Chapter Text
"He's dead, my Lady, come, we need to go!"
"No, he's alive!"
"His leg, my Lady! He's bleeding! Look at the snow beneath his right leg. Come! Leave him!"
"No! He is not going to die! I know ow to fix this!"
"But—"
"Be quiet, Theon! I will not leave him to die, when he is still alive!" Sansa grabbed hold of the sodden icy hem of her dress and pulled, ripping a long strip from there. Then she dropped down, kneeling next to the injured man. Placing a hand on his arm, squeezing there, feeling the warmth of a living man, feeling powerful muscles flex beneath her cold hand.
"You need to stay still, Ser. You are bleeding from your leg. And to stop that, I need to tie this tightly around your thigh," she raised the wet, heavy strip of fabric up. She paused, waiting for confirmation of her words. But the mute, wounded man said nothing. He didn't even look at her, his gaze was off in the distance, somewhere else. She tried again. "If I do not do this, you will die here." This time he nodded. A slow movement, but a movement, nonetheless. One that she took as acceptance of what was to come and so wrapped the long, rough length of fabric around the top of his thigh, just above his wound, wrapping it around several times. Then she grabbed the ends. Pausing once more. "This will hurt."
This time, she did not look up at him, taking his silence as an agreement to proceed. She tugged at the ends of the rough fabric strip. Flicking her gaze up at the man, as he winced, but yet again, he did still not say anything. She pulled the tourniquet as tight as she could, frowning, as he did not even utter a grunt or groan at what she knew would be excruciatingly painful.
"My Lady, we need to go! They will notice we are missing and send the dogs out soon! Please! We need to move! Just leave him to his fate, please!"
Sansa pulled her arm back out of Theon's tugged grasp, hastening her motions, as she knelt before the injured man, tying of the ends of the makeshift tourniquet, again pulling the ends and tying it off as tight as she could.
"No, Theon. I will not leave him. I will not! This man fought for me and my freedom from Ramsay, just as he fought for his King here. Even though it was foolhardiness to go against Ramsay with so few men. You saw, as well as I did, how Ramsey and his men overtook them and surrounded them, just before we jumped and ran! I may have been beaten and… had other things done to me, as have you, by that… that… monster, but I still have enough compassion to aid a wounded man when I have the chance to do so! So you will be still and you will be quiet Theon! And I will be done here, all the sooner, if you do not pull at me! I will not leave this man! Ramsay did not beat all of my humanity out of me!"
"But, my Lady! Please! What use is it if we die here, trying to save a man who is dead anyway!"
"There! I am done! Now we can move, as I am finished here, binding his wound. But first, be useful and get this man's sword, over there, look, on the other side of where I'm sitting, next to his wounded leg. And grab a sword for yourself too. And a dagger for me. We must arm ourselves first. Then, you need to help me get this man standing up and we will go!"
"Yes, my Lady. Not that these weapons will be of much use… But I will do as you say…"
Sansa turned from Theon to face the morose stranger who stared at her. Frowning his dark, thunderstorms at her. His deep blue eyes pierced straight into her own, stabbing the breath from her chest, causing her own eyes to widen and for her to suck in a breath, as his gaze asked her such questions that she did not know the answer to. She composed herself, tearing her skittering gaze away from his storm-laden one. Looking down at her shaking hands, as her fingers twisted and turned around each other, where her hands were clasped together, in her lap.
"I've stopped the bleeding, Ser. Can you try standing now?" she attempted a smile at him. Trying a smile that she had used to gentle an unruly and uncertain and scared young direwolf cub out of its stall and into her care. Darkness creased his brows and haggard face and his glimmering eyes caught hers once more, when she reached out her hand towards him. Holding her palm up, for him to place his hand in. Her attempt aid him was rejected and she snatched her hand back, as he bared his teeth and growled at her. Acting more like Shaggydog, than her own, more placid pet, Lady.
"You should do as your companion suggests and leave me to die! You should flee! You should run from here and from me! I abandoned the cruel gods, so now they have their revenge and they have all abandoned me! And so should you!"
She flinched away from his hissed out ire and blinked at him. Scrambling backwards and away from his anger. Yet she paused, frozen in her flight, frowning back at him.
No! No! I know what it is to be abandoned by the gods! No! I will not leave him, as they left me too! No! He is in pain and confused. Just as I was, in King's Landing and in Winterfell! No! I will not let his anger cause me to abandon him and my own self too!
Once more, she reached out her shaking hand. Drawing closer to him, stretching her hand out, nearing his, placing her bare hand upon one of his white-knuckled, bloodied fists. She drew strength from the fact that he did not snatch his hand away. So she spread her fingers over his taut fist. Covering his large, warm hand with hers.
"I will not abandon you. I am not as cruel as those gods. Come. We must go. But… if you do not wish to go, then I will stay here too and we will share our fates. I am so tired. Too tired to run. But I will try to, if you do. Otherwise…" she shrugged and hoped that her ultimatum would call to his chivalry. She knew that Knights were killers. That lesson had been beaten into her. She had the scars to prove it. But a bright spark of hope still remained, deep inside her, that all of her storybooks weren't lies.
I know that a light of goodness lies inside the Hound. So could the same not be true of this killer too? Whoever he is?
"So, you decide my fate, as well as yours, Ser. Do we stay here and die, or do we go?"
He stared at her, blue trapped in blue, as they stared and stared. As her fingers lay over his fist, warming his hand, thawing him. His thawed hand moved of it's own volition and lay flat on his aching, wounded thigh.
"Do we stay or do we go?" she repeated. His hand shook beneath hers. But he did not move to grab at her. Neither did he moved away. He stayed as frozen as the ice that sat upon. Staring at her. It was the first gentle touch that she had felt since the gods knew when. The first touch that she was in control of. The first look she had known, that held no malice, no desire for anything except forgiveness.
He stares at me and asks me for something. What, though? What does he wish for forgiveness for? What has he done to look at me with such terrible despair?
She moved closer towards him. Smiling at him. Hoping to calm him. Trying to act as she did with a skittish horse. Not that she was ever any good there, with those beasts. She was not as much of a natural with horses, as her younger sister was. Her fingers were moved to wrap around his hand and she stood. Keeping a tight grasp of him. Not releasing him. Smiling all the wider, as his fingers twisted around hers. He gripped her with a mix of the strength she remembered that the Hound's hold had when he had rescued her from the rioters and the gentleness of Ser Garlan's touch when he had asked her to dance.
"We go."
The joy of a touch freely given and accepted, coursed through her, as she helped pull the man upright. Watching with a critical eye, for any signs of him falling or crying out in pain, as he stood a little gingerly, favouring his unwounded leg, saving his wounded one.
"Your sword, Ser," Theon held the long blade out to him and watched him sheath it. Theon then turned to Sansa, to renew his desperate plea. "Please, my Lady. He stands, he agrees to go, so we must go now! We must go! Please, my Lady, please! No more questions! We have tarried here long enough!"
"Yes. Yes! We must flee! All are agreed now," she nodded, then turned back to the stranger, feeling his hand loosen in her hold. Feeling him pull back, seeing him shake his head, as he took a stumbled step backwards.
"No! You stood! You agreed to go! We had an agreement! We will go together! Or not at all!"
"My leg is too wounded! It will not hold! You must go without me! Leave me! I'm half dead already! Let the Stranger have the other half of me, so he may toss me deep into the seven hells!"
"No! I will not leave you! I will not! You stood, Ser! And you agreed to go! You agreed that we should go together!" She stamped a cold, frozen foot. "No! I will not leave you to the Stranger! He has taken too much from me already! I will not let him have you too! I will not! Now come, you agreed to leave with us! So we must move, or we will all suffer the same fate as these brave King's men that lie here, in the Stranger's embrace already! And I do not wish to do so just yet, do you? Or have you changed your mind? Do you renege on your agreement!" she asked. Watching, as her firm words snapped his head up towards her.
He frowned, his hand tightened around hers agreeing to her, even as his shook his head and refused. "This is foolishness!"
"No!" She tightened her grip upon him, pulling him forwards, seeing him stumble a step back towards her. "See! You walk just fine, Ser! Now! Let us go! Let us move forwards, together! Away from this place of death!" she ordered, in the best approximation of her mother's voice when ordering the servants of Winterfell. "Come, Theon! Help me, help us, here!"
Sansa and Theon moved. One under each of the wounded man's shoulders and they trod North. All three, half-hobbled, half-trotted through the deep snow, not quite running, but moving at a swift enough pace to give them a chance at outreach the Stranger's cold grasp. They moved through winter's snow and ice, leaving Winterfell and the war outside it's walls and behind them. They headed further into the woods, seeking shelter there from the snow and refuge from Winter and those others who would kill them all. Their progress was slowed by the thick, tangled web of branches that grew there.
But what slows us down, will slow our persuers down too! Sansa nodded to herself, as she ignored the heavy weight of the wounded man who leaned against her and limped and stumbled between her and Theon. We are moving now! We will live! All three of us!
She held onto the hand of the wounded man. Holding his hand in a tight grip. Pulling him along, not letting him go, as he stumbled through the wild woods next to her.