[North]
The cold wind howled through the dark trees as Bran and Sandor crouched behind a thick patch of snow-covered brush. They had been hiding for time more than enough to freeze their blood by now, and yet they couldn't move because ever since they escaped Castle Black, the men from the Night's Watch were looking for them, and they had to stay hidden.
And they were everywhere, searching for them in every bush and every pile of snow which mildly looked high enough to cover a human. Without food, water, and most importantly warm shelter, they were at the edge of breaking down.
Bran sat close to Sandor, wrapped in a heavy cloak, trying not to shiver. Even with his powers growing the closer he went north, he found that they didn't come with Cold Resistance. Definitely would have been a nice addition to all this new skin-changing powers he found he had and utterly lacked any control to use when the situation really counts, and the cold bit through his clothes like sharp knives.
Hound was no different in this regard, though better than Bran, still he was no northman. Born in the rocky lands of westerly hills and spent the better half of his life there before moving to King's Landing, this bone-chilling cold was just as hard on him as on anyone else.
However, he still had to look out for those men in black searching for them. Ever since they left, those men were on their tails like hungry hyenas. Especially after Rob Stark visited the Wall. Sandor saw men with Winterfell emblems among those who wielded black.
"We can't go back," Bran said softly. Maybe because he saw the Hound looking more and more grim lately. He couldn't say whether this was due to their currently chilly situation while on the run or it was whatever he saw back in Castle Black and refused to talk about.
Sandor grunted. "Didn't plan on it. The first thing your brother does when he catches me is to cut my dick off and feed it to his Dire Wolf."
"No, I'm pretty sure mother would kill him if he doesn't present you to her to torture and kill in one piece, and we don't have Dire Wolves."
Hound grunted again, not willing to reply to this. He had enough to think about to wonder what kind of death the Lady Stark had planned for him.
They both knew the truth—crossing the Wall through Castle Black was no longer an option. The Watch was watching every path, and if they were caught, it would be over.
"We go northeast," Sandor said finally. "There's a river that runs through the Shadow Tower lands. Beside some other narrow passages around the Wall, that is our only option to cross the Wall."
Bran nodded, wondering how the Hound even knew this all for a southerner but tactfully kept his mouth shut. He wasn't the only one who was out of his wits due to all the snow and cold. He'd rather not provoke the man who can kill him and bury him six feet under snow and no one would be wiser.
He didn't know much about rivers or secret paths, but he trusted Sandor to some degree—maybe only because he had a faint feeling that Sandor too now believed in the Three-Eyed Raven. The Hound might be rough and angry most of the time, but he had saved his life more than once as well, so that also counted, at least he's not an outright bad man who kills for enjoyment.
Over the next few days, they traveled through the thick woods, careful to avoid open roads or signs of people. Heating snow for water and hunting whatever small animals they could get their hands on. They moved mostly at night and rested during the day. It was slow and cold, but they had no other choice.
Bran tried to use his warg powers to scout ahead, slipping into the mind of a raven or a wolf when he could. He was getting better at it, though it still made him feel tired afterward. That was also how they were escaping the men in black.
So, just like usual he was back to his daydreaming, possessing one of the birds and looking over the sky to spot anything or anyone. And that's when…
Bran's eyes snapped open, his breath coming out in sharp gasps. He had just returned from the mind of a nearby bird, and what he saw made his heart pound.
"Sandor," Bran said quickly, shaking the big man's arm. "They're coming. Men from the Night's Watch. They're close—too close."
Sandor didn't waste a second. He stood up fast and grabbed Bran's hand. "Damn it. Come on."
They took off through the snow-covered woods, their feet crunching over ice and twigs. Bran's cloak flapped behind him, and Sandor's heavy boots left deep tracks in the snow. The cold air bit at their faces, but neither of them cared. All that mattered was getting away.
"They'll see our tracks," Bran said, panting.
"Oh, really, otherwise I thought they are running in knee-thick snow 'cause they couldn't find a cozy place to piss," Sandor growled. He looked back. "Fuck..."
After running until their legs ached and lungs burned, they found a hollow beneath a thick, fallen tree. It was small, but just enough to squeeze into and hide. They huddled together, Bran trying to calm his breathing, Sandor keeping a hand on his sword.
"You had one job, just the one…," Sandor whispered though the sound looked like he yelled without yelling.
"I can scout so far in this forest."
"Hush, quiet now."
The sound of footsteps and voices came closer. The men from the Watch were searching the area, calling to each other, following the tracks in the snow. Bran held his breath. Sandor didn't move an inch.
Then, just when it seemed the men would find them—everything changed.
A deep, low growl rolled through the trees. Then, from the shadows, a huge shape moved between their hiding spot and the searching men.
A giant direwolf. Its fur was as white as snow, its eyes glowing gold in the dim light.
The men froze. One of them cursed under his breath. Another backed away slowly.
"Direwolf," one of them said shakily. Though they were in the north as much as north could be, and yet it's not always that they saw a direwolf this big. It was big enough to eat all of them and still had enough space in its belly to go after the two they were after.
They turned back, quickly retreating the way they had come. The direwolf stood there a moment longer, watching them leave. Then it turned its head toward Bran.
Bran's eyes widened. "That's…"
Sandor cursed under his breath. Gripping his sword tightly, he gulped.
'And the boy says they don't have direwolves…' Hound cursed under his breath again.
"Can't you talk to him." He turned to Bran with irritation on his face.
"Talking? I might, though I hardly believe he'll listen." Bran gulped seeing the giant direwolf coming at them.
As for talking, he can't, he was just too used to replying with sarcasm by this point.
"He might if you ask nicely." And that's when suddenly both heard this voice, making both of them stiffen.
"Stop boy, we need them conscious." Again the voice came and this time the man who said it revealed his face. Not exactly a man though, he was a boy too, older than Bran, but that didn't amaze both Bran and Sandor as much as how he stopped the wolf in its tracks by a single wave of his hand.
"Come on, we have a lot to talk about. Bran Stark…"
xxx
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