The Strength of Her // SansaxSandor (On Hiatus)

Chapter 14

14. Sword Play

The training that took place around the grounds lessened more and more as weeks went by without Jon. He was no longer overhead with his watchful eye, so few figured they had anyone around who needed to be impressed. Not surprisingly enough, Brienne was one of the few ensuring that her pupils didn't lack in daily physical movement. She never asked if the young men under her teachings wanted to stop, and if they did, they never voiced their opinions to her. However, they boldly complained to each other.

Sansa overheard the Kensey boy boasting to his friends one mild day in the north. He beamed as he spoke, showcasing white teeth and a charming boyish smile. A hand ran through his brown locks of hair as the wind rustled it about, boasting how easily he could overpower Brienne if he wanted to. To think he had the type of physical appearance Sansa would have swooned over years ago. His hand lazily held his sword with a grip even Sansa knew would do him no good in combat. "She may look like a man, but a woman's a woman after all."

Brienne was yards away as always head to toe in armor, sitting on an old wooden stool as she sharpened her sword in a secluded corner. No doubt she still could sense the comments that were being pointed her way. She ignored their existence altogether, knowing that she'd soon have a chance to spank them with her steel like the children they were.

Sansa sauntered up to Brienne, glancing over to the young man and his entourage. She gave a slight smirk. "I could always have them flogged, you know?"

Brienne's hand stopped stroking her sword with a whetstone to glare at Sansa with piercing blue eyes. This spot was darker than rest, shielded from the light by turrets and walls, but that didn't change the ability to read Brienne's face. It was meant to be a joke, though she didn't seem as amused at the idea.

"Fine. Have them streak naked around the front gate then? It's been boring around here and we could all use a good show."

The glare did not falter.

Sansa smiled to herself. It didn't surprise her Brienne refused to stoop to such low and childish tactics. Still, even Sansa thought it humorous, and necessary, to knock the boys down a few pegs. Words wouldn't do them any good - they would only talk their way out of it - it was only by brute strength that individuals like these would start to show some real respect. And it was an act long past due.

"Let them say what they want," Brienna finally said, going back to her sword as if nothing were wrong. The whetstone was placed on a nearby snow-covered wooden crate. Its job was done. She lifted the steel in the air and turned it from side to side, admiring the sheen. So polished you could see your reflection in it. Should one look hard enough, they might be able to see their souls burning in their eyes. The blade didn't have to be touched by flesh to know that it could make it bleed crimson with ease. "It doesn't hinder my swing."

"I don't doubt that. Where's Podrick? Thought he was turning into your best student." Sansa didn't have much contact with the young squire turned warrior, but she admired him still. He had several good, honorable qualities so many others, herself included, unfortunately, lacked.

It was Brienne's turn to smirk as she scoffed, clearly remembering something humorous. "Pod's getting better with his sword, true enough, but the same can't be said for holding his alcohol." The two women chuckled together, but something caused one of them to subside.

A large and dark figure moved around the edge of the courtyard, barely visible out the corner of her eye. Sansa glanced passed the group of young lords to better set Sandor Clegane in her field of vision. His physical appearance was no different than it was the day before or the day before that. He continued to opt for the same dull and dingy grey cloak to keep him warm from the winds and tattered black boots to shield his feet from freezing off. His shirts were thinning and his trousers were fading, holding together with nothing more than sheer will and a collection of stitches. Sooner rather than later, they'd fall off him completely. She half thought to gift him a new wardrobe but thought the better of it rather quickly. He'd surely reject. Still, Sansa watched him. All thoughts of Podrick Payne were gone.