Cross the Line

Chapter Three

Sansa Stark had begun preparations for the arrival of The Mother of Dragons and her dear brother as soon as she'd received word that they were en route to Winterfell.

Their armies with the rulers were hot on the Lion of Winterfell's heels, arriving only days later.

Lady Stark tried to have all of her people dressed in their best clothes, and feasts were set to be served that night. Sansa wished she could spare some of the extravagance and the excess food for her people who were close to starving, but the North must appear strong and practice hospitality.

Sansa did not wish to feel a Dragon's ire.

When her King entered the courtyard, shoulder to shoulder with the Dragon Queen, Sansa stood exactly where her Lord Father had once stood to receive his King all those years ago. Bran was beside her, being pushed in his wheelchair by his companion Meera Reed.

The Dragon Queen was just as beautiful as they said.

She bowed to her King, her brother, first.

He had not said the words in their home, before their people, so she would not accept it.

"Your Graces," she greeted them both, bowing to the Queen of Meereen once she'd bowed to the King in the North.

Sansa had sent her Lannister Sworn Shield to his rooms to rest, ensuring Ghost would be her guard during this welcoming. Arya, likewise, was sent into hiding by Sansa. Once the proper greetings had been made, Jon gestures for Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne to return to Sansa's side. The Sworn Shield and squire did as their King bid; Brienne was relieved that her Lady had maintained the castle so well. She was pleased to see that the people wore better clothing and appeared to have received some decent meals since she'd left.

Jon stepped toward Bran, greeting him with a kiss on the head and words about how he'd grown into a man.

The last of the Stark men, of Lord Eddard Stark's sons, King Robb's heirs.

There was a commotion in the crowd behind the rulers, with angry yelling and some unpleasant words thrown in. Sansa tried to see what was going on, but it soon proved unnecessary.

Sandor Clegane shoved himself out of the crowd, as fierce and angry as ever. Sansa's mouth fell open just slightly at the sight of him, but she quickly covered her surprised. She remembered the last time she'd seen him, his eyes wild with terror and he ran from the Battle of Blackwater, offering to take her with him.

His eyes landed on her, and he strode with purpose to her. Brienne bristled, prepared for a fight, and Ghost's hackles rose in warning, but Sandor Clegane instead dropped to one knee in front of her. "I'm no knight, but I'm an angry fuck who's good at killing. I've served drunken fools and bratty tyrants. Now, I want to pledge my service, my sword, to you."

The words caught her off guard. She'd known he was fond of her during her imprisonment in the castle, but she'd never dreamed he'd want to serve her. She felt overwhelmed, like her world had tilted off its axis. She looked around, as if to find somewhere to escape. Her eyes caught sight of the gutted kennels, and it felt as if something snagged her mind. She looked back to Clegane.

The Hound knelt at her feet, another mad dog of tyrants. He'd never bitten the hand that fed him, but he'd run, far and fast, from his once-masters' reaches. Sansa knew what she must do.

"Say the words," she said quietly, gently.

Sandor Clegane, the great beast of a man, scowled slightly. Then, he looked to be concentrating, trying to remember the old words. She wished she could take it back, simply speak her words, but she knew it must be official. "Lady Sansa of House Stark," he spoke, then stopped. He looked uncertain.