why would the fucker announce himself? Give himself to the hands of his enemies?

“That’s not possible. He was in King’s Landing when we sailed there.”

“Lady Arya recognized him, my lord”, one of them answered. “It’s the Kingslayer.”

“Fuck”, he rasped. “Where is he now?”

“Outside, locked in chains. We closed the gates.”

Sandor nodded, thinking of his next steps - and Sansa’s. Weirdly enough, he didn’t give much thought to the Lannister knight. He had been caught anyway. But the Lady Stark would be called to this matter. The decision was hers to make about the lion, not his. And she was supposed to be sleeping on her own bed.

“Is Lady Brienne there?”, he asked as he finally found a way out.

“We are waking her up now.”

“Good”, relief spreading through his limbs. “I will see the him now. Then I will wake up Lady Sansa and Lord Bran as well. I will meet you there.”

“Yes, my lord”, both men nodded and left quickly through the corridors, swords still in hands, even though there hadn’t been a single sign of a fight until then.

I will never get used to be being called a fucking lord, he thought to himself while he closed the door.

As soon as he turned Sansa got out from her hideout under the covers.

“Did you listen?”, he asked in a whisper, still not taking any risk that might expose them.

“Yes”, she answered, letting out a breath long held.

“Good”, he helped her out of the bed and stood in front of her, bracing her shoulders and making sure she would listen. “Go to your chambers, let no one - and I mean no one - see you. Clean yourself up, lie in your bed and wait for me there. I will go downstairs and then will call for you. Don’t change clothes. If someone comes for you before I do, pretend you were asleep. Do you understand me?”

She nodded vigorously, eyes set and determined.

He let go of her, his hands leaving her shoulders to touch her back and lead her to the door. Before he opened it again, they stared at each other intently. They had taken this risk. This was a choice. She had come to his chambers the first night and he accepted everything she had to offer. This night as well. Still, this seemed to be the first time they were fully conscious of the danger they had come so close to.

Damn it, but she’s worth it.

Before she left, he took a step closer to kiss her forehead. She leaned into him, before climbing to the top of her toes to kiss him in the mouth. They kept it short, but not without heat. Hells, but he couldn’t get enough of her.

She took a last look at him after parting and sprinted quietly through the dark halls, her hair like liquid fire spilling through her back and disappearing in the curve.

Sandor closed the door once again and put on his clothes and cloak quickly, but no armor, only a leather jerkin. He strapped Ice to his hip and went out to the dark lit and cold corridor.

The castle was in motion, even though it was the hour of the wolf. Maids ran around the corridors, while soldiers and guards gathered around the courtyard. There was a circle of not so many people - mainly guards - just outside the main entrance, where he knew everyone watched over a man with a golden hand.

As he got closer, people made way for him. Above all those heads, he could see the little wolf bitch, dressed in linen breeches and tunic, exposed to the cold without her cloak. She was staring at something below her, eyes filled with rage and wonder. He couldn’t help but think it Jaime Lannister was one of the names on her list.

Finally, he reached the center of the circle and saw the lion. For a moment, Sandor didn’t believe it could be really him. The man had never left his sister’s and lover’s side. Why do it now? But it was him alright. Flesh and bone. He had a beard now, so different from the young White Cloak at the beginning of Robert’s reign. He wasn’t hurt or beat down, that much was certain. Beneath his cloak, he wore armor, but his sword was no longer in his possession, being held by one of the guards. His hands weren’t tied to his back, since there was no need to. He came to Winterfell willingly, wanting to get caught. Which made his real intentions even more interesting to Sandor.

“Oh”, the knight chuckled when he finally lifted his head and set eyes on him. “Hound.”

“Kingslayer.”

He gave him a grin that quickly disappeared, clearly not amused.

“Thought you would be fighting those things”, he continued.

“Yeah, me too”, Sandor answered, tilting his head to the side. “Thought you would be with your sister.”

Jaime’s eyes hardened and he nodded in defeat.

“Well, my sister is the reason I am here”, he said as he pushed his hair away from his face. “I need to speak to the Starks.”

Sandor grinned and pointed at the wolf bitch.

“There is one here already.”

Jaime turned his head to the side to look at Arya, who had her eyes still glassy with anger. It was a murderous look, one he had only seen her wear a handful of times. If it didn’t scare the lion, it was because he didn’t know what she was capable of.

“I mean”, Jaime continued as he turned to look back. “the Stark in charge.”

Sandor chuckled and nodded his way.

“Take him to the Great Hall”, he ordered the guards. “I shall summon the  Stark in charge .”

“Yes, my lord”, one of them said, and it didn’t pass Sandor that Jaime quirked his eyebrow in confusion.

It didn’t matter what the Kingslayer thought about it, though. He needed to go after Sansa.

As the thought crossed his mind, Brienne appeared in the doorway of the main entrance to the castle just as Jaime crossed it on his way to the Great Hall.

“Ha”, the lion breathed out. “Lady Brienne.”

“Ser Jaime”, she replied, looking lost while staring at him being conducted inside.

When he was away, she still looked around in confusion before setting her eyes on Sandor. She marched his way, though without any rage. Only worry.

“What happened?”, she asked in a whisper.

“He just came through the gates”, he rasped. “Didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He wants to speak with Lady Stark. I will call her. You call Lord Bran.”

Brienne put on her serious face back on, and nodded his way, determined in her task before regarding Jaime Lannister again.

As she turned back to the keep, Sandor took a look around the courtyard once more as he felt eyes on his back. He didn’t know what gave him this impression, but he was not wrong. The wolf bitch stared at him with that same expression she directed to the Kingslayer. Her whole body screamed murder. Killing.

Even though he was thrice her size, it sent a shiver up his spine.

There was a time when she couldn’t even hit him. Now, they were equals. Sandor didn’t know much about how she had gotten so good at it, but there was no denying her skills. And that meant she could kill him if she wanted to. Maybe he could defend himself, maybe not. He needed to find out what happened before she had the chance.

He took a last look at Arya and turned to go after her sister.

As he reached her chambers, Sandor breathed deeply, letting his previous worries about them being caught behind, and knocked on her door.

She did as he said. Took her time to answer it and when she did, she was wearing her shift, her hair in a sleeping braid. Though her eyes were as alert as before, looking for answer in his.

“It’s him”, he whispered to her. “He’s in the Great Hall awaiting you.”

She nodded and turned back, closing the door to dress herself. When the door opened again, after a few minutes had gone by, she was wearing a deep blue linen dress, fit perfectly so that she could put it on by herself, and a heavy grey cloak over her shoulders. Her hair was in a braid, but this one was in the northern fashion, making her neck and face look so much more regal.

It thrilled him that he was the only one who knew her body beneath all those clothes, or her face when she wasn’t acting the Lady of Winterfell. Like this, she looked like the queen of ice. In his bed, she looked - and felt - like lust and wonder.

Putting his hungry thoughts aside, he let her go in front of him, as it was correct giving their status. They walked in silence to the Great Hall.

As they entered, every lord was already up and circling the lion, as if he was the prey.

Sansa didn’t take a seat, preferring to stand on the dais besides Bran, as Arya followed her suit and stood by her other side. Sandor stood by the sidelines, along with Brienne. In front of him, at the other side from the Hall, there was the Imp, looking scared shitless for his brother. Even as Hand of the Queen, he had no power in Winterfell. Sansa was made the one in charge, by the Queen and Jon Snow both. His hands were tied.

From where he stood, Sandor could also see everyone in the Hall, anger and confusion in every expression.

Sansa took a long look at the man in front of her, who was no longer kneeling on the floor, but standing with his chin high up.

“Ser Jaime”, she greeted firmly as silence echoed through the room, though with a tone of irony that made Sandor grin at only that.

He knew what she saw. No longer the knight in shining armor, but a man, or a lion, torn from his land and stranded in the north, in wolf territory.

“Lady Sansa”, he replied, bowing his head slightly.

“Weren’t you supposed to be in King’s Landing?”

“I was, my lady”, he answered looking up at the Stark siblings. “Until I’ve decided to come North.”

“And why  have you come North?”, Sansa questioned, starting to lose her patience, before she recollected herself.

He grinned at that, proudly.

“To help.”

A dead silence filled the Great Hall as everyone held their breath.

Sandor could see the wolf bitch’s hand turn into fists, too close to the dagger on her hip. Even Bran, the calm and quiet wolf, seemed in rage. And Sansa was fuming, he knew. Her neck held high, her eyes set and her lips in a tight line.

“Help?”, she repeated, venom dripping from her tongue. “Like you helped my father?”

She stepped from the dais, standing in the same level as the Kingslayer. Then, she took the few steps that separated her from the man, slowly, dangerously. The Red Wolf coming to life once more, standing face to face to Jaime Lannister.

“Like when you cornered him and his men in the streets of the capital?”, she whispered, rage palpable at every word. “Like when you killed northerners, and stabbed my father and left him to bleed?”

Jaime only stood there and waited, biting his lips in anxiousness - or for keeping his smart mouth from fucking talking.

“Give me one good reason why I should not execute you in this very hall?”

“Because Cersei will not march here in your aid”, he nearly yelled, before recollecting himself. “She comes here bringing war against your House.”

Sansa’s expression was still, but no less angry.

“Don’t you think we know that already?”, Arya said from behind her.

Jaime widened his eyes, clearly not expecting this assessment from the Starks, before looking at Tyrion, who shrugged his shoulders in defeat. And if he thought that the northern troops were ignorant to Cersei’s plan, maybe Cersei herself though the same. That gave them an advantage. The lioness thought she would hit them unaware. Maybe they could that very same.

But the Kingslayer wasn’t defeated yet, for he grinned as a if knowing a bit too much.

“But do you know her battle plans? Or the number on her force?”

That sent everyone on edge. Sansa’s mask fell as the Lannister man hinted that he knew one of the key information they needed to form their own strategy. She looked sideways at Sandor, in a complicity as if asking a question, if they should listen to what Jaime had to say.

He’s not lyin g, he thought after observing the man.

He nodded her way. They needed  this information to win the war.

“Why do you want to help us?”, she questioned him. “And why should we trust a Lannister?”

Jaime grew serious again, and he took a deep breath before answering. 

”I once made a vow to your late mother that I would return you and your sister safely to Lady Catelyn. I couldn’t hold that promise entirely, but I mean to keep at least part of it. This is me trying my best to keep the last Starks safe from my family’s wrongs. Cersei swore truce and she has no intention of keeping it. She fooled me into thinking she has at least some honor. This is me also trying to recover my own.”

All the Starks looked surprised by the man’s declaration, though remained in silence.

But the Kingslayer, of course, didn’t know when to shut up.

“As for your second question, my lady, as I observe, you have a Lannister as hand of the Queen. And also, a Lannister man as your Lord Commander”, at this, he looked at Sandor again, that same proud grin on his lips. “Your previous husband and the dog that guarded your late fiancé.”

You mean your late son,  Sandor thought to himself, anger filling his veins and making his own hand hang closer and closer to Ice.

“Your brother proved himself to Queen Daenerys”, Sansa whispered, threat spilling from her lips at every word, gone the wonder from his previous declaration about Lady Catelyn. “And Sandor Clegane has proved himself to me, time and time again. Their loyalty is not to be questioned in my presence. I will listen to what you have to share, Ser Jaime. But know that you are not a guest in Winterfell. For now, you are our prisoner. If my Commander or my Captain or even me find out that you are lying, you will lose your head. Do you understand?”

Jaime’s green eyes were widened again, surprise written in his face as he assed Sansa Stark. Surely, she was not the same girl the knight had met in King’s Landing.

“You’ve changed, my lady”, he finally broke the silence that filled the Hall. “Yes, I understand.”

Sansa held herself from grinning, but Sandor could see the corners of her lips twitch upwards only briefly.

“Retrieve him from his armor and weapons. And take him to his cell”, she demanded, voice echoing through the walls. “Later, the council will listen to what Jaime Lannister has to say.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

“Cersei knows by now that we are expecting her”, Sansa said, breaking the silence that filled the room.

The Stark siblings, their Captain, their Commander, Lord Varys, the Hand of the Queen and Missandei were all reunited at the solar. In a circle, they were all standing - with the exception of Bran, of course -, too restless to sit.

Everyone had dressed hastily, putting on simple garments, only aiming to look presentable. There were dark circles under their eyes and moans that were escaping mouths.

“Fucking lion”, she heard Sandor curse to himself.

She knew what he was thinking. If Jaime was really trying to help, he messed up their plans, if only a little.

If Cersei was going to meet Jon’s troops up North, they had lost the element of surprise. And if she was going to strike Winterfell first, they had also lost the upper hand. Gone was the possibility of intercepting her army. They would either fight in the open field or hold on to a siege. Or maybe, Cersei’s army would stay behind King’s Landing walls, safe and sound until winter was over.

The latter would be the smarter move, at least in Sansa’s mind. Wait it out. The northern army would either be dead or reduced. There would be less men to kill to guarantee her seat on the Iron Throne.

But there was still that small chance that Daenerys would fly over the capital with her dragons. Burn the Red Keep down, and Cersei with it. Maybe that was the single thing that terrified the Lannister Queen more than anything - seeing her efforts turn into ash.

Cersei had lost her children. Her father. And now, even her brother - and lover, if anyone believed the foul rumors that ran through the Seven Kingdoms. The Iron Throne, her crown and her name were the only things left for her.

Sansa was willing to bet on that second option.

By now, they had two options. Prepare the army to fight alongside Jon and Dany against the dead. Maybe, there was still time to catch up. Or hold the men in the keep, wait for Cersei and defend Winterfell.

She didn’t know which to choose. Yet.

“Lord Tyrion”, she called out. “Did you know about your brother’s plans to come North?”

Every head turned to see the Hand of the Queen, who looked miserable. Maybe he feared for Jaime’s life. Maybe he had realized the trouble they were all in with his brother’s sudden appearance.

“No, my lady”, he breathed out. “The last time I saw him, we were at Dragonpit. He was Cersei’s kingsguard.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I tried to convince him to help our cause, but he refused. Said that Cersei’s mind could not be swayed. And then I talked to her myself. Almost lost my head for it, really.”

“Me too”, Brienne said. As soon as the words left her mouth, her face blushed crimson, and she added: “Talked to him, I mean. My lady”.

Sansa nodded, finding the lady knight’s behavior a little strange. Brienne had told her before that Jaime Lannister once helped her, and that he had indeed made a vow to her lady mother.

But the truth is she had not quite believed Brienne, even though the lady had never given Sansa reason not to trust her. All Sansa could think about when she heard Jaime’s name, was that he was the exact copy of his sister. Beautiful, cruel, narcissistic and incredibly intelligent. The thought that someone like Cersei could’ve made a vow to Catelyn Stark was impossible.

“Commander”, Sansa called out, trying to sound as firm as possible and not betray her own emotions about the man who had just recently become her lover. “You’ve fought by his side before, even defended his family. Is he lying?”

Sandor grinned a little, as if knowing she would ask this question.

“No, he isn’t.”

“How do you know?”, Arya asked by her side, voice beaming with anger.

“A dog can smell a lie”, he whispered while staring at Sansa and lifting the eyebrow on the good side of his face as if in challenge.

You’re a man, not an animal , she remembered saying it to him in the stables, the first time she talked to him in the stables ever since he arrived at Winterfell.

Something made her look at her little sister’s face, who had her eyes pierced on Sandor, her teeth seeming to rasp against each other. She was angry, alright. By what, she didn’t know.

By her side, Bran was also mad, but not even half as mad as Arya. More than anything, he seemed pensive, his mind miles away from the meeting.

“Lady Sansa”, Brienne called, making Sansa snap her head in her direction. “I can vouch for Ser Jaime’s honor.”

Everyone seemed to become static, frozen in their places and their breaths.

“What?”

But Brienne didn’t cave, and held her neck and eyes up, while arms went behind her back.

“I know the man, my lady. I’ve traveled with with him across Westeros in hopes of exchanging him for Lady Arya an you, as Lady Catelyn requested of me. He saved my life, more than once, even though I’ve never gave him reason to. And I’ve saved his life as well. And when we’ve reached the capital, he did the best he could to help me in my search for you and your sister. He even let me talk to Lord Hoster Tully, the Blackfish, in Riverrun during the siege. I believe Ser Jaime has his own kind of honor, but I don’t doubt his intentions coming North.”

As she finished, Brienne held her chin and eyes up, standing firm in her resolution. Sansa was left struck. Brienne was the most honorable person she had ever met. And now, she was swearing on the honor of a man who had wronged her family more than once.

She looked at Arya and Bran, and saw them as startled as she was.

“Lady Brienne”, Arya said, carefully. “He is a Lannister .”

“I understand, my lady”, she nodded respectfully. “But as Ser Jaime himself said, so is Lord Tyrion and the Lord Commander was once Joffrey’s shield. As they have proved before, loyalty is conquered, not demanded.”

Sansa couldn’t help but look right at Sandor. His eyes met hers, understanding screaming in his face. It finally dawned on her, even though it was clear through all this time.

I have earned his loyalty. I never requested it.

He would never vow himself to her, to her cause, if he didn’t want to. If he didn’t believe in her.

Sansa wanted to cry and laugh, all at the same time. She wanted to run into his arms, and kiss him, and climb into his bed, and make love to him until dawn broke again.

She recited every prove of his loyalty to her. Sandor stopped her from pushing Joffrey to his death. He covered her naked body from Meryn Trant’s eyes and sword. He saved her from a mob. He offered himself to take her away. He protected his sister. He vowed himself to her and to her House. He was the Lord Commander of Winterfell.

And so, so much more.

But still, she did not understand why would she inspire loyalty. Sansa knew she would be a good Lady of Winterfell, despite her doubts and insecurities. And had already proven to be so. But thoughts that she was the cause of her family’s downfall, the responsible for her father’s death, still haunted her mind and her heart. 

I don’t deserve you , she thought, holding herself from crying, from smiling, from moving towards him.

Long moments later - or short, she didn’t know anymore -, she broke her gaze from Sandor’s and turned to her former husband.

“Lord Tyrion”, she called, breaking the silence and trying her best not to let her voice falter. “Do you have anything to say?”

He took a deep breath and shook his head, worry and caution written all over his face.

“No, my lady.”

“You’re the Hand of the Queen”, she pointed out.

“I am. But I’m also Jaime’s brother”, he ran his hand through his face before looking up at her again. “He killed King Aerys, Her Grace’s father. When I speak for my brother’s life, I do not speak for the Queen.”

He looked at Brienne then, bowing his head slightly at the lady knight.

“My lady, you speak rightly when you say that my loyalty for Queen Daenerys was conquered. But Jaime has also won mine. I’m sure Lady Sansa can understand it, having siblings of her own.”

Every head turned back to Sansa. She nodded. She wasn’t lying. She understood it completely. It was not the blood that bound herself to Arya, Bran and Jon. It was something so much more then that. It was the life they had shared. The pain, the beauty and everything they had lived together - and apart.

She knew this didn’t happen to every sibling. She only needed to look at Sandor’s face to prove that. But that didn’t seem to be the case of Tyrion and Jaime. Cersei hated her little brother, and he also didn’t hold love for her. But Jaime did.

“Yes, I can, my lord”, she said. “I thank you for your honesty. I can promise you, both my lord and Lady Brienne, that Ser Jaime will be treated with respect - unlike what House Lannister has treated me and my family. But he will be our prisoner for now. As you said, loyalty is conquered. For all I know, Cersei has conquered his until recently. I will not take risks until I am sure he has changed sides.”

•

After breaking their fast, the entire council gathered in the Stark solar to hear Ser Jaime Lannister. He was brought in by guards and left standing in front of the round table. He had cleaned himself and changed clothes, his golden hand sticking out by the light that gleamed on it. By Sansa’s orders, he had also been fed and given time to sleep.

If he was treated right and justly, maybe he would be more willing to help.

Silence was echoing in the room, only the cracklings of the wood in the fireplace could be heard. Sansa stood up and met the Lannister’s gaze.

“Ser Jaime”, she greeted. “This is our war council, formed by the leaders and representatives of their respected Houses and members of my own House, all who remained in Winterfell to fight Cersei Lannister’s army. You told me you were willing to share her numbers and battle plans. This is the time.”

Jaime took his time to look around the room, recognizing the sigils and the faces of those who were part of her own army. Ever the knight, she knew he was counting how many allies House Stark had, how big of a threat they were.

Until his eyes landed back on Sansa, assessing her as well. She recalled the last time she had seen him. In Joffrey’s wedding to Margery Tyrell, when his nephew - or maybe son - died. By then, she was still married to Tyrion. And he was still the captain of the Kingsguard.

That had been the last time Sansa had seen Cersei as well. She couldn’t help but admit that she admired the woman. Her intelligence, her resilience, her willing to fight. But only the thought of the lioness made her blood boil and her eyes see red. And that also happened whenever she saw her twin, the proud lion. 

“She has fifty thousand men in her army”, he put it simply, not wasting words on courtesies. “She has also a weapon called Scorpion, the same one that one of my men used to attack the Targaryen dragon in King’s Landing. It was destroyed when Daenerys burned my men and supplies, but Cersei has ordered the builders to make more.”

Sansa looked for Tyrion, who saw the questioning in her eyes.

“It’s a spear launcher, my lady”, he answered her doubts. “Only bigger. One of them hit Drogon beneath his wing.”

Jaime shrugged his shoulders.

“It can kill a dragon. Besides that, she has the Greyjoy fleet - a hundred ships and some ten thousand men - and has sent Euron to Essos. He is hiring the Golden Company as we speak.”

“How many men of the Golden Company?”, Sandor asked by her side, his eyes beaming with interest. She could see his mind working on strategies as he asked this question.

“Of that I don’t know. The mercenaries are known to have almost a hundred thousand, but I doubt that there are these many today. I bet on fifty thousand, at most.”

Arya inclined forward on her seat.

“The Golden Company has elephants”, she said, though there was a question in her tone.

“Yes”, Jaime answered, eyeing the Stark sister suspiciously, probably thinking how a small girl could look so much like a threat. “Cersei hopes she can bring some of them to Westeros.”

Sansa remembered the tales that her father and old Nan used to tell her about elephants. She had never seen one, but had seen drawings. They were gigantic beasts, with ivory fangs and skin rough and thick. Jon and Tormund also told her of mammoths, that lived  north of the Wall, and were just like elephants, only covered in fur. They were violent and the Golden Company used that in their advantage, riding the animals and stomping their enemies.

We won’t have dragons to kill these beasts .

“What of her strategy?”, Sandor asked Jaime again, his hand in a fist over the table.

“I don’t know the whole of it. She plans of sending the Greyjoy fleet North, to Eastwatch By The Sea, though not in aid. And then she plans on sending men to Winterfell. To seize supplies, gold and, of course, the base camp of Daenerys Targaryen army.”

“Cersei will remain in King’s Landing”, he continued. “Once Winterfell is taken, the men will retrieve South and await for whoever is left of your army. She believes the Red Keep will be the safest place in Westeros after the war against the dead is either won or lost.”

Arya snorted by Sansa’s side.

“Cersei might change her plans now that she knows you’ve come North.”

Jaime grinned at her, unprovoked.

“Yes, she might. She will probably send her main forces here, instead of enough men for a surprise attack. Strike Winterfell in one sure hit, making sure is taken without much of a fight.”

“Does she know our numbers?”, Sansa asked.

“No, but she knows the dragons will be fighting against the dead. And that there are only two left.”

Silence filled the room again, each men and women absorbed into their own thoughts and plans. The information Jaime has send them was good, better than good. But now, it was time to think strategies, to form a battle plan.

“Thank you, Ser Jaime”, she said, even smiling a bit at the man, though keeping the ice in her voice. “Your help will not be forgotten. Please, return him to his cell.”

Two guards appeared by his side and motioned for the door.

He looked at them, unmoving, before looking back at Sansa.

“Lady Sansa, I thought I would be part of the council.”

She couldn’t help but smile a bit sarcastically at him. 

“You’ve just arrived, Ser Jaime. I don’t know if I can trust you yet. But I promise, you shall be treated well and no harm will come to you.”

The part “without necessity” was left unsaid.

Jaime chuckled a little before nodding.

“My lady”, he bowed slightly and turned around, taking a last look at his brother before leaving the room with two guards by his side.

She waited until the door was closed and Jaime’s steps had vanished into the corridors, before taking her seat back.

“Well, my lords, my ladies”, she said, hands of top of the table. “Shall we begin?”

Chapter Text

Sansa

She had been listening for Lord Umber talk incessantly about Jaime Lannister - and how they shouldn’t trust him. It would be boring, if it wasn’t infuriating. Before him, other three lords did the same.

Sansa expected some resistance, of course. It was ridiculous to trust the Lannister completely. That’s why she wanted him to talk of what he knew in front of the whole council. To decide how they would tiptoe around these informations.

But it was almost night time and they hadn’t decided on anything. No battle plans, no formations, nothing. Sansa was growing anxious, and mad.Cersei was always a step forward, as they were falling behind fighting and discussing meaningless matters.

What use would Jon have for defeating the Night King if Winterfell was taken? For what reason had her father, mother and brothers died for?

Curiously enough, no women had disagreed from the Starks’ decision to listen to the knight. Lady Mormont had the same anger in her face as always. Lady Karstark had her attention anywhere but what the man was talking about. Missandei listened attentively to everything, but was obviously tired of the conversation. Lady Brienne awaited patiently.

Bronze Yohn had tried to argue. Tyrion too, though the latter had been immediately called out for being the Kingslayer’s brother. The rest of them waited. And waited. Until the lords were done and the Starks could take the lead once more.

But apparently, Sandor got tired before that could happen. Sansa saw it too, when his hand turned into a fist and punched the table. It was strong enough, and loud enough, to shut whatever Lord Umber was saying and make every person jump in their seats. It didn’t scare Sansa though, and she had to hold herself from grinning.

Every head turned to him, who was reclined in his chair, looking both angry and vigilant of every move. He had his eyes set on Umber, who slowly took his seat back, scared of Sandor’s gaze.

“What do you suggest we do, Lord Umber?”, he rasped, his hand still into a fist over the table.

“I just told you!”, the young man nearly yelled, sounding so much like a petulant boy. “Execute the Kingslayer. Get information from him first-“

“I don’t mean about the fucking lion, I mean about this war”, Sandor interrupted, talking a bit louder. “Where should we meet Cersei’s army? Or how many men should we send to fight? And how many will stay to guard the keep?”

“Well, I- We should-“

“Enough”, Sandor shouted, dismissing Umber completely. “If any of you have any idea on how to win this war, I’m all ears. If you don’t, shut the fuck up.”

Lord Umber, as well as the other lords, had their faces contorted in fury. Though Umber looked red and started to get up again from his seat.

“I will not be insult-“

“Sit back down”, Lady Mormont said, by his side, while not looking at his face. “We all get it. You want the Kingslayer’s head. It’s a stupid idea. You want to execute the only person who actually brought valuable information to this table.”

Lyanna Mormont got up from her seat and looked around the table until she sat eyes on the person she was looking for.

“Lord Varys”, she called, startling the man. “You said you had ears in the East. How long until news of the Golden Company reaches you?”

Varys grinned at the She Bear and cleared his throat before answering.

“A matter of a few days, my lady. Lucky for us, I have ravens flown over the sea to carry these messages. We will probably hear about it before Cersei herself.”

“The Kingslayer said she would have at least fifty thousand men from the East”, she reminded everyone. “Soon enough, we’ll have confirmation of that. That’s where we start talking strategy.”

Every eye was turned to the She Bear, the Starks and the Dragon Queen’s men in awe, and the northern lords in despise. Her gaze was as fierce as Sandor, and as soon as it landed on him, she grinned a little, as a child who finally found something to play.

“Lord Commander”, she called, taking her seat back. “What do you make of that?”

By her side, Sandor grinned back, finally seeming to relax a little before answering.

“The walls of Winterfell are not high enough for such a siege”, he said, staring at the map. “But Perhaps we can draw the Lannister army into the Wolfswood. They don’t know the terrain and they don’t know winter. We’ll have an advantage there, specially with the Reeds.”

“They will be here in three days”, Bran said, entering the discussion.

And his affirmation made Sansa confirm that he was still using his sight. She only hoped he was not using it to spy at the Night King.

“Good”, Sandor nodded his way. “Perhaps we can learn something from them.”

“What can we learn from cragnnomen?”, Lord Umber interrupted, clearly annoyed.

It was Bran who answered.

“Do you know where Greywater Watch is, my lord?”

The man didn’t have to answer. No one knew where the keep of House Reed was settled.

“They are masters of stealth tactics”, Bran continued. “And some of them even have greensight.”

Sansa didn’t know the man who was once her father’s great friend. But she had met Lady Meera, the young and fierce girl who had fought and put her own life at risk for her brother. Jojen Reed, as Bran had told her, died north of the Wall and had greensight. And, according to old Nan, Lord Howland has too.

“I don’t see how greensight will help us win this war”, another northern lord said, clearly taking Umber’s side. “We need the Queen’s dragons. Burn the whole Lannister army.”

“The war against the dead has already begun”, Bran said, visibly angry for having the Reed’s ability’s questioned. “We are alone until the Night King is defeated.”

So it has begun .

Reality sunk into Sansa’s skin. There was no return from this. This meant war, for life or death.

•

As the council ended, with no decisions whatsoever, and the lords and ladies left, Sansa got up and stretched her legs for a bit. The tension from the council made her back hurt and her head feel light. They had been woke in the middle of the night, and had not slept since. She wasn’t even hungry. Just wanted to take a warm bath and crawl back into bed.

She looked at Sandor, who was waiting for the northern lords to leave by Brienne’s side. Actually, one decision had been made, though without the knowledge or approval of the entire council. The Lord Commander would draw battle plans with the information Jaime Lannister has given them. He wouldn’t need to consult the northern lords and ladies, only the Starks. And Sansa would give the final decision. That way, they wouldn’t be stuck in the same place while Cersei brought elephants and mercenaries to Westeros.

Right now, Sandor didn’t seem tired at all, despite the hour. Perhaps his experience as a soldier had put him through hardships worse than this. He could very handle a few nights without any sleep.

Sansa felt her cheeks grow hot just with the thought of crawling into his bed this night.

But before she could even dream of that, she walked to Bran’s side and sat on the chair nearest to him.

Her little brother had dark circles under his eyes, but was as alert as possible. He even gave her a little smile.

“Sansa.”

“Bran.”

He waited, as if he knew what was coming.

“You’re still flying around with crows.”

“Yes.”

“Bran-“

“I need to, sister”, he interrupted her softly before she could say anything else. “Trust me, if I could fly over to the South, I would have my eyes on Cersei’s every move.”

“What about the Night King?”, she asked in a whisper.

“I’m not seeking him”, he explained while holding her hand. “I’m following Jon and Queen Daenerys.”

Her heart begin to beat a little faster with the mention of their brother.

“And?”

“They are both well”, Bran smiled. “Jon’s riding Rhaegal.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“I would like to see that.”

She kissed her little brother’s head before placing a hand on his shoulder, making sure he was listening.

“Don’t go after the Night King”, she pleaded. “And if it ever becomes too much, I want you to stop.”

He smiled again and nodded her way.

“Yes, my lady”, he answered, that last part a little bit mockingly.

She smiled back and let him go. Soon enough, he rolled out his chair from the solar, whisking everyone a goodnight of sleep.

As Sansa looked around the room, she found Arya sitting on their father’s desk, away from conversations. She was looking at a single point on the wall, her gaze seeming like it would pierce the stones.

“Arya, what’s wrong?”, Sansa asked as she came closer to her her sister.

Arya snapped her head, and the look she gave Sansa made a shiver run down her spine. It was the same one she used to throw at Joffrey on their way to King’s Landing after her friend, the butcher’s boy, had been murdered - by Sandor, no less. Even when they were younger and despised each other, Arya had never given Sansa that look.

“Arya?”

“Why weren’t you in your chambers?”, she whispered, words fast and precise as a knife cut.

Another shiver, and the breath was caught in Sansa’s throat.

“What?”, she asked, feeling like her whole body was trembling.

“When the Kingslayer arrived, I went after you. You weren’t in your chambers”, she whispered again. “ Why ?”

Sansa fell silent, though her mouth still tried to form words. But she didn’t know what to say. Her little sister knew . She could see it in her eyes.

Sansa knew that, someday, she would have to tell Arya. They had been sharing secrets, fears and joys. They had decided, together, not to keep things from each other. Though Sansa didn’t yet know how to tell her, since she didn’t even know how long this relation with Sandor would last, she wasn’t even prepared.

But she didn’t expect the hate in her eyes and in her voice.

Seeing Sansa’s despair, Arya closed her eyes before jumping from the desk and walking away from the room. She didn’t say anything to anyone else. Simply left, quick as a snake, quiet as a shadow.

Sansa watched as Arya disappeared through the doorway and kept staring at the exit. She wanted to follow her, seek her and explain everything. And mostly, try to understand her rage.

He’s not on my list anymore , she remember her saying.

Finally, something made her move. In quick paces, she strode through the door and into the corridor, looking for Arya. For each step, she thought of how she would explain everything to her little sister. How she would settle her rage and make her see.

But once she reached the stairway, it was completely silent, with no trace of her.

Then, she went to her room, and there was still no trace of her. The Great Hall was empty. Finally, in a last try, she went to the Godswood, one of the few places Arya might be. But of course, she wasn’t there. Arya didn’t want to speak to anyone, so she wouldn’t be anywhere. She would come out whenever she wanted.

Sansa felt herself lost. She stared at the frozen lake that lied in front of the heart tree, unmoving, with her mind going through a million things at once.

She told me. She told me that he was off her list . She told m e.

“Little Bird?”, a voice called from behind her, breaking her wondering thoughts.

She turned in a snap, embracing herself and shivering from head to toe.

He was wearing a warm black fur cloak, while his long hair covered half his face, blocking his scars from her view.

Sandor probably followed her after she left the solar. He took cautious steps towards her, as if she were a wounded animal that he was trying to help.

“I’m cold”, she whispered.

“Well, you’re not wearing your cloak.”

It was true. In her hurry, she forgot to take it from her chair. And now she stood in the middle of the snow, when it was almost completely dark, wearing just a linen dress.

Once he reached her, his hands started to rub up and down her arms, trying to warm her up. She leaned in to his touch, making him embrace her and cover her body from the cold with his own. Still, he would try to bring heat to her by rubbing her back.

“Thank you”, she whispered in his chest.

“What’s wrong, you crazy bird?”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her face in the fur and leather of his clothes, smelling that scent that was so his. She took a deep breath before looking, staring into his grey lake eyes.

“Arya knows”, she said softly, trying to shake the tremble from her voice.

It took him only a few seconds for his face to turn from preoccupation to simply blank. His hands also stopped at her back, and she could swear Sandor had stopped breathing for a few seconds.

Finally he nodded and breathed out.

“Shit, so that’s it.”

“What?”

“The reason why she looks like she wants to kill me.”

Even in a moment as tense as this, he made her chuckle a little.

“Yes, she gave me that look as well.”

“Shit”, he said again.

They remained silent for a while. He kept on holding her, warming her body, while she just let herself be held and comforted. She needed to seek her sister, talk to her, understand and calm her rage.

It took her a few moments to understand why she was so scared of Arya’s fury. Why she feared her little sister’s hate towards Sandor. There were two reasons. One that she would not form into words. And the other was plain and simple.

I don’t want to lose my sister .

They had finally reached an understanding. They would share secrets, Arya would train her, they would discuss battles plans and how to run the keep. They’d tell each other about the stories they had lived while being apart.

Sansa couldn’t risk losing Arya for anger, for mistrust.

She finally looked up to find Sandor staring down at her. She smiled a little for him, and he did the same to her.

“I need to find her”, she whispered. “I need to talk to her.”

He nodded and untangle his arms from her. As soon as his chest parted from hers, the cold hit her skin and made her whole skin prickle.

“Go”, he rasped, eyes full of understanding.

Before she did though, she took a step forward and lifted her hand, placing it on his scars. She caressed them lightly before leaning in to kiss him. His mouth was so warm, the scarred side of his lips sending wanting thoughts into her mind and her body.

He could make her lose her breath, and make her heart race, with just this.

He caresses her cheek as well, giving her a final kiss, a final tug on her lips, before letting go.

“Thank you”, she whispered a little erratically.

He didn’t answer back, simply let go of her face.

She gave him a final look before turning around and going back to keep, determined to find her sister.

•

In the end, Sansa didn’t find Arya anywhere in the keep. But she knew her sister, at one point, would have to go to her own chambers to sleep. So she took her bath and dressed in her nightshift, waiting until it was late enough.

Then, she went for Arya’s chambers, knocking loudly on her door. In a few moments, her sister opened it, fury still written on her face as if she was expecting Sansa. She was preparing to bed as well, she noticed, wearing her shift and her hair was let lose, hitting her shoulders.

“Can I come in?”, Sansa asked softly, as if she was scared.

Arya didn’t say anything and remained unmoving for a few seconds. Until she nodded shortly, and made way for her to enter.

Her sister had taken the room they used to share while Jon was still in Winterfell - now, Sansa’s chambers. It was appropriate that they would have this conversation in the same room where they shared secrets at night.

“What do you want, Sansa?”, she asked, words so sharp they were cutting the air between them.

“To talk to you. Just talk.”

Arya nodded, but her expression was still impassive. She didn’t sit, nor did Sansa.

As Sansa opened her mouth to start explaining - though she still had no idea what to say - Arya cut her out.

“Why him ?”

“Arya, I-“

“Why him?”, she asked again, anger finally reaching her voice. “Because of that stupid cloak?”

“Of course not!”, she replied a little bit too loudly. “I wouldn’t do that just because Sandor helped-“

“ Sandor ?!”, Arya questioned with fury, before laughing so bitterly. “Since when are you calling the bloody Hound by his first name?”

Sansa ignored the question and took a deep breath to recollect herself. She was not there to fight with her sister. She just wanted to make her understand.

“Why him, Sansa?”, Arya asked again, this time in a whisper, though still with venom. “I thought you liked your men pretty .”

At that, ice filled Sansa’s veins.

“Pretty?”, she threw back, laughing just as bitterly as Arya had done just a few moments before. “Like Joffrey? Like Ramsay ?”

Sansa watched as her sister’s eyes, that were filled with anger, now were screaming fear and sadness. Her mouth was left open and her whole posture slacked. She looked so much like a child.

And then it dawned on Sansa.

This is it .

Sometimes she forgot how young Arya truly was. She was a killer, alright. One of the best. But she was a young woman, just recently flowered, who knew little of what went between men and women.

She probably had seen little of happy relationships. Perhaps the closest example was their parents, for Ned and Catelyn Stark loved each other dearly. But they were long dead now.

On the other hand, she had seen the scar on Sansa’s back. And, though Sansa never explained to her what had happened, it didn’t take much to understand. Besides that, the Seven Kingdoms thought she had been ravaged by Joffrey and Baelish long before Ramsay. And she had never said a word to undo this lie, preferring to keep it quiet, hoping one day these rumors would vanish.

Arya thinks Sandor is just like Joffrey, and Petyr, and Ramsay. She thinks he’s using me .

Sansa took a deep breath and calmed herself . She wanted to hug Arya, to tell her that everything was well.

“You told me he was off your list”, she whispered softly.

Arya’s eyes widened and her mouth opened to form words. It took her a few tries before she could say what she wanted.

“He is”, she admitted. “But what Ramsay did to you-“

“It is not what Sandor is doing to me”, she finished.

“He told me he should’ve raped you bloody.”

“And I told you he would never do that to me”, she said, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder, making her look at Sansa in the eye. “I came to him willingly.”

Arya nodded and seemed to breath out and long held air that was stuck in her lungs. Her eyes were watery, though Sansa would never point it out loudly. Her little sister was young still. She was scared.

We need to be more careful.

By now, Sansa could help herself any longer and hugged Arya tightly. Her sister, thankfully, let herself be embraced, and even hugged her back.

“How long?”, Arya asked.

“It’s- complicated”, Sansa tried, not sure how to explain the difference of her relationship between before and after the first night she spent in his bed. “I gave myself to him only a couple of nights ago.”

Arya nodded on her chest and undid their embrace. Her eyes were no longer filled with tears and her expression was no longer scared, or sad, or angry. Sansa smiled at her and she smiled back.

“I want to know everything”, she grinned.

Sansa felt herself blush but nodded her way.

“Alright.”

They laid on Arya’s bed, just as they did when telling secrets, and Sansa tried her best to explain how it had all began. She didn’t go into much detail, specially about the nights spent with him. But tried her best to tell her sister how it had all led to Sandor ever since he arrived in Winterfell. How they had fought about the Blackwater. How she had trusted Ice on his hands. How good of a Commander he was.

“He is not violent with me”, she whispered. “Never was. Not here in Winterfell, not in King’s Landing.”

“I know”, Arya smiled besides her. “I’ve seen fight with you in the broken tower.”

Sansa smiled back at her at the memory.

“Sansa, do you-“, Arya began after a few moments of silence, but closed her mouth before she completed her question.

“What?”, Sansa asked.

But Arya didn’t need to ask for her to know what the question was. It was plain to see.

Sansa’s eyes were begging for her sister not to ask that question.

“Nothing”, Arya breathed out, finally.

Sansa felt the tension leave her body, but only for a moment. Arya didn’t need an answer, for she already knew.

Finally, the exhaustion from the long day, that had begun at the hour of the wolf with the arrival of Jaime Lannister, took its toll. The Stark sister’s wished each other goodnight and blew the candles out, along with the conversation.

But though she would pretend that Arya’s question did not exist, Sansa needed the answer. For herself.

Chapter Text

Brienne

It took her two days to gather the courage to visit Jaime in his cell. The last time she had seen him was at the council, when he spoke about his knowledge on Cersei’s forces. He had barely looked at her, and that pained her more than she would ever confess. After all, he had followed her advise and left King’s Landing, joining forces with the Starks and Queen Daenerys to defeat the army of the dead. The least he should do was thank her.

But then, his position was a delicate one.

The Starks weren’t cruel or tyrant. They had treated Jaime with all due respect - actually, maybe even more than he deserved, given what the Lannisters had done to their family. Jaime himself had killed Stark men, pierced Lord Eddard’s leg, sieged Riverrun while his men killed the Blackfish, and held Edmure Tully hostage. Maybe there was even more that Brienne didn’t know about.

Jaime was a prisoner in Winterfell. But had decent enough meals, a bed, had kept his golden hand and had talked to the war council. This was far more than Ned Stark had ever received in King’s Landing.

But any sign of treason or deceit would mean his head.

Brienne knew his brother, Lord Tyrion, visited him daily, more than once a day. But he wasn’t the only one who wanted to see the deserted knight.

So, at night, she descended the steps to the dungeons, a torch in her hand and the other on the hilt of her new sword, made with fine castle steel. It was no Valyrian steel, but was far better than the one she had prior to Oathkeeper.

At the moment, he was the only prisoner in the keep, and had been put in one of the cells at the middle of the corridor. He actually had a window, so at least some fresh air could get in.

She saw him as soon as she reached the underground level. He was lying in his bed, his left hand under his head while his golden one laid on his belly. His beard was full, as well as his hair. But he was clean, having bathed as soon as he reached Winterfell.

Brienne told her racing heart to calm down before walking towards him.

As soon as she reached his cell, she could see his eyes were opened. It took him a few seconds before he turned his head to look at her.

He didn’t say anything, nor did she, for a few moments. In that staggering silence, she reached one of the chairs that had been placed on the corridor, and sat on it facing him.

“This is not Oathkeeper”, he said as he looked at the sword on her hip.

“No.”

“What happened to it?”

“I returned it to Lady Sansa”, she answered as he frowned. “Ice should be held by its rightful owner.”

He looked back at the ceiling with a smart grin on his lips.

“I guess you’ve kept your vow to Lady Catelyn. The Stark sisters are safe at their own home.”

She nodded, even though he could not see it, to herself. She had fulfilled her oath. A sword named Oathkeeper had no more use in her hands.

“What are you doing?”, she asked once the silence had stretched for too long.

“Trying not to bore myself to death”, he mocked.

She rolled her eyes.

“I mean in Winterfell.”

He opened his eyes again and stared st the ceiling for a few seconds before taking a deep breath a come to a sitting position on the straw mattress.

He looked at her then, brows frowned and shoulders tense.

“You were the one who told me fuck loyalty ”, he said, a teasing tone in his voice.

“Your loyalty was misplaced”, she tried, carefully. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

The silence stretched again as they stared at each other, trying to find the weak spots to gather information.

No one asked Brienne to do this. She wanted to see Jaime, both because it was him , and because her own loyalty - as he so easily dismissed - was now to the Starks.

But he was also trying to find information in her. For what reason, she did not know. Maybe it was curiosity, and preservation. After all, his life was hanging by a thread. Or maybe it was to send it to Cersei once he was free. To gather knowledge about the Stark and Targaryen forces and form a different strategy - one including the Golden Company.

He knew now that there were no dragons or wolves in Winterfell, that most men had marched North to fight the dead - a look around the council table was enough to assess that -, and that the Hound was the one making battleplans - a former Lannister soldier who knew the Lannister patterns and strategies.

She wanted to believe Jaime, badly. That he had send the loyalty he once gave to his sister to the seven hells. That he had changed sides. That he had decided to fight for the living, not for the crown. But until she was absolutely certain, Brienne would keep herself from divulging much. Her task now was to question.

“Why won’t Cersei’s men stay in King’s Landing?”, she asked, trying to sound as if she was doing small talk. “The Red Keep would be the safest place for her to wait it out. Let everyone in the North die and simply finish the ones that survive.”

He stared at her for a few moments before chuckling mockingly. She waited patiently and impassively for him to stop and to answer.

“You clearly don’t know my sister”, he said as he got up and walked forward, until he leaned in the cell fence and grabbing the poles. He was still grinning at her. “There are two things that move Cersei forward as of late. Before everything went to shit, it was family - her children and House Lannister. They are all gone. Now, she was her crown and her wish for revenge.”

A shiver went up Brienne’s spine. There was something missing, something he was not sharing with her. It was something hidden in his explanation, but she could not decode it, though she felt like she could almost taste it.

Cersei had to keep her crown safe on her head from Daenerys Targaryen, that much was clear. And she seeks revenge for her family and her children. The Seven Kingdoms knew about the ransom she had put on Lady Sansa’s head. Gladly, the Stark eldest daughter was safe in the North after the death of House Bolton. The Lannister Queen wanted to end House Stark, simple as this.

But what was the missing piece?

“You want me to believe she would hire thousands of mercenaries, elephants, send her troops North to face winter just for revenge.”

“Don’t forget marrying Euron Greyjoy”, he added while rolling his eyes. “But yes.”

Seeing the skeptical look on her face, Jaime leaned in even more and urged her to come closer.

“My sister lost everything, Lady Brienne”, he whispered, a pained tone in his words. “Her children, her father, her home. And now her brother. All she has now is that fucking throne. Any soul that tries to take it from her, will have to face death first.”

While still looking at her, Jaime returned to his bed and sat on it, bracing his arms on his knees.

“You didn’t see what she did to the woman who killed Myrcella”, he said while running his fingers through his head. “Or to the septa that kept Cersei prisoner. I’m sure she has big plans to the people who are trying to take the very last thing she has. Maybe drag Sansa Stark to the Red Keep only to be raped by the soldiers. Or make her drink the same poison that killed Joffrey. Her mind can be very creative when the subject is vengeance.”

Brienne nodded, struck by what Jaime had just said. She didn’t doubt his words. But she felt that something was missing.

Even so, that helped her understand better Cersei’s motivation. Not only would they have to defeat the army sent North, they would also have to bring a second battle to King’s Landing, where they would have to take Cersei from the throne by force.

Maybe they could hope for a mistake from Cersei’s part. The woman was cunning, yes. But if she was thinking through the eyes of revenge, she could make a slip.

But it would do no good to press Jaime any further. It was late, she was dead tired from the last few days. She wanted her bed and a long night of sleep.

“I won’t disturb you any further, ser”, she said as she got up, pushing the chair back to its place. “Goodnight.”

He stood up at that and nodded her way.

“Goodnight, my lady”, he said and opened a small grin. “It’s good to see you.”

She did her best not to blush, but knew instantly that was failing. She cleared her throat and nodded his way.

“It’s good to see you too, ser”, and walked away from the dungeons.

•

As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, back to the yard of Winterfell, she met another familiar face.

The Hound, now Lord Commander, was waiting for her by the headless wolf statues, arms folded and back to the wall.

She didn’t say anything as she turned to the main entrance of the castle, but heard as his footsteps followed her close behind. In no time, he was walking shoulder to shoulder with her.

“Close friends with the Kingslayer now?”, Clegane rasped, a teasing in his voice.

“We are no strangers to each other”, she put it simply, without stopping or reducing her pace.

She grew to respect the man. After their last fight, when she thought she had killed him, Brienne had doubted her own perception of the Hound. Before that, she though he was only seeking gold and keeping his head on his shoulders. But why would he fight so hard for Arya Stark if he didn’t care for the girl?

Once defeated, she met him again in King’s Landing and heard about his actions north of the Wall, having fought against the dead to bring a wight to Cersei. And then in Winterfell, named Commander by the Starks under Lady Sansa’s rule.

Brienne had noticed how he saw everything . People didn’t care to look for a long time to his face because of his scars - to which she was becoming more and more used to. But only a fool wouldn’t notice his piercing gaze. Be it in the training, predicting every move of his opponent, or in the council, reading every face and every argument.

This is why it shouldn’t be surprising that he found out she was visiting Jaime.

“How so?”, he asked.

At that, she stopped and turned to look at him, staring at the man face to face.

“I promised Lady Catelyn Stark to take him to King’s Landing in return for Lady Sansa and Lady Arya. So I did just that.”

“Except you didn’t return Lady Sansa and Lady Arya.”

Brienne got mad then. It was true, of course. But there was nothing she could’ve done. Lady Catelyn had died at the Red Wedding, and Arya wasn’t even in the capital to begin with.

But it mattered not. She was keeping her vow now. Serving the Starks and keeping them safe in Winterfell, in their home.

“Is there anything you want to know, Lord Commander ?”, she asked, finally growing tired.

He gave her one of those mean grins, keeping his voice low and threatening.

“I want to know if you are planning on keeping information from the Kingslayer to yourself.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Fuck your pardons”, he whispered, getting mad himself. “I need to know whose side you’re on. I need to know you are not keeping valuable knowledge from the Starks.”

It shocked her, really. First, because it offended her that her loyalty was being questioned. Hasn’t she gone to the dungeons with the purpose of finding more about Cersei so that they could win this war? And second, because that showed how the Hound was actually loyal to the Starks. The soldier who never took any vows, took his first before her eyes at the Great Hall of Winterfell, and meant to keep it just as she did.

“I’m only loyal to House Stark, ser.”

“Fuck your ser ”, he rasped a little bit louder, and lowered his voice back to a whisper before continuing. “Prove it then.”

So she told him everything she had discussed with Jaime, keeping no word out. Clegane’s eyes analyzed her every move, the blink of her eyes, the expression on her face. Even more, she told him about her suspicion, that there was something that the Lannister knight wasn’t saying.

“Maybe the Hand of the Queen knows”, he said, running his hand through his hair. “Not like we can fucking ask him about it though.”

She nodded. Lord Tyrion himself said he was conflicted. If image was representing the Queen, perhaps Jaime would’ve been executed already.

“That’s good, though”, Clegane said, grinning again. “Maybe we can extract more information about it from the Kingslayer.”

“How?”

The Hound turned around and started to walk back to the castle. This time, Brienne was the one who had to follow.

“I will talk to him tomorrow”, he said as he crossed the threshold and turned for the stairs. “And like that, we will fill the missing parts.”

Brienne didn’t like the idea of deceiving Jaime. She tried telling herself that it was not deceit, only discussing the subjects of their conversations with the Commander. Until they were certain that Jaime Lannister could be trusted, she had no other option.

But she couldn’t help but chuckle as she made for the stairs that lead to her chambers as well.

“You do realize this will require us to work together?”

“Aye”, he grinned back. “It’s my fucking luck that the woman who almost killed me is now my Captain.”

Chapter Text

Sandor

Just as Bran had seen, the Reeds arrived three days after the last council meeting. He had been there to receive the garrison. He stood behind the Starks alongside Brienne while Sansa, Arya and Bran welcomed the new guests.

Lord Howland was not as old as Sandor had imagined. He still had brown hair, a short beard and eyes as green as forests. He was a small man, and his daughter almost matched his height. Lady Meera reminded him of the little wolf bitch and the she bear, Lyanna Mormont. She had little of a lady, and more of a warrior. From what he had heard, she was indeed.

Sandor knew that Lord Howland’s only son, Jojen, had died north of the Wall. The Starks didn’t say much about it, but he knew that the Reeds had traveled with Bran there, so he could become the Three Eyed Raven - of which Sandor didn’t know much about either, only that it was the reason he had his visions. Just as Thoros used to have them while staring at the flames. And that Sandor himself once had.

Before the man said any words, Howland Reed bend the knee to the Starks, bowing his head. His daughter soon followed suit, as well as the rest of his men.

There was a short and uncomfortable silence until Sansa commanded them to rise. It was clear none of the Stark siblings expected such gesture of loyalty.

“Lord Howland”, Sansa said as she took a step forward to greet the man. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My father had you as one one his greatest friends.”

Despite the sorrow behind the lord’s eyes, he manage to give her a small smile.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Sansa. And you, my lady, are your mother come again.”

From his position, Sandor could see Sansa was blushing slightly.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I loved your father, my lady, as if he was my brother, of my own blood”, his smile grew even sadder as he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here before, or swear fealty to you and Lord Jon for the battle against the Boltons. I had to make sure my daughter would get home safe.”

That confused Sandor. Bran and Meera only arrived in Winterfell after Sansa had taken her home back and Jon had sailed to Dragonstone to meet the Targaryen Queen. Until then, no one knew if they were alive.

Greensight , Sandor thought to himself, remembering what Bran had said in the last council.

Then, he looked at the youngest Stark, who was looking straight at the Reed girl’s face, though she did not seem glad to see him. Her expression was blank, as if she was deliberately trying to hide her reaction from anyone.

What happened between these two?

“There’s no need to apologize”, she said. “We are thankful for your presence now. Please, let me introduce my sister, Arya Stark, and my brother, Bran Stark.”

Lord Reed ran his eyes through them and smiled softly at both.

“You look like your father”, he said while staring at Arya.

She smiled back at him and nodded his way.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Then, he moved to the side to stand directly in front of Bran. But before Howland could say anything, the Wise Wolf spoke through the silence.

“I’m sorry, my lord, for what happened to Jojen”, he said, his voice a little cracked from the cold or sadness. “He was a great man, and a loyal friend. I’m proud to have met him, and that he to follow me.”

Lady Meera’s eyes widened and seemed to fill with unspilled tears. Though she said nothing. Her father put a hand on Bran’s shoulder and looked him deep in the eyes.

“Thank you, lord Bran”, he whispered, choked up. “Use his knowledge well.”

Bran nodded and gave the man a little smile.

“Allow me to introduce you, my lord”, Sansa continued, taking a step aside. “This is Lady Brienne of Tarth, Captain of the Guard of Winterfell.”

“My lady”, he took a bow towards the woman.

“My lord”, she replied, bowing at an angle that would applauded by septas.

“And this is Sandor Clegane, Lord Commander of Winterfell.”, she said while looking at him in the eyes, making his breath get caught on his throat.

Seven hells, it’s been so long.

It had been three nights and four days since the last time he had taken her. Not at all a long time. But when it came to Sansa, to wait just for the end of the day felt like ages. For the past few nights, Sandor had been taking his men to do rounds in the Wolfswood, recognizing the terrain.

And just the night before, he had caught the Tarth wench visiting the Kingslayer. After all she had told him, about the feeling she had that the lion was not telling everything, he was determined to see it with his own eyes. He would talk to him in the afternoon.

And maybe this night, he would finally see Sansa. Just maybe. A dinner would be held to welcome the Reeds. He hoped he could take her to his chambers and his bed once the night died out and the castle went to sleep.

“My lord”, Howland Reed took another bow, breaking Sandor from his wandering thoughts towards the Little Bird.

That curtesy shocked him a bit. Reed was probably the only lord who hadn’t grimaced at him when first looking at him or finally been told about his position as the Stark’s Commander.

“My lord”, he replied, bowing at the man. “My lady.”

When he straighten up again, Sansa seemed to have noticed the same thing, for she was grinning at his direction.

“Please”, she said, breaking the silence that felt between the group. “Let’s go inside. I will show you to your chambers, where you may rest from your journey.”

•

He took a flagon of sour red and two cups before descending the steps to the dungeons. Even though it was still day outside, the halls were dark, illuminated only by a few torches.

But he could see the Kingslayer very well. Lying in his straw bed, looking relaxed and rested. Didn’t even open his eyes as he heard footsteps coming closer.

Without a word, Sandor poured wine of the two cups and passed one through the bars of the cell. Only when the metal cling from the cup hitting stone echoed through the wells, did Jaime Lannister opened his eyes.

While the lion raised up to his feet, Sandor took a seat in the same chair Brienne had used the night before. Jaime took the cup and stared at its contents, but did not took a sip.

Sandor rolled his eyes and tasted from his own cup.

The Lannister nodded and raised his cup in a toast before taking a long swing from his wine.

“If I was here to kill you, I’d rather do it with a sword”, Sandor said.

“Well, you never know.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment, only the crackling from the fires keeping them company.

“Lord Commander, huh?”, Jaime was the first one to provoke, smug and proud. “I’m impressed. How did that come about?”

Sandor remained silent, taking another sip from his cup. He was testing him, that much was clear. Trying to find his motivations. The reason? He didn’t know. But if he was lying and decided to betray the Starks, he couldn’t show any crack.

So instead, he decided to ignore it.

“What are you doing here, Kingslayer?”, he replied. “Finally grew tired of your sister’s cunt?”

Jaime didn’t even seem affected by this. Sandor had never caught the two together. But sometimes eyes spoke more than actions. They were inseparable, even while in Casterly Rock.

“Cersei lost her honor when she decided to ignore her promise to Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow”, he said, ignoring his remark.

Sandor chuckled.

“Since when does your sister have honor?”, he provoked. “Since when do you ?”

“Said the raven to the crow”, he grinned. “And I’m trying to change, Hound.”

You and me both , he thought.

“So how do you expect to change here?”, Sandor asked, while getting up from his seat and start to walk side to side in front of Jaime’s cell. “Do you want to fight for the Starks and the Targaryen army?”

“Yes”, he answered in a heartbeat. “If they will have me.”

“So you’re willing to fight against the army you used to command?”

Again, he answered in no time.

“Yes.”

“Are you willing to kill your sister?”

This time, Jaime wasn’t so quick.

Sandor turned to see his face, hardened by the thought. His left hand was in a fist, his head was lowered, his shoulders tense.

He’s not .

“Cersei is a tyrant”, Jaime answered in a whisper, his eyes still pointing at the floor. “I’ve killed a tyrant king before.”

Then, he looked up, staring at Sandor, rage and sorrow written in his face.

“I’ll do what needs to be done.”

In that moment, Sandor believed him.

He nodded to the Kingslayer.

“And What will be of House Lannister when we win this war?”

“ If  we win this war”, Jaime corrected him. “Tyrion will be Hand of the Queen. I expect he will marry again and sire heirs.”

“And how about you?”

For an instant, Jaime became frozen again. After a few seconds, he breathed out and chuckled.

But that freeze didn’t pass Sandor’s eyes.

“If I survive”, he whispered. “I’ll be done with siring children. I’ll leave it to my brother.”

Sandor nodded, but kept his thoughts to himself.

Now he understood what Brienne had meant. The woman wasn’t as daft as he expected. Just as he, she was good at sniffing hidden lies. Better yet, hidden truths. The man was keeping something to himself alright. If that was important for the Starks to know about, he did not know. And wouldn’t be able to know until Jaime decided to tell them.

Besides Cersei’s army, now they had this  to worry about.

At least he’s not lying about killing Cersei.

Sandor got up and retrieved his own cup and the wine pitch, the latter leaving it to the Kingslayer.

He started to walk back to the exit, without another word.

“What about your brother?”, Jaime said before he disappeared in the dark hallway.

Sandor stopped but did not turn.

“What about him?”

“The Mountain is fighting alongside Cersei”, he could hear the grin on his voice. “Is this why you’ve turned sides?”

Sandor couldn’t hold the chuckle that raised from his throat.

“You ain’t got the half of it, Kingslayer”, he rasped and finally left.

•

He still had to take a bath. Sweat from training was clinging to his skin and clothes, and he needed to get rid of it before dinner. He didn’t belong to the soldier’s table, where this wouldn’t be considered uncommon. He now sat at the lords and ladies table, on the dais.

And even before that, he would try to find the Little Bird. Alone.

He had just finished climbing the stairwell that led to his chambers, turning on the hallway, when he felt the blade on his back.

The pressure was just enough to make him stop. Not enough to pierce though clothes and skin, but sufficient for him to feel that it wasn’t a vain threat. Just at the middle, right above his spine. One cut, and he would lose the movement of his legs. If the blade went deeper, would cut his organs, and he would bleed out.

He took a deep breath and chuckled.

“Wolf bitch.”

“Hound”, she replied in the darkness, her voice holding a smirk.

He knew she was holding Needle, her buggering small sword that she had fought to take back from one of Gregor’s man.

He had been expecting her to show up for three days now. She had once threatened him at the table, holding that knife to his guts. Now, that she knew about what he had with her sister, it was only a matter of time for another threat. Maybe, this time it was more dangerous to disagree with the girl.

“Hurt my sister and I will kill you”, she whispered, her blade pushing against his spine.

“Wouldn’t expect any less from you”, he rasped back.

Her sword kept its threat, without any meaning of being retrieved.

He took a deep breath but remained still.

“I would never hurt her”, he whispered.

A few more seconds, and the blade was gone. Immediately, he turned and only saw a dark pitch stone hallway.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help the slight shiver that ran through his skin.

If I wasn’t before, I’m back on her fucking list.

Once in his chambers, he was quick with his bath. Soaked in hot water, he did his best to scrub the dirt and sweat from the day, rushing the cold away from his body.

He did a quick job with his clothes as well, dressing in black and grey. Nowadays, those were the colors of his whole wardrobe, with clothes ordered by the Lady Stark herself. Though he never asked for them.

He rushed out of his room while still putting on his cloak. He wouldn’t go to her chambers. It was still too early, anyone could see him making his way there.

He went to the Great Hall then, but found only a few men who had already sat for dinner and were chatting and drinking. None of the Starks were there yet.

Then, he went to the solar. The last place where she could be at this hour, with the exception of the Godswood. Though, he sensed she wouldn’t be there. Not before dinner with the Reeds.

Once he reached the solar, the door was slightly open. Sandor didn’t even knock, just pushed it all the way.

She was there, sitting by her old father’s writing desk, facing the door. The top of her hair was done in a bun while the rest of it flowed down in curls. She wore one of her black dresses, that looked like onyx. Though she was so concentrated on whatever she was writing down that didn’t even notice his arrival.

And she was alone.

Fucking finally.

He shut the door behind him and barred it.

With the noise, she noticed his presence.

“Sandor”, she breathed out as he turned back to her. She was smiling.

At that, he seemed to be stuck in his place. He watched as she finished her writing before getting up and circling the table, to stand right in front of it.

He moved with her, taking slow steps in her way. He could feel himself growing hard just by looking at her.

Seven hells, how does she do this to me?

When he reached her, he lost any sense of gentleness he could’ve had. His hands grabbed her hips and his mouth crushed hers.

She gasped in surprise, but in a second her hands went for his neck and shoulders and her tongue sought his fervently.

He groaned and made sure to make her feel how much he wanted her, pressing his hips to hers. It was her time to moan.

She tasted of cinnamon, and sugar. Her breath was coming out desperately, and his sounded as if he was drowning.

After a few moments, he grabbed her by the back of her thighs, lifting her in his arms and placing her behind on the table. Once she was sitting down, he took a step back to look at her.

She was blushing, her lips were red and her eyes were glassy with lust. Lust for him. He had missed her, this look on her. She never looked more beautiful than this. And he was the only who had ever seen her like this.

“Sansa”, he whispered, though he hadn’t meant to say anything.

She only tugged him back and kissed him again, biting his lower lip and pulling his hair on the back of his neck. He obliged, and while he kissed her, his hands climbed up and down her body. Pressing, teasing and feeling every curve, every piece of flesh.

She was more intoxicating than any wine.

Finally, he found the words he meant to say, while she cradled him between her legs, his need pressing against her core.

“It’s been three days”, he groaned while pressing himself against her. “Three fucking days. It’s been too long.”

She moaned loudly when he hit a spot in her, and he had to kiss her to muffle the sound.

She parted from him again, but took a few seconds to breath and look at him in the eye before speaking.

“Yes”, she said, while running her hand through his chest and blushing furiously. “But I needed time to recover from your... ministrations.”

He stopped then, but it only lasted for a few seconds. For she was smiling, no, grinning while biting her lip.

“You should’ve told me you were sore”, he rasped while pushing her hair back.

Her legs tightened around his hip, pulling him closer to her. She went for his neck then, like a hungry wolf, and started biting him lightly, and even licking him.

At that, he forgot any thought of caution around her.

“No, I shouldn’t”, she whispered against his skin. “You wouldn’t have taken me again.”

She was right, of course. Hadn’t he just swore to her bloody sister that he wouldn’t hurt her?

But now, she wasn’t sore. They needed each other, they needed to be one again.

He kissed her mouth again while his hands worked on lifting the skirt of her dress. Her hands gripped his back so tightly that he knew she wanted it as well.

Once he reached her, he let his fingers roam her womansplace over her smallclothes. He pressed her lightly at first, and she parted from his mouth to gasp. She remained still for a blink of an eye before searching his lips again.

Still, he rubbed her, finally feeling her wetness cover her smallclothes. He couldn’t stop the thought that she was wet for him .

She was moaning against his mouth when he gasped and let out a groan. She had found her way to the front of his cock, still covered by the fabric of his breeches. Her hand was at first timid, rubbing him with her palm. But soon, her fingers circled his shape and continued to pleasure him.

He felt like a green boy who would spill his seed at any moment. He needed to be inside of her. Now.

Three knocks on the door startled them both.

She nearly gasped loudly, if he wasn’t kissing her still. Her hand, and her whole body, stilled. And so did he.

“Lady Stark?”, a feminine voice called from outside and tried to open the door, without success. “Lady Stark? Dinner is ready to be served.”

It took the Little Bird only a few seconds to find her voice and recover her breath.

“Thank you, I’ll be down in just a moment.”

“Alright, my lady”, and the voice said nothing again.

The waited a few moments, looking at each other while their breaths still came out wildly. Luckily, they were far way enough from the door for anyone to listen to them. 

She removed her hand from his cock, and braced him around the neck, pulling him for another kiss. He also removed his hand and circled her back, pulling her tightly against him. They kissed slowly now, trying to lower the fever and the rush they felt just moments before. They had to leave that room now, and be social. Well, she had. He only had to attend.

“I need you”, he found himself whispering against her lips.

She opened her eyes to look at his. Her blue ones made him shiver.

“So do I”, she whispered back, kissing the good side of his face. “After dinner. Come find me. In my chambers.”

He grinned mischievously at her and nodded.

Giving her a last kiss, he helped her lower her skirt back down and get back to the ground.

She smoothed down her dress and put her hair back in place before they walked to the door. He unlocked it for her and she went out the corridor. He would follow her in a few moments, arriving late to the Great Hall as not to lift any suspicions.

When enough time had passed, he opened the door and went out his way. Once he arrived at his place at the table, he was still hard and he would had to endure it until later that night. Even if it drove him made during dinner.

Chapter Text

Bran

He couldn’t stop looking at Meera. He hoped that she would look back at him and understand that he needed to talk to her, to ask for her forgiveness. But she didn’t even glance his way. She was sitting by her father’s side, listening to what he and Sansa were talking - well, pretending to listen. She was wearing a deep green dress, that suited her greatly, and at the same time terribly. She never wore dresses. Bran only saw her in breeches, leather and furs, and a spear on her hand.

He was far away from her. To his right, there was Sandor Clegane, sulking while barely eating his dinner, not even trying to make conversation. To his left, there was Arya, who listened carefully to what lord Howland had to say, eager to know what their father’s friend had been through.

Bran already knew everything, even somethings that he wish he didn’t know. Like what happened at the tower where their aunt, Lyanna, was found. How the fight against Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning, had happened. Which was the secret the man had fought so hard to protect.

It was a burden to have this knowledge. And even a bigger burden when the time came to tell Jon and Daenerys.

Then, there was Sansa and Lord Howland. And by the Reed’s left, there was Meera, who looked as if her mind was elsewhere. He knew she wasn’t happy to be there. She would fight, of course, with honor and bravery. But she didn’t want to be in Winterfell. And Bran was the reason.

He wanted to fix that. To make peace with her and become her friend again. He needed to be her friend again.

“How was aunt Lyanna?”, he heard Arya asking, her body inclined over the table to take a better look at Lord Howland.

The man gave her a sad smile.

“An incredible woman”, he answered in a low voice. “Brave and loyal as no one else I have ever met. A real fighter. Better than many men with a sword, and a better rider than any. She was my best friend.”

The man took a sip from his wine to hide his choked up voice.

“I miss her everyday. Once this war is over, I will tell you everything about her.”

Once Jon learns about his lineage , Bran guessed. And he would only know if he survived the war against the Night King.

Arya sat back and Bran saw that her eyes were shimmering. Surely, he was thinking about Lyanna’s abilities that went beyond what any proper lady should do. Perhaps she had found resemblance in at least one woman from the Stark family.

He turned his attention back to Meera, who was now drinking from her wine. Even when she did it, he saw that she took no pleasure from the drink. She gulped it as if it was a medicine, with a purpose and only that.

“Stop straining your neck”, Bran heard Arya whisper by his side. “You’ll never get her attention if you keep doing that.”

“What?”, Bran leaned back into his seat and stared at his sister.

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but she’s clearly pissed”, she said, while smirking. “She won’t talk to you over the table, while her father is sitting by her side.”

Arya took a bite from her dinner and went back to stare at the men and women who sat in the Great Hall. That was no feast, but everyone seemed a little more relaxed than the  past few weeks.

“I want to apologize to her”, he caught himself saying, despite not wanting to. He also could feel his cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Gods, I’m behaving like a child.

Arya turned back to look at him and came a little bit closer.

“Take it from me”, she whispered. “Even if you manage to speak to her, she’ll still be pissed. Apologize to her, if you must. But give her time to... reacquaint with you.”

“Reacquaint?”

“You need to agree with me that you were a little strange, to say the least, when I first saw you back home”, she said with a little giggle in her voice before growing serious. “Since then you’ve changed. You are not as creepy as before. She needs to see that in you.”

He had become a costumed to his sister’s attention to the tiniest details and behaviors.

He nodded.

“Thank you, Arya”, Bran said honestly. And then, decided to tease her just a little. “I thought Sansa was the diplomatic one in the family.”

She grinned.

“Finish your dinner.”

He stopped trying to catch Meera’s eyes and ate without any hurry. Still, his mind worked on a way to get her to talk to him. Perhaps he could stay at the table until everyone had left, but he doubted the Reed girl would stay that long. She had barely eaten and seemed to be counting the moments until she could climb back to her chambers.

Lord Howland had tried to include his daughter in some conversations with Sansa, but without success. She would only nod and give a small smile before staring at her plate again.

Finally, Bran found the perfect opening. Lord Howland announced he was going to bed and thanked Sansa for the dinner. Meera was the first one to get up, saying that she was also tired and was going to sleep.

“I’m retiring to bed as well”, Bran said, again, without thinking too much.

His sisters and the Reeds stared at him briefly, and he could see that Meera had put on a blank expression.

“Would you mind if I accompany you?”, he asked.

“Of course not, my lord”, it was Howland who answered with a genuine smile.

As they left the Hall, it was the lord who took it upon himself to push Bran’s chair. The three of them walked in silence through the hallway. Bran knew the Reeds were staying at one of the upper floors, and they would soon have to part ways, for Bran’s room was on the ground floor.

“Meera”, Howland called. “Please, would you mind accompanying lord Bran to his chambers?”

Bran saw her hesitate for a few seconds.

“Of course, father”, she said that, as blank as before.

“Thank you, dear”, Howland said and turned around Bran’s chair to look at him. “My lord, thank you for the lovely dinner. I’m glad we can still celebrate a few moments of happiness before the war arrives.”

Bran smiled at the man.

“It should be us thanking you for coming and help us win the war.”

Howland bowed a little and, as if he remembered something, his smile fell.

“I hope one day we can talk about what you have seen”, he whispered. “The Three Eye Raven is a gift, as well as a curse.”

You don’t have to tell me that.

“Yes, it is”, Bran said as neutral as possible. “I look forward to it, my lord.”

“Goodnight then, my lord. Daughter.”

“Goodnight, lord Howland.”

“Goodnight, father”, Meera said at last, her voice barely a whisper.

When Howland disappeared in the stairs, Meera went to the back of Bran’s chair and began to push it, without another word. She remembered the way to his chambers perfectly, he didn’t even need to point any directions.

Once they reached the door, she opened it for him and pushed him inside. Then, she turned to leave and had her hand on the handle before he called her.

“Meera”, he said a little too loud. “Please, I want to talk to you.”

He saw how her shoulders tensed up, how her hand closed in a tight grip in the door knob.

“There’s nothing to talk about”, she whispered.

Bran swallowed dry at that.

“Yes, there is.”

He noticed how she didn’t turn right away. First, she took a breath. Then, her hand fell to her side. And finally she turned, her expression screaming in anger.

He had never seen Meera angry.

“Talk then”, she demanded, voice with little emotion.

For a moment, he didn’t find the words. He caught himself staring at her, and his heart pained to see that Jojen was not by her side. He would never be again.

Bran looked at her deep into her green eyes and hoped she could see the truth in his own.

“I want to apologize”, he said, finding hard to contain the tears that were gathering.

Nothing in her posture or in her expression changed. So he continued.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you when we returned to Winterfell. I’m sorry I’ve never thanked you properly for everything that you’ve done for me. And I’m sorry about Jojen. I think of him every single day.”

A tear slipped from his eye and he let it be. There were tears on Meera’s eyes as well, making the green in them so much more alive.

“I owe you my life”, he whispered.

“You owe me?”, she murmured back, incredulity seeping from her lips. “You owe your life to Hodor. To Summer. To my brother. They have all died for you.”

“Yes, I do. But I also owe it to you. You brought me back home.”

She took slow steps towards him, getting closer and closer, tears running freely now through her face.

“You were the last person I had”, Meera whispered painfully. “Besides my father, you were the only one in this world who could be there for me. And you broke my heart.”

Bran was now crying as well, without a care that she saw.

“I know”, he confessed.

“Jojen told you!”, she yelled. “He told you what would happen if you kept warging! And then Bloodraven told you what you happen if you kept looking into the past! And you just ignored them!”

He knew, of course. How many times had Jojen told him about the dangers of staying too long under Summer’s skin? Or how many time had the previous Three Eyed Raven told him to stick to the present, instead of the past?

The Three Eyed Raven has took Bran for himself, making the fourth Stark child just a puppet for his own gain. And Bran had let himself get caught, in trade for the gift of looking into the past.

No, not a gift, he remembered what lord Howland had said. A curse.

“You’re right”, he whispered while cleaning his tears .

She  was so mad at him that didn’t even believe he was saying she was correct. Meera didn’t even looked mad anymore, just astonished.

“I let myself be taken”, he said a little louder. “I did not resist the Three Eyed Raven, not once. And it’s all my fault. But I’m trying to fight back. I’m trying to regain my own life.”

He saw Meera take a deep breath and close her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them again, she was no longer crying. And for some reason, her face didn’t seem as harsh as before.

Bran felt a small amount of relief run through his body, but didn’t let it turn into hope. He didn’t deserve her mercy.

“I hope one day you can forgive me”, he said, letting out a breath long held.

She didn’t give away any reaction, not even a nod. Instead, she turned around and made her way to the door in slow and unsure steps.

Before she left for the corridor, she turned her neck, looking to her side, at the fireplace and the orange flames.

“Goodnight”, she whispered and disappeared through the doorway.

Chapter Text

Sandor

Dinner was misery. No, it was hell. He was still hard from his encounter with the Little Bird in her solar, and was only getting harder every time he thought about what awaited them when the night died out. Except it didn’t. Everyone was fucking taking so long with their meals, talking and drinking and laughing. It was the first time in a few weeks that Winterfell seemed at least a little in peace - a stop from the worries from the battles to come.

But Sandor wasn’t in peace. No, he was at war. He wanted to send everyone to the fucking hells, to bugger themselves with their own bloody swords. He needed Sansa. He needed her now.

And yet, she was the Lady of Winterfell. She was welcoming her father’s friend and bannerman, Howland Reed. Once he would have mocked her for acting diplomatic. It was a only a game, a jape for highborns and rulers. But in the North, things worked differently. Sandor had to live there to finally notice it. There was honor in this court, there was loyalty. Of course, some alliances had been broken, specially during Sansa’s brother’s reign. But the Reeds, the Mormonts, and the knights of the Vale were by the Starks’ side - no matter the results.

In the North, this wasn’t a jape at all. These were connections, chains that would never be broken.

But now, Sandor couldn’t think about that. His mind was wandering to darker thoughts, sinful images of her naked body between furs and her hair spilled in the mattress. His cock entering her, and his name on her lips.

He thought about going to his chambers and wait there. But it would only be worst. He had taken the Little Bird there, in his bed. He would end up fucking into his hand, and he didn’t want that. It had to be with her. If not, he would only go mad. He thought about drinking wine to forget a little about his ache. But he didn’t want to get drunk, he didn’t want to diminish any sensation that he would have with her later.

He was not a patient man. And patience was driving him insane.

Not even the Tarth wench tried to make conversation with him, probably noticing he was seething. By his other side, Bran paid attention to his sisters and Howland Reed.

Sandor tried to focus on the crowd, listen to other’s conversations. But his attention was drawn to the Little Bird every time. She looked beautiful. Too beautiful. If she was feeling the same anguish as him, she didn’t show it. Sansa was smiling, laughing. He could see the comfort she fell by being surrounded by her family and friends, in her own home.

So different from the Little Bird of King’s Landing.

Looking at her did nothing to calm his hard on. He cursed in his mind. The men and women in the Great Hall. Sansa. Himself.

Finally, when ages seemed to have gone by, most of the people had left to get a night of sleep. The Reeds, Bran and even Brienne were gone as well.

Sandor left the dinner before her, thinking of taking a cold bath, just to keep his body at bay. She noticed when he got up, looking straight at him. Sandor grinned at her and he had to hold the groan that climbed his throat after she responded by biting her lower lip.

He went straight to his chambers, taking off his clothes to run a soaked cloth through his skin. The cold freezing water made his hairs stand, but his cock changed nothing.

So he laid on his bed, chewing on his own frustration as he waited. They couldn’t risk everything now just to get caught entering her room.

When enough time had passed, he put his clothes back on, along with his cloak and sword, and went out the door, seeking her chambers just as he had looked for her in the Stark solar. There was no noise in the hallways, not a single soul walking by them. The walls were dark lit, which favored his movements in case anyone appeared.

When he finally arrived at her room, he didn’t bother to knock. He opened it quickly and quietly. And the first thing he saw was her, still dressed, standing near the fireplace, looking at the flames. She snapped as soon as she heard it, turning around to look back at him. She smiled again.

Sandor closed the door carefully, barring it before getting closer to her.

He felt his entire skin prickle just at the sight of her. She was nervous, he could see it. Her hands were fidgeting with each other, fingers lacing and unlacing in subtle moves. She was biting her lip again. And she didn’t come to him, instead she waited.

Once he reached her, his mouth sought hers straight away. She responded immediately as well. Her tongue met his with eager, and he began to bite her lower lip, pulling it and tasting it again and again, drawing sweet moans from the Little Bird.

She pulled at his hair, as his hand pressed at the back of her neck and the other explored the curves of her body, squeezing her behind, her breast and her back.

At some point, she stopped, drawing deep breaths. He opened his eyes then, and saw her blue ones wide and dark with lust staring straight at him.

At this, he ran his thumb on her hardened nipple, over her clothes. She shuddered and moaned again, lowly.

Her hand then went to his face, the bad side, and her fingers lightly touched his scars. He loved when she did this. And he despised his brother for causing them.

“I’m not used to this”, she whispered while looking at his mouth.

As if following her command, he kissed her again until they were both breathless.

“What, Little Bird?”

“To be desired”, she explained, smiling so sweetly. “By you.”

He chuckled, despite of himself. She caught him off guard. He never expected any woman to be overwhelmed from being wanted by the bloody Hound.

“I’ve always wanted you”, he whispered while looking into her eyes, then kissed her neck. “Even when I shouldn’t have.”

She gasped when his tongue met her skin, and he felt her nails rasping against his scalp on the back of his head.

“Sandor”, she whispered, and it sounded like a prayer to his ears. “Please.”

He started to undo the laces of her dress, pulling at the strings in her chest. He tried his best to be gentle with the fabric, but the fact that she was pulling him for another kiss made it more difficult. He tugged at it lightly while she bit his lip and her taste invaded his mouth.

After what seemed a lifetime, he tugged her dress down, revealing the white shift she wore underneath it. He went for her neck again, biting it gently while helping free her arms from the tight black sleeves.

And then, there were the bloody knocks on the door.

Both of them froze as the person on the other side tried to open it, but found it barred from the inside.

“My lady?”, one of the maids called. “I’m here to help you change.”

He draw his face back from the curve of her neck to look at the Little Bird.

“Sansa”, he whispered lowly. “I swear to the buggering gods, I’ll fucking kill someone if-“

She giggled as she silenced him by placing her finger over his lips.

“Thank you”, she said out loud to the woman behind the door. “Arya already helped me.”

“Alright, my lady”, the maid answered. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight”, Sansa replied before pulling Sandor to another kiss.

Finally, he pulled down the dress from her body and in one swift move, he took her shift as well. Her body was better than he remembered, even thought the last time he had seen her fully was just a few nights before. Her skin was dotted from the cold prickles, her nipples were hard and her chest moved up and down from her breathing. Her hair looked like a waterfall of fire, falling through her back and framing her body like a painting.

She’s too much. Too much for you, dog.

He pushed those thoughts aside to explore her body again, reacquaint himself with her curves. And she gladly let him, gasping every time his fingers roamed her nipple, or gripped her behind or his breath met her neck.

“Please”, Sansa gasped again. “Please, Sandor.”

“What do you want?”

She pulled at his hair, making him look at her in the eyes.

“You.”

The way she said, while looking into his eyes, her breath wild, made him lose it.

He grabbed her by her legs and carried her to the bed - a large one, made with feathers and covered with furs. As soon as she landed, she climbed further into it, making room for him to join. He kneeled on the mattress and soon her fingers were working on his clothes.

He grabbed her by the wrists and gently pushed her to lie down. Before she could protest, he kissed her and slowly started to make his way down her body.

He kissed every piece of skin he found on his way, sinking his teeth lightly on flesh and teasing every curve. Her belly sunk when he reach it, kissing her hips and finally reaching the red curved where her legs met.

He stared at her, at her pink and sweet cunt as he remembered what it tasted like. He felt his mouth begin to water.

“Do you want me to?”, he rasped as he looked up to see her staring at him, her eyes dark with wanting.

She nodded vigorously as she bit her lip.

“Please”, she pleaded again.

She didn’t have to ask twice.

His tongue met her flesh and he felt her wetness invaded his mouth. As soon as he did it, her back arched and a loud moan escaped her lips - one that she soon shut it down.

He dreamed of the day when they wouldn’t have to be quiet. When he would hear her moans and screams without a care in the world.

He knew that was impossible.

Her taste was so much more than he expected, driving his cock harder and harder, until he began to thrust against the mattress to give him some relief.

“You’re so wet”, he whispered against her, and he saw the goosebumps that climbed her lower belly.

He went back to eating her, carefully tracing his tongue along her folds, guiding himself by her sounds to know where it brought more pleasure. Soon he felt her fingers grabbing at his hair, keeping him in place.

A dog on a leash , the dark thought invaded his mind. If this was what it meant to be her dog, he wouldn’t go anywhere else.

In no time, she began to shake and he knew her peak was near. He traced his tongue over the nub she liked so much a last time, and retrieved as he draw the last moan from her.

When she finally felt that he had stopped she gasped in disappointment, searching for his eyes, begging for him to continue.

He chuckled as he started to take his clothes off. She stared at him in disbelief for a few moments before she helped him. He let her take off his tunic, drawing it over his head, and unlace his breeches.

When he was finally as naked as she, Sansa held him close, both kneeling on the bed. Just as their first time, she rubbed herself against his body, touching a grabbing at his muscles. It reminded him of a wolf, rubbing on its mate to begin the courtship.

Sandor laid on top of her as she continued to grab to him. Then, he guided her legs to brace by his sides, cradling his hip, and her arms to go around his neck. She did it, kissing his mouth all the while.

Then, he turned them both, landing with his back on the mattress and Sansa on top of him.

She gasped in surprise, breaking the kiss. He looked as she sat back to assess their new position. As she did, he could blessedly see her body, her breasts heaving and her red curls against his abdomen. And he noticed when it dawned on her what his intentions were.

He braced himself on his elbows to take a better look at her.

“I don’t-“, she started. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She was blushing, and that was another thing she did that never failed to drive him mad.

“Let me help you”, he rasped, raising one hand to her hip, motioning for her to lift.

Then, he took his cock and positioned it right under her opening. She was looking down at it, understanding what she was supposed to do. She descended, swallowing him whole, until he was completed sheathed.

He groaned a little too loudly. He was deeper inside of her, from the base to the tip. She was tight, pressing his cock perfectly. But seven hells, he needed friction.

“Are you well?”, he asked in a groan. Despite his worry, he couldn’t help the pleasure.

He searched her face and saw her mouth agape, a moan from her lips.

“Yes”, she whispered. “Gods, yes.”

She placed both hands over his chest an wiggled her hips a bit, making him groan again. She felt so bloody good.

“And now?”, she whispered, begging for his guidance so she could find her pleasure too.

He grabbed gently at her hip, showing her the movement she should do. Slowly, she raised her hips and when he was almost out of her, she descended again.

“Up and down”, he rasped, her heat making him lose it. “Like you would ride a horse. Like you would ride me.”

She opened her mouth as if she would say something, but only moaned as she did what he told.

She was a great learner. Sansa started slowly, taking the movement from her knees, lowering and lifting herself. And then, she steadied herself with her hands, on his chest, and moved her hips along, front and back.

“I’m not good at horseback”, she breathed out.

He chuckled darkly.

“I think you’re doing great.”

And seven hells, she was. And he couldn’t help the smug feeling of being the one to teach her about this, about everything that surrounds sex. And the he was the only one who had ever seen her like this. Wanting.

She looked down at him, staring at his eyes, and he moved his hand to tease her breasts. As soon as she did it, she gasped and her hips started to move faster.

His arm gave way, and he fell on his back. The feeling was too much, too good. She never stopped.

“Fucking hells”, he rasped, grabbing at her hips to keep her moving. “Sansa.”

“Sandor”, she moaned again and again, trying and failing to find the words she meant to say. “Please.”

So he touched her nub, trying to heighten the sensation for her.

And then it wasn’t enough. He was not close enough to her. He sat up and circled her body with his arms, without stopping her. He started moving his hips with her, entering her deeper and deeper.

She kissed him with a ferocity he was not expecting. First invading his mouth, then biting his lip until he was sure she would draw blood.

This time, it was so much more intense than the last they had fucked. The first night, her first time ever, he had been gentle, trying to make it good for her. This time, they knew it would be good, having waiting for so long. Gone was the fear, the worry. There were only them, and lust, and wanting, and something more.

“Sansa”, he groaned against her mouth. “I’m close. Tell me you’re too.”

She opened her eyes and the sight of it was engraved in his memory. Wilderness. Pure wild.

“Yes”, she whispered and kissed him again. “I’m close.”

“Sansa”, he said again as he started to feel his balls clench and his muscles tighten.

He held it as much as he could, waiting for her to fall over the edge with him. But when he felt his seed first leave his cock, she had not come yet.

He closed his eyes and dived into the sensation, feeling the blow of pleasure run through his entire body. It was the strongest orgasm he had ever felt in his life - though the others were also with Sansa.

And she felt it too, for as soon as he came, she  gasped loudly and gripped his back, rasping her nails against his skin.

But she was close behind. His cock was still hard and sheathed inside of her when he felt her walls tighten against him, clenching and unclenching stronger than before. He saw as her face changed with her own orgasm. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened to let out a wild and lustful moan.

If he believed in the Gods, he imagined they would be like Sansa. Beautiful, powerful, in ecstasy. With scars from their battles and a fierce will to keep fighting.

As they rode the last shocks from their pleasure, he found himself tracing the scar on her back, from the base to the back of her neck, again and again. She didn’t tense up, nor said anything. As she drained herself, Sansa let herself relax in his arms, holding him back and letting herself be touched.

They were sweating, making their skin glide against each other. But as their bodies cooled down, the winter finally seemed to enter the chamber.

He draw back his head to look at her, and she lifted her face from the crook of his neck to do the same. Her eyes were so small, as if she had been asleep. Both of them needed.

He kissed her forehead before holding her waist.

“I need a cloth”, he rasped.

She seemed confused at his request, but said nothing of it. Instead, pointed at the wardrobe that sat against the wall across the bedroom.

She didn’t let go of him, and Sandor didn’t mind. He grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her with him. As soon as he was standing, his now soft cock slipped from her. She gasped a little, both from the height and that. With her clinging to him, he walked to the drawers and found a piece of linen white cloth in the first one.

Then, he sat her at the edge of the bed as he took the task to clean her cunt and the inside of her thighs, where his seed ran out, and his own cock.

He looked up to see a question in her eyes. He stood up again and threw the cloth into the flames, watching it burn before coming back to her.

“No one cares if they see a stain on my sheets, Little Bird”, he said, kneeling in front of her and tracing his fingers along her thigh. “But if yours are soiled, it’s a scandal.”

He knew there was something pressing her mind, but she said nothing of it. Instead, she bit her lip and nodded, her arms circling his neck to pull him for another kiss. He gladly let her, grazing his tongue softly against her, their hunger satiated - for now.

They pulled at the furs to lie beneath them, on their sides, facing each other. Her head laid over his arm and their legs tangled. He kept tracing the scar on her back. Again, she said nothing. She would always touch his scars. Now it was his turn.

“You said you’ve always wanted me”, she whispered, breaking the silence.

He felt his heart beat one time too strong. He cursed to himself for saying anything.

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“Since I first laid my eyes on you in this very Keep”, he rasped, and raised his eyes to look at her. Her blue ones were open wide, her mouth opened in awe. “Don’t be so shocked, Little Bird.”

She closed her mouth, but her eyes remained the same. He thought she would grow distant at his declaration. Instead, her arm braced his torso, and she brought her own body closer to his.

“I’m not shocked. Only surprised.”

“You were a child then. It was wrong, and I felt guilty every time I thought of you.”

“You did nothing wrong-“, she started, but he didn’t let her finish.

“It was wrong enough”, he said, trying to end the subject.

They remained quiet for a while, before she broke the silence once more.

“I’m sorry, Sandor. I can’t say the same”, she whispered, but soon explained herself as she saw the confused look on his face. “I did not want you from the very first moment.”

“Nothing to apologize, Little Bird”, he chuckled clinically. I imagine my scars didn’t draw the same attention as the bloody Knight of the Flowers.”

She lifted herself on her elbows to take a better look at his face. Her hand raised to touch his bad cheek softly.

“It was never about your scars”, she whispered before kissing them. “It was your rage. It frightened me so. I couldn’t understand how you could be so mad all the time. And then, you helped me. And I couldn’t understand if you hated me or if you were my ally. Until I finally understood.”

“When?”

She bit her lip.

“The Blackwater.”

Sandor snorted. He could see she wasn’t lying, which could only make her insane.

“You may not believe it, but it’s true”, she kissed him again. “From that night on, I started to think of you often.”

“Why?”

“Because of your offer. Because you were willing to put yourself at risk for me. Not for gold, not for my body. But for me. And I-“, she started, but thought again. “Never mind.”

He sat up a little to take a better look at her, bracing himself on his elbow.

“Out with it”, he rasped, determined to her an answer from her.

“I thought you had kissed me that night”, she whispered, blushing all the while. “The night of the Blackwater.”

Sandor felt as he had been punched in the guts, for the air left his lungs.

“I didn’t kiss you”, he rasped, remembering the smell of smoke, of wildfire, and blood. Remembering how he held a knife against her throat and threatened to kill her and take her.

He didn’t like her memories from that miserable night. They were all distorted, like a mummers’ farce.

“I know that now”, Sansa said as she looked at his lips, as if thinking of kissing him now. “But for a long time, I thought you had. And for a long time, I cherished it.”

He tangled his fingers through her hair, pushing them behind her body and holding her face close to his, lips almost touching.

“Why?”

She kissed him then, once and longingly, tracing her tongue along the scars on his lip.

“Because I wanted you”, she whispered against his mouth. “And you wanted me.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

Gods, she loved to be held by Sandor. He was laying on his back, chest bare and a hand under his head. His other arm held her close to his body, her head on his shoulders and her own arm bracing his torso. She had woken up a few moments before, in the middle of the night, and now was careful not to move, trying her best not to wake him.

She felt like this could last forever and she wouldn’t mind. On the opposite, she wanted to stay like this, with him, forever. She wondered if she never woke him, the night would take longer to end.

At the same time, it felt like a waste of time to sleep and not rouse him up. They had been apart for three days and their need was almost unbearable. Who knew how much time it would take for them to have each other again? A sennight? A fortnight? A moon? There was so much they could be doing. So many wonderful things.

To hell with sleep, they could rest when they were apart.

She started by kissing his shoulder, where her face was resting. At first, she simply placed her lips on his skin, and then took a deep breath of his scent. The smell of wood, and snow, and smoke made her smile. Her kisses grew insistently then, as her hand climbed his chest and tested his muscles.

She raised from her position to reach more. Starting with his chest, she could feel skin and hair. And her fingers dared to tease his nipple, something they had never felt before besides her own.

Feeling the rush of blood and wanting run through her veins, she straddled him, while the lower half of his body was still covered by furs. But that did nothing to hide the shape of his manhood which, if she was not mistaken, was already hard. Carefully and intently, she sat right on him, feeling his length with her womansplace. A moan escaped her sealed lips as she lowered herself to lay over him, chest against chest, her legs falling to the side.

Then, she reached his neck, kissing and licking both sides, the good and the scarred. Until she saw the prickles on his skin as a shiver ran him. She knew then he was awake.

Finally, she reached his face and carefully kissed his jaw, his scars, his cheek, his closed eyes and his lips. At first, she kissed him chastely, testing his reaction. He did nothing. Then, she opened her mouth and kissed him once, twice. And on the third, his mouth opened as well and their tongues met in a slow and sensual kiss.

She closed her eyes at his response, and felt his arms finally circle her body above him. One hand grabbed lightly at her behind, while the other ran light fingers up and down her scar.

Once, in her solar, he had touched her back and it instantly brought back memories of her late husband - better yet, her kidnapper. But this time, with the heat of his skin following the tracks left on her back, Sandor’s touch didn’t remind her of Ramsay. Quite the opposite, his caresses felt like a balm that soothed her memories of pain and anguish. It was everything she wanted ever since the knife had sunk into her skin.

And while he ran his fingers over her scar, she touched his scarred cheek as well, hoping her own caresses would bring him the same relief she felt.

While they kissed, without any hurry, savoring each other with wandering hands, she pressed herself over his manhood. The furs brought a new sensation to her womansplace, feeling the soft threads glide through her folds. Sandor bucked his hips up, trying to feel more of her, get more friction.

The last time he did it, it hit her perfectly and she felt she could peak just from that if they kept going.

“I need you now”, she moaned against his lips before he seized her mouth again.

Instead of doing what she asked, his both hands grabbed her bum and then her hips, making her move against him again and again.

He continued kissing her slowly as he bucked his hips up again. Once, twice, thrice his manhood would meet her womansplace, with only a fur separating their skins.

And then, she peaked.

She moaned into his mouth as they kissed. It was not so grand as the others he had made her feel. It left her wanting more, something more powerful. But the flood of pleasure still ran through her body and made her toes curl.

She sighed, and it took a few moments for Sansa to realize Sandor had stopped kissing her. She opened her eyes to find his grey ones staring at her, disbelief and awe written in them. She could see the question in his face, if what had just happened was real. She answered with a smile and another kiss.

His mouth grew more insistent, teeth now clasping her lower lip and biting it, his tongue invading and testing the limit of her own. She only returned it with more force.

And then, she drew her lips away from his reach and kissed his neck. And then, it was his chest, licking and kissing every scar she found on her way down his body. She even sucked lightly at one of his nipples, as he had done it to her before, but continued her way to his abdomen.

It was his turn to lose his breath. It was his turn to shiver.

She kissed the patch of hair that disappeared under the furs, and soon dragged them away from him, revealing his hard and already leaking manhood.

Sansa didn’t expect her mouth to water, and didn’t understand it either.

She knelt before him, placing her hands on both of his thighs. She remembered the way he had kissed her down there, her womansplace, and how good it had felt. Sandor made her peak in their first time together just like this, and it had showed her how good this kind of pleasure could be. She wondered if she could make him feel the same.

She reminded herself of the lessons she had in the Vale, while two girls taught a bastard girl what went between men and women during the coupling. And what women usually did to pleasure a man, using far more then between her legs to drive him into the bliss.

She knew what the heat she felt in her cheeks looked like. But embarrassment wouldn’t drive her away from what she wanted to do.

Her hand moved to grab his manhood, when his fingers locked her pulse in its place.

She didn’t even notice when he sat, and looked up to see his gray eyes mad, but still full with lust.

“Sansa”,  Sandor rasped dangerously. “Don’t.”

She stood frozen in her place, feeling his grip on her and watching his breath rise and fall from his chest.

But she could see it in his eyes. There was no denying what he truly wanted.

“Why?”, she whispered.

That caught him off guard. She saw his shoulders fall, as his eyes widened as he stared at her.

But he remained silent.

She didn’t take her hand back from his grip. Instead, she kneeled closer to him, bringing her face to his, close enough to kiss him, but stopping before doing so.

“Tell me why”, she whispered against his lips. “Tell me why I shouldn’t pleasure you the same way you pleasured me.”

Sandor didn’t even try to reply.

As he remained unmoving, Sansa placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him, pleading him to lie back. With hesitation, he did, eyes tracking her every move.

She positioned herself back between his legs, kneeling and inclining her body forward. She grabbed his manhood by its base, as she meant to do early, holding it up.

Sansa took a last look at Sandor, finding his mouth slightly open and chest heaving. Then, she lowered her lips on him.

She opened her mouth and took his head inside. He groaned loudly, almost making her stop. But she continued taking him down. His seed was the first taste she noticed. And then, his skin. If at first, when she was told by her friends on the Vale of such act she had felt disgusted, now she felt lust take upon her body again.

After getting used to his size and shape and taste, she stared remembering her lessons, of what she had to do. First, she used her tongue around his head, circling it slowly. Then, she did the same along his member. Her hand still held his base, squeezing it lightly and motioning up and down.

Sandor let her do it for a few moments before circling her hand and squeezing it tighter, showing her how to hold him.

She looked up at him then and the sight of him provoked a new wave of wetness between her legs. And she knew then, she was doing everything right.

He was clenching his teeth, breathing heavily and groaning loudly at her every move. Then, his hand went to her head, his fingers twisting themselves of her hair and gently cradling her nape while she moved her head up and down along him.

“Sansa”, he groaned and nearly gasped as her tongue circled him again.

She loved how he said her name in bed, how Sandor reserved her name to the most intimate moments. Just as she only called him by his name when they were alone.

After what felt like a short time that she had him in her mouth, Sandor grew restless.

Still gently, he dragged her head away from his manhood, making her look at him with her mouth still open. His thumb dried the spit from her lower lip before he kissed her with everything he had. Sansa embraced his body as he turned them both, so now she was laying beneath him.

He continued kissing her as his manhood teased at her entrance, dragging along her folds and her nub. It was not enough.

“I need you”, she gasped against his mouth, as she grabbed at the back of his shoulders.

He stopped to look at her, and slowly entered her, watching her every reaction.

Once he was fully sheathed, she moaned loudly as he hit something deep inside of her. Still slowly, he started to move, and she could feel every inch of him.

To make love to Sandor felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if they were meant to do this all along. And yet, it was a feeling that couldn’t be of this world.

They were looking into each other’s eyes, and he rested his forehead against hers. His grey iris was seductive, full emotions she could not name, and filled with fury - the same one of stormed seas. Their breaths were mingling, and their bodies were sweating, making their skin glide.

Was she imagining this? This wasn’t just lust. The way he looked into her eyes, the way he touched her, the way he brought her pleasure. Once she heard that there were only a few men who cared for the woman’s peak, that most would only care if their own need was satiated.

In her mind, Sansa convinced herself that this was so much more than hunger. Something she had never felt for anyone else. She wondered if Sandor felt it too. And was anxious, and afraid, of the answer.

Her fingers locked themselves in his hair, keeping him in place, as close as they could be. She was near of her completion, and he noticed it as her muscles began to tighten and her moans grew more rapid.

“Sansa”, Sandor said again, and what sounded like a prayer was enough to bring her release.

She closed her eyes and threw her head back even further, gasping and allowing the pleasure spread through her body. His mouth found her neck, licking and gently biting her skin as he pumped faster inside of her.

When she looked back at him, small tears were running through her face, for the pleasure had been so great. And she knew he understood what they meant, that they were not tears of pain, but of bliss.

As she got down from her high, she felt his muscles tighten and his seed fill her. His groans were just as seductive as the rest of him. He moved until he was drained and colapse above her, his breath tickling her neck.

Her fingers caressed his head and his hair while their breaths slowed down and their bodies cooled. His manhood was softening, their skins were damped and her bones felt numb.

“Sandor”, she whispered in a prayer just as he had said her name.

She heard him swallow dry and his beard raspe against her skin.

“Feel free to wake me up like this at anytime”, he groaned.

She giggled as she caressed his hair again and again.

“It felt like a waste of time to simply sleep”, she said then, as he drew his head back to look at her.

“I like this side of yours.”

“What side?”

“Of a eager wolf”, he whispered before kissing her.

Sandor started to move, with the intention of getting up, before she locked her arms around him.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not. I need to clean ourselves.”

Again, she felt a twinge about that subject. She knew he was right, of course. If anyone find out there was a man’s seed on her bed, the whole Keep, the whole North and Westeros would condem her for having a lover. She could lose the respect of her bannermen, and even her rule.

But she didn’t want to hide from anyone. And also, she didn’t want to think about what other implications his spilled seed might cause her.

Reluctant, she let him go. Quickly, Sandor went for her wardrobe again, opening the same drawer and retrieving another piece of cloth. He cleaned himself before returning to her and cleaning the inside of her thighs, making her sigh as the texture of the fabric touched her.

Then, he threw the cloth in the flames.

“Are you planning on burning my whole wardrobe?”, she asked as he returned to her, taking his place back on top of her in the same position they were before.

“If it means I’ll stay in your bed every night, then yes.”

She smiled then, momentarily forgetting about her thoughts on stains and seed.

As silence dragged on, she felt another subject press her mind, as she felt the redness reach her cheeks again.

“You are the first man to which I ever did that”, she whispered.

He drew his face back from her neck to look at her, a question in his face. Though, as soon as he saw her, he understood. He grinned.

“Really?”, he rasped, knowing how it would make her blush even further.

“Yes”, she grinned back. “Though I can’t say I was completely blind to the act. Randa Royce was the one who taught me what really went on between men and women. And she was the one who taught me how to... pleasure a man. During our conversations, I always imagined what it would be like to do it to you.”

Sansa remembered how she would stay with her friend until late hours, talking while laying down on Randa’s bed, while she told her of her lovers and experiences. She recalled how embarrassed she was as her wild friend showed how to pleasure a man using her comb.

Sandor assed her carefully, and she through he was trying to find a lie in her declaration.

“When?”

“In the Vale”, she whispered and kissed his cheek.

He didn’t say anything, not even nodded, but he kissed her deeply, slowly, making her lose her breath all over again.

”You were the first woman to which I ever did that as well”, he finally rasped against her lips before kissing her again. 

Sansa couldn’t stop the feeling of pride, which she knew Sandor felt too. 

Until they were tired again, eyes struggling to remain open as sleep reclaimed their bodies.

“Wake me up before you leave”, she whispered against his hair.

“I will”, he rasped as he kissed her neck.

And that was the last thing she remembered as they fell asleep.

•

Sansa woke up to Sandor’s beard tickling her back. Slowly, she opened her eyes to find that he was not laying on top of her anymore. Instead, she had her belly to the mattress and her back uncovered. He, on the other hand, was sitting by her side and kissing her scar.

“Little Bird”, he whispered against the back of her neck. “It’s almost dawn. I’m leaving.”

She turned around to find Sandor completely dressed, with Ice already strapped to his hip and his cloak around his shoulders.

She flung her arms around his neck and dragged him on top of her, kissing him as eagerly as she did in the middle of the previous night. The furs fell from her body and now she could feel the leather of his clothes against her skin, and his wandering hands provoking her again.

I want him again already.

He kept it too short for both of their liking, but it was necessary. He drew his face back and sat back, while one of his hands still caressed her waist, making her belly shiver.

“I need you to make time for me and your Captain today”, he rasped.

“What?”, she asked still breathless. “Are you requesting an audience?”

“A private one”, he answered while getting up. “It’s important.”

“Alright”, she said, while sitting up. “Before council, this morning.”

He nodded, but still didn’t leave. Instead he looked at her and grinned. She smiled back at him.

“Will we see each other today?”, she whispered.

He understood she didn’t mean at the council.

“I don’t know yet”, he answered, and leaned in to kiss her a last time. “Don’t wait up.”

Sandor left with sure and quiet steps. Sansa laid back down only to find his scent all over her bed, wetness surging once again even though so little time had passed.

She didn’t go back to sleep. His ocean grey eyes haunted her thoughts, leaving her wanting more of him and desperate to relieve the moment they had share the night before. 

The way he looked at her while he moved inside of her, they way he cared for her pleasure, as well for her past. The way he touched and kissed her scars just as she touched and kissed his. 

It was too much. This time, she couldn’t resist and suppress and fight against the thoughts and emotions that invaded her mind and her heart. Sansa knew this was the first time she had ever felt something this grand and powerful for someone. And she was glad it was him. 

“My Hound”, she whispered, allowing herself to be the only one in this world who would ever call him that. Tears welled up in her eyes and ran across her face. Though there was a smile in her lips. “I love you, Sandor Clegane.”

• 

She watched dawn break inside of her chambers and waited for the maids to draw a bath. Once one of them went to the fireplace to recandle the flames, she recalled the two pieces of clothes that should have burnt when Sandor threw them there. None of the women said anything, so Sansa calmed herself down. No one knew. 

The image of his seed on her thighs was stuck to her memory, reminding her of thoughts she didn’t want to have - and yet, couldn’t avoid.

She was doing nothing to prevent a pregnancy. Sandor had spilled himself inside of her many times now. It was more than possible that her womb would quicken with child. He had never asked her or said anything about it, probably thinking she was taking care of herself. But she wasn’t. And she didn’t know how to do it.

Sansa had heard about moontea many times. If she drank it, it wouldn’t let Sandor’s seed quicken. At the same time, if anyone heard about it, it would mean a scandal.

Once inside the hot water, she sat back on the tub thinking about what to do, thinking how furious he would be if he found out she was not taking care of it. Though she avoided thinking about Sandor’s child, since it brought feelings she couldn’t understand yet. 

She couldn’t ask any of her siblings. Bran was too young, and Arya would be furious. She couldn’t ask Brienne either. The lady knight would be scandalized, and if anyone saw her taking moontea, it would throw her name in the dirt - and she swore to never ask of her to do something that would bring her dishonor.

There was not a maester in Winterfell anymore, and any maid could gossip about how the Lady of Winterfell had a lover.

She had to ask to a woman, though. And there was only one that he had in mind.

It was still early in the morning when Sansa walked to the Queen’s quarters, even though Daenerys was not there anymore. She knocked on the door, and the Targaryen closest advisor, Missandei of Naath, opened it. The question was clear in her face, as she motioned for Sansa to enter.

“I’m sorry for appearing like this”, she said as she sat where Missandei motioned her too. “But you’re the only one I can ask about something. I know that if I can trust the Queen, I can also trust you.”

The foreign woman took a seat as well, though hesitantly.

“Of course, my lady”, she answered with a gentle smile. “What can I do for you?”

Sansa wasted no words.

“I need moontea.”

Missandei’s eyes widened, but she tried her best not to look surprised.

“You don’t want to get pregnant”, she said, without a question in her tone.

“I’m sure Daenerys told you that I had a man in my life.”

Missandei didn’t lie to her, and nodded.

“I simply didn’t know he was your lover.”

“He is now”, Sansa whispered and tried to give her a short smile. “Please, will you help me?”

Missandei nodded and smiled warmly at Sansa, taking her hand in hers and giving it a squeeze.

“I’ll find someone who has it and say it is for the women of the khalasar. No one would want to have a baby in the middle of a war, nor in such harsh winter.”

Sansa smiled back at the woman and squeezed her hand back, holding the tears that threatened to spill.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

She left Missandei and the Queen’s quarters, and went straight to her solar. It wouldn’t be long until the war council started, and she had agreed to talk to Sandor and Brienne before that.

Only the thought of her Lord Commander was enough to make her heart ache.

I’ve confessed it, if only to myself.

She wondered if things would be different from now on. If she would see Sandor differently, or behave unlike herself whenever she would be near him again. That’s why she told herself not to change. She wouldn’t be able to lie to him if he ever questioned her. And Sansa was scared of his reaction.

The solution was simple, and yet impossible: she would have to close her heart to it. Love Sandor from the inside, but never let it out.

Perhaps this meeting would be her first trial. If everything went well, she could move on as if nothing had changed.

Had it changed, though? For how long had she been in love with him? And for how long had she denied it? She couldn’t pinpoint the moment he had her heart. Her mind would always go back to that night when he came to her chambers, covered in blood and smoke. But then, she reminded herself of the day he covered her with his cloak, or when he saved her from the mob. Again and again those memories would run behind her eyes and she would cherish them as a glimpse of hope that he one day would come to love her. Even though she knew that was impossible.

She reached the door of the Stark solar as these thoughts were pressing her mind just as the war against Cersei. Insistently. Relentlessly. Sansa entered the room, and closed the door right away, leaning against it trying to shake those thoughts away.

Until she heard a laughter. A giggle actually, joyful and childish. The sound of it reminded her of her childhood in Winterfell, surrounded by her siblings and innocence.

Still against the door, she saw a small frame behind the big roundtable in the center of the room. It was crawling on the stone floor, hiding from her and giggling all the while.

Sansa couldn’t help but smile as well.

With slow and cautious steps, she closed on to the table, and saw the small figure crawl away from her. Again, she circled around it, only to have her prey reach the other end. Everytime the boy did it, he would let out another fit of laughter. And she would laugh back.

“What are you doing at the wolves’ den?”, she whispered while crouching on the floor, looking at the boy through the legs of the chairs.

His brown eyes widened at that, and he finally stopped moving.

“Wolves?”, he questioned her with a small slur that came with childhood.

“Yes”, she whispered back and started to crawl on her hands and knees towards the child, never straying her eyes from his. “This is the Stark’s Keep. Do you know the sigil of House Stark?”

He nodded excitedly.

“A grey wolf!”

“Yes!”, she said happily, reaching him slowly. “Do you know why that is?”

This time, he motioned his head sideways, as if saying “no”.

“The Starks are wolves themselves”, she whispered again, trying to remember how Robb and Jon would tell scary stories when they were younger, tales of giants, white walkers and ghosts. “Jon, the eldest, is the White Wolf. Bran, on the other hand, is the Wise Wolf, or even the Winged Wolf.”

“Does he have wings?”, he asked with another pair of widened eyes.

“Yes, he does. Wings black as ravens”, Sansa said. She was so close to him now. Only a few steps around the table and she would reach him. She crouched back, standing on her feet and prepared to get up. “Arya is the Wild Wolf, known for her ferocity.”

Sansa peaked her head to the side, after the row of chairs ended, and she could see the small boy - who couldn’t be over three namedays of age - staring right at her. He was a sweet child, with light brown hair, big cheeks and small hands and feet.

“Do you know who I am?”, she whispered, trying to sound threatening.

“No. Who are you?”, he said while rolling his tongue and confusing the letters.

She smiled at him.

“I am the Red Wolf.”

As soon as she moved to grab him, he started to scream excitedly as he ran from her claws. Sansa behaved as if she was a child herself, and ran after the boy, who was now in a fit of laughter just as she was.

Finally, he reached the door that would mean his freedom from the solar. Only that is was closed, and he wasn’t tall enough to reach the handle.

Just like a lamb in distress, he was trapped and was finally taken by Sansa, who lifted him up in her arms and pretended to bite his arm.

The boy’s laugh was contagious, she found, even as she was trying to be scary.

Once the laughs, and screams, and giggles fade away, she held the boy close to her body, his little legs around her waist and eyes at the same level.

“What’s your name?”, she asked.

“Sam.”

“It’s an honour to meet you, Sam. I’m Sansa.”

“Are you really a wolf?”, he asked with sparkles in his eyes.

“Yes”, she whispered. “And so are my siblings. But that’s a secret of the North.”

The door opened to reveal a short young woman - probably a little older than Sansa -, dressed in a fine wool dress and with her hair ornated in a short braid. Sansa remembered seeing her around the keep, but had never talked to her.

“Sam!”, the woman exclaimed, and made to reach them, before stopping herself as she took a look to who was holding the boy. “Your Grace!”

Sansa smiled at the girl, trying her best to show her that everything was alright.

“Actually, I’m not Queen anymore. I imagine little Sam is your son.”

The girl nodded.

“I am so sorry, Your- my lady. I’ve been looking for him all morning.”

“It’s quite alright”, she said. “He’s a sweet boy. And I’m afraid we have not been introduced. I’m Sansa.”

“Gilly, my lady.”

Then it clicked Sansa.

“Oh, you’re Sam’s friend!”

Gilly blushed.

“Yes, my lady.”

Jon had told her of the things he had seen beyond the Wall, including that horrible man, Craster, and his wives-daughters. And he told her that Sam had helped one of them, who was giving birth, and took her to Castle Black. As her brother had told, Sam was quite taken with Gilly, who had named her child after him.

“Mom”, little Sam screeched in her arms. “Sansa is a wolf!”

Sansa laughed out loud at the boy’s declaration, as Gilly looked confused.

“I hope Winterfell has been treating you both well”, she said.

Gilly smiled then, finally.

“It has, my lady.”

“Please, call me Sansa.”

The woman nodded and rubbed her son’s back softly, accepting that the Lady of Winterfell wanted to hold him in her arms.

“If you need anything, just ask me”, Sansa added. “You both are our guests here, after all.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t want to do nothing while everyone is working so hard”, she replied. “I’ve been helping with keeping track of the letters and ravens that arrive in Winterfell. Sam has taught me how to read, and this has been good practice.”

Sansa smiled at the woman once more.

“Thank you, Gilly”, then she turned to the boy in her arms. “How about you, Sam? How are you liking Winterfell?”

“I love it”, he giggled. “I like the tree.”

“Which tree?”, she asked, entertaining little Sam, even though she already knew which place it was.

“The one with red leaf”, he answered and took a few strands of Sansa’s hair in his small fingers.

She watched him as he looked fascinated by it, twisting it around and pulling closer to his eyes.

“I like your hair too”, he murmured.

“Thank you.”

“It’s kissed by fire!”, he said excitedly.

She laughed.

“What?”

“It’s red, you see”, he said as he held a strand in front of her face. “It was kissed by fire!”

Sansa was still confused by Sam’s declaration, and looked at Gilly searching for an answer in the wildling mother. Though, in the corner of her eye, she saw a figure standing by the open door.

She turned her head to look at Sandor, and felt her heart race and her cheeks burn. His grey eyes searched hers, and she felt like she could melt from just that.

Everything has changed, she thought. I can’t even control my body anymore.

But then, she noticed his eyes shifted, and now focused on the child in her arms. She finally noticed the blank expression he wore, the tension in his shoulders, and how his scarred lip would twitch slightly with the rest of his ruined face.

And then Sansa felt her heart twist in pain.

She didn’t understand if he was furious, or sad, or in conflict.

But she knew for certain that they were both thinking the same thing.

Sansa should never be with child. Not with Sandor’s.

She was already ruined by the eyes of the realm. Twice married, raped - though some men would call it bedded, and would believe both her husbands had done it, and some others would believe Littlefinger had also violated her. Lords wanted her for her name, her fortune, her power over the North. To rule over her, instead of swearing loyalty at her feet. A bastard child would only complete her curse - the unwanted woman, but with the North in her grasp.

Do you want it, though? , a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Do you want a child?With him?

She silenced the voice and, instead, decided to cherish the boy in her arms - who was not hers, nor her lover’s. Giving a kiss on the top of his head, she turned her attention back to Sam, who was still playing with her hair.

But she heard him take slow steps closer to where she and Gilly were standing. It took him long and quiet seconds until he was standing besides her, close enough to feel the warmth of his body on her own. She didn’t give him anything, and still watched Sam.

“It’s a sign of good luck”, he rasped besides her, his voice sending bolts of shock to her chest, as he sounded calm, not a trace of anger.

She couldn’t help but look back at him, and found him staring down at her. Another bolt.

“What?”

“Tormund told me about it”, he said, and the image of the mad red headed wildling made her smile. “There aren’t many gingers north of the Wall. It’s a sign of fortune.”

If I was kissed by fire, what does that make you?

“I’m glad”, she said to him, and turned to Sam. “We could use all the luck we can get.”

Finally, Gilly extended her arms to take her son back. Sansa passed him to her after kissing the top of his head.

“Can we play together?”, he asked her, while embracing his mother by the neck.

“Of course”, Sansa said with a smile. “Whenever you like. We can go see your favorite tree together.”

Sam seemed brightened by the idea and waved her goodbye.

“Thank you, my lady”, Gilly said, taking a small courtesy and leaving the solar.

That left Sansa and Sandor alone in the room. Though she wasn’t looking at him. As much as she wanted to, she was also hesitant.

The look he had in his face when he saw Sam. The time it took for him to leave the threshold. His rasped voice when he finally spoke. The silence he carried at that very moment.

So she kept staring at the empty entrance of the solar, through where mother and son had left.

“Who are they?”, Sandor rasped by her side.

She knew he was looking at her. Could feel his eyes roaming her face, her neck and body. But still, she wouldn’t turn.

“Gilly is a wildling”, she said as naturally as she could muster. “She’s friend with Sam Tarly.”

“The brother of the Night’s Watch?”