Sansa had never felt safe during the start of her travels. Being alone with four men, even knights of the Vale, left her fearing what she might wake to most nights. What might happen should the men decide they were far enough from the Vale their knightly vows no longer mattered. When Petyr was right and their desires outweighed their honor.
That was gone with Brienne and Podrick. Podrick may have been a man, but he didn't seem the type, almost childish despite Brienne once asking if he wasn't too old to be a squire. Even if he tried, Brienne would surely cut him down.
Still, she wasn't safe. She remembered the screams, the barking dogs, the yells and clash of steel.
The second time she heard them, she froze. Her heart stopped beating, her breath stuck in her throat, threatening to choke her. When she saw Brienne leap to her feet, ready to rush off and help the screaming woman, Sansa dashed to her side and grabbed Brienne's arm.
"Don't," she begged. "Don't leave me. Not again."
"Again?" Brienne asked, brow furrowed, shifting slightly as she glanced toward another scream.
"The others, the knights I was with before, they rushed off and died. I heard them die."
Brienne nodded, looking to Podrick. "The horses."
They ran west, traveling with the wind, through a stream and the fields of a small farmstead.
Once Brienne was sure they weren't being followed anymore they stopped to rest for the night. Even as the sun set she stood vigilant until Podrick took her watch. The dogs had chased them through the afternoon, driving them further from their destination yet again.
When the sun rose and Sansa stirred, Brienne knelt beside her while Sansa looked over her hair to make sure it was still dark. She only had so much of the dye, and it had to last until they reached the Wall.
"I had a thought, my lady, if you'd hear me."
"Of course, Brienne."
Brienne removed a small sheathed dagger she'd tucked into the back of her belt. "If they should come upon us at night, we may not be able to run. They could come as a pack, a group of them large enough that Podrick and I would not be able to stay at your side, or would be forced to ask you flee while we stayed behind. I'd ask you take this, keep it at your side, so that if the worst should happen, if I should die, I might hope where my sword can not protect you this dagger may."
Sansa looked at the small dagger she'd seen Brienne use to skin the game found during their travels.
It was that dagger she pushed through the eye of the mutt that threw her to the ground weeks later. It was that dagger she aimed at the man in Bolton armor before Brienne's sword pushed through his neck. It was that dagger she clutched as she walked behind Brienne and Podrick when they came upon the half-flayed woman, watching Brienne hold back tears as she slit the writhing girl's throat to end her slow misery.
And it was that dagger she returned after taking the sword and dagger from a dead Bolton man with a silent vow to drive them into her own throat if they ever caught her.
They took what they could from the men they killed, took their provisions, their coin, let whoever found them think bandits took their lives. Yet they hounded them, Brienne telling her the dogs might have caught their scent from their last battle and tracked them. Again and again they came, again and again the Wall remained a distant dream.
She found herself dreaming of it, of stepping through towering black gates. In her mind it was grand in it's own way, Castle Black. Surely it would match the others she'd seen, glorious in it's stoicism. Like Jon, surely. He'd have done well, made a name for himself.
If she was kind to herself, willing to let herself be a fool again, she imagined the gates opening and him standing there with arms open, ready to embrace her. If her dreams were honest then she imagined him confused, glad to see a familiar face but disappointed it was her, wishing it was anyone but her that survived. He would put aside his annoyance with her, with the petulant child she'd been when she last saw him, and he would protect her. No matter what he felt he would take care of her, do what was right to make sure she survived.
Yet she found herself faltering the longer it took. They stayed in a home that stank of the flayed corpses hanged outside, hoping it would mask their scents long enough to let them rest a day without being hunted. Laying there in a dead man's bed, unable to sleep because of the stench coming through the window, was the first time she wished she wouldn't wake.
Every time they were forced back, force to prolong their travels and pushing her further from Jon, despair pulled at her heart, telling her it would be better if they got her. It would hurt, likely for a long time if the bodies they came across were any indication, but maybe she was wrong, maybe the gods did exist and she'd be with her family once she bit through her tongue or cut open her neck. Maybe she'd be with the rest of them watching over Jon and even Arya, if she'd somehow survived on her own after Brienne lost her.
But Starks endure, and she was Sansa Stark. She'd swear the weeks and months of traveling had worn it all away, torn the stupid little girl she was apart, but she still found hope when she thought of the Wall.
She would make it through this and find Jon Snow. He would save her from this, he would make her feel safer than Brienne and Podrick could. He would be her salvation. He had to be.
And yet as they saw the Wall peak over the horizon she knew it would have to wait. She couldn't arrive as Sansa Stark. She couldn't ride in there with a dagger on her hip and a sword on her saddle. She needed to be a lady, even a bastard lady, so she took the last of her dye and gave Podrick her stolen weapons.
Though nothing like she'd imagined, the run down remnant of Castle Black was a relief.
"Sometimes a man has to make hard choices," said Sam. "Choices that might look wrong to others but you know are right in the long run."
"You believe that?" asked Olly.
"With all my heart," he answered with a hint of a laugh. Seeing Olly leave Sam grabbed the tray he brought. "Try not to worry, Olly. I've been worrying about Jon for years." With a smile Sam declared, "He always comes back."
Olly was barely out the door when they heard the horn. The men calling to open the gate.
Sam's brow knit as he got to his feet. "He can't be back so soon. Must be the southern gate."
He made his way to the yard, watching the three riders pass through the gates. Two women and a man, though the taller woman wore dark armor.
"The Night's Watch welcomes you, Lady…" Alisser Thorne looked to the hooded woman on the female knight's right.
She looked to the blonde knight who sat tall. "Lady Alayne Stone, niece of Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale. Escorted by her sworn sword, Brienne of Tarth and my squire, Podrick Payne."
"And why have you come?" Alisser asked gruffly.
Alayne dismounted with Podrick's help. "To meet with the Lord Commander and discuss trade."
"Trade?" Thorne scoffed. "What trade?"
Sam noted Alayne's eyes scanning the courtyard, searching. "Are you Lord Commander?"
Thorne's face contorted in a flash of anger, gritting his teeth. "No, I'm afraid I'm not. Our Lord Commander isn't here presently."
There was a hint of disappointment when her eyes finally returned to Thorne, having not found what she sought. "Then perhaps I should wait to meet him."
Thorne looked at the trio, thinking it over before looking to the men gathered. Just as he'd started to turn to return to his room, Thorne spotted Sam. "Tarly." Sam winced before turning to him. "Show our guests to a room. One near the wildling girl."
Sam nodded, making his way down to their guests. "If you'd follow me."
They shared a look before following him. Once the brothers had started to return to their duties, Alayne moved toward Sam. "What did he mean about the wildling girl?"
Sam frowned, looking over her. "There's another who stays here. Gilly, she's… She's from beyond the wall. Her and her baby have been here for ages." Seeing the confusion on her face, Sam slowed to a stop, an assuring smile taking his face. "I swear, my lady, she's nothing like the stories you've heard. She's a quiet, sweet girl. Beautiful and nice and brave. Braver than I."
Alayne glanced back to Brienne, sharing a solemn smile before Alayne returned her attention to Sam. "I doubt that, Ser Tarly."
Sam laughed, starting to walk again. "I'm no Ser, my lady. Just a craven." He smiled sadly. "I'm no Jon Snow. Just Sam."
Alayne tensed slightly. "Jon Snow? Do you mean the bastard of Winterfell?"
"Aye, Lady Stone. He's the bravest man I know. It's why we voted him Lord Commander."
Alayne stopped mid stride, a slight gasp escaping her. Brienne and Podrick shared a surprised look. "He's Lord Commander?"
Sam grinned, pride clear in his face as he nodded.
"And where is he now?" Alayne asked. "That man said he wasn't here."
Sam's smile turned solemn as he nodded. "He's beyond the wall."
Shock forced his brow to rise when Alayne grasped his wrist, stepping close to him. "Is he alive?"
The hint of panic and fear in her voice confused him, but he nodded. "I don't doubt it, my lady. He'll return, I promise." His head tilted slightly. "Did you know him?"
Alayne took a moment to gauge him. Tarly was a southern name. He was a brother of the Night's Watch. She couldn't trust his neutrality, couldn't trust he wouldn't tell someone and they would trade her to the Lannisters for support or supplies.
"I saw him in passing," she said with a small smile. "I was a handmaid for Queen Cersei when she traveled to Winterfell."
Sam chuckled, "I see."
Turning to continue leading them to their room, he couldn't help but shake his head and laugh. Even with her dark auburn hair frayed beneath her hood and weary from travel, Alayne was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Of course she'd remember Jon after seeing him in passing years earlier.