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Chapter Text

Her bedchamber was black as pitch. Sansa barred the door and fumbled through the dark to the window. When she ripped back the drapes, her breath caught in her throat.

The southern sky was aswirl with glowing, shifting colors, the reflections of the great fires that burned below. Baleful green tides moved against the bellies of the clouds, and pools of orange light spread out across the heavens. The reds and yellows of common flame warred against the emeralds and jades of wildfire, each color flaring and then fading, birthing armies of short-lived shadows to die again an instant later. Green dawns gave way to orange dusks in half a heartbeat. The air itself smelled burnt, the way a soup kettle sometimes smelled if it was left on the fire too long and all the soup boiled away. Embers drifted through the night air like swarms of fireflies.

Sansa backed away from the window, retreating toward the safety of her bed. I’ll go to sleep , she told herself, and when I wake it will be a new day, and the sky will be blue again. The fighting will be done and someone will tell me whether I’m to live or die . “Lady,” she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead.

Then something stirred behind her, and a hand reached out of the dark and grabbed her wrist.

Sansa opened her mouth to scream, but another hand clamped down over her face, smothering her. His fingers were rough and calloused, and sticky with blood. “Little bird. I knew you’d come.” The voice was a drunken rasp.

Outside, a swirling lance of jade light spit at the stars, filling the room with green glare. She saw him for a moment, all black and green, the blood on his face dark as tar, his eyes glowing like a dog’s in the sudden glare. Then the light faded and he was only a hulking darkness in a stained white cloak.

“If you scream I’ll kill you. Believe that.” He took his hand from her mouth. Her breath was coming ragged. The Hound had a flagon of wine on her bedside table. He took a long pull. “Don’t you want to ask who’s winning the battle, little bird?”

“Who?” she said, too frightened to defy him.

The Hound laughed. “I only know who’s lost. Me.”

He is drunker than I’ve ever seen him. He was sleeping in my bed. What does he want here? “What have you lost?”

“All.” The burnt half of his face was a mask of dried blood. “Bloody dwarf. Should have killed him. Years ago.”

“He’s dead, they say.”

“Dead? No. Bugger that. I don’t want him dead.” He cast the empty flagon aside. “I want him burned. If the gods are good, they’ll burn him, but I won’t be here to see. I’m going.”

“Going?” She tried to wriggle free, but his grasp was iron.

“The little bird repeats whatever she hears. Going, yes.”

“Where will you go?”

“Away from here. Away from the fires. Go out the Iron Gate, I suppose. North somewhere, anywhere.”

“You won’t get out,” Sansa said. “The queen’s closed up Maegor’s, and the city gates are shut as well.”

“Not to me. I have the white cloak. And I have this.” He patted the pommel of his sword. “The man who tries to stop me is a dead man. Unless he’s on fire.” He laughed bitterly.

“Why did you come here?”

“You promised me a song, little bird. Have you forgotten?”

She didn’t know what he meant. She couldn’t sing for him now, here, with the sky aswirl with fire and men dying in their hundreds and their thousands. “I can’t,” she said. “Let me go, you’re scaring me.”

“Everything scares you. Look at me. Look at me.”

The blood masked the worst of his scars, but his eyes were white and wide and terrifying. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched and twitched again. Sansa could smell him; a stink of sweat and sour wine and stale vomit, and over it all the reek of blood, blood, blood.

“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. “Still can’t bear to look, can you?” she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was out, poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don’t kill me, she wanted to scream, please don’t. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
save our sons from war, we pray,
stay the swords and stay the arrows,
let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, strength of women,
help our daughters through this fray,
soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
teach us all a kinder way.

She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking.

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps. She reached for him, and before he could make it past the door, her thin fingers curled around his wrist. Abruptly, the Hound stopped. His body was stiff as she gave him pause by donning first his stained and bloody white cloak, and then her own brown woolen one. She took his silence as acceptance and made to move past him, only to be halted by his huge hand on her shoulder. They stood there in silence for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke. “You’re sure about this, girl? Once you leave, there is no coming back. You’ll be at the mercy of myself and whatever comes our way.”

“I have been at the mercy of far worse since I set foot in King’s Landing,” she said with raised chin. Truthfully, she was more frightened now than she had ever been in her life, but Sansa knew that if she didn’t take this chance, it was likely another one would never come along. “I’m leaving with you. As you said, Ser---you can keep me safe.”

His brow knit, and he looked as if near reprimanding her for calling him ‘Ser’ again, but then decided against it. “Then come,” he said. “We haven’t much time.”

Chapter Text

Sansa

By the grace of the gods, the escape from King’s Landing was without conflict. Somewhere within the battle, the drawbridge out of Maegor’s Holdfast had been left unmanned, and the pair was able to flee without a trace. However, the fear of getting caught never left Sansa’s chest. It held tight to her, even as they rode past the Iron Gate on Stranger’s back and onto the Ruby Road. She could feel the Hound shaking with fear behind her, his heart pounding hard in his massive chest. There was no doubt in her mind that it had something to do with the wall of green flame behind them, but when her hand found his arm, she could feel the tension turn into something else. Something that made him push Stranger harder, faster, farther out of Cersei’s reach.

They had been on the road for a day already, and barely a word was spoken between them. Sansa didn’t particularly mind the silence, she just wished he would speak up, give her some hint that he did not regret bringing her on the road with him. Surely there was already a deserter’s bounty on his head, and if anyone found out that he had ‘stolen away’ the king’s plaything, he would be the most wanted man in Westeros.

She watched silently as he set up camp for the evening, sure that she could be out gathering firewood or foraging the bushes for a food source, but no. She had to stay where he could see her. “There’s no telling who could be out there looking for us,” he had said, “and I didn’t bring you out here to get us killed by a bunch of Lannister or Baratheon cunts.”

The question lingered long on her tongue as she contemplated his words. Of course he didn’t bring her out here to get killed---if the Hound wanted Sansa Stark dead, Sansa Stark would have been dead long before now. He had said ‘ I could keep you safe ’, but surely there was more to it than that. Perhaps he wanted ransom money? Yes, if they were going north toward Winterfell, that made the most sense. He would get her back to her family, but hold her just out of reach unless he was paid for her safe return. Of course… he could want something else from her. Something she was far from ready to give. The thought was sour in her mind, and she willed herself to push it away. Sandor Clegane would let no harm come to her, she was sure of it.

“Then why did you bring me out here?” she retorted suddenly.

His face twisted into a grimace, half-confused and half-frustrated, as he released the unfinished rabbit trap and turned to look at her. “What kind of bloody question is that?”

“An honest one. If you didn’t bring me out here to die, and you didn’t bring me out here to help you, then why did you do it?”

“I’ll tell you why I brought you out here, little bird.” His voice took on a dark tone as he moved toward her. Her breath hitched. He frightened her when he spoke like that, but she looked him in the eye and stood her ground. “I brought you out here so sick fucks like Joffrey and Cersei couldn’t use you as their toy anymore. I brought you out here because I knew that even if Stannis won the fight, I would be the only one in that godsforsaken city who cared to have you see your next nameday. I brought you out here to make sure you found your way back to the North, where you fucking belong.”

Sansa was unable to answer him. She felt ashamed of herself, for thinking that for even a moment he could be planning to use her, especially when he had never given her reason to believe so in the first place.

“Forgive me, Ser,” she said in a small voice. It was hard not to be wary of him; he was such a large man, and one of the best fighters in Westeros, and so very imposing.

“I’m no Ser, girl. How many times must I tell you that? And besides---what have I to forgive you for? You just asked a bloody question.” He huffed as he turned back to his work, grumbling something-or-other about having to start the trap over again.

Sansa wanted to speak. She wanted to say something about how brave he had been for rescuing her from the Red Keep, but she knew exactly how he would respond. ‘A dog doesn’t need bravery to bite the hand that feeds. Just one too many kicks, little bird’. She would nod and pretend to understand, but she would still fall asleep wondering why he had risked so much just to help her.

Waking up the next morning had done nothing to clear her conscience. She felt like a burden---unable to hunt, cook, pitch a tent, or clean a bedroll. She often washed their clothes, but they never dried properly, and the Hound often had to go about his day with a damp tunic clinging to his skin. Not that Sansa minded, per say---he had a body that wasn’t hard to look at. Eventually though, she always peeled her eyes away, most often when he became aware of her gaze.

“Teach me how to defend myself,” she said one evening, as they sat cooking fresh-caught fish over the fire.

His brow was knit as he looked up at her, and for a moment the girl was afraid he would laugh at such a silly request. Instead, he took a deep breath in and out, reached over into his pack, and pulled out a dagger. It was simple, but a beautiful thing, with a polished steel blade and a leather and mahogany grip. The fuller, she noticed, was inlaid with gold, and the pommel and crossguard were also gold. This was a weapon made from the forges of Casterly Rock, and the way he smirked as he held it out to her was confirmation. Sansa took it gingerly in her hands, marvelling at how perfectly it fit between her fingers. Her thumb stroked up and down the blade as she admired the luster of the metal. “This… this is beautiful,” she breathed.

“Aye, a beautiful weapon, and a deadly one, too,” he rasped, “and if you’re to learn to use it, you’ll need to be careful. Wouldn’t want the pretty little bird looking like this ugly old dog, now, would we?” He stood and reached out for her free hand to pull her from the ground.

You’re not ugly, she wanted to say, but refrained. It would only illicit a bark-like laugh from him. “I’ll be careful. I’ll only use it when need be, but not for my own sake, Ser. I would hate to sully such a beautiful weapon, even if it is of Lannister make.”

The Hound simply grunted his reply and turned round to take the fish off of the fire. “Whatever you need to say. I know I’d rather not return you to the Riverlands with a gash in your face.”

“The Riverlands?” Sansa asked as she bent to lay the dagger gingerly on her bedroll. “Why are we going to the Riverlands? Surely the safest place for either of us would be in the North.” Her brow furrowed as she moved closer to him, taking a bowl of fish from his hand with a small ‘thank you’.

He shook his head and moved to a felled tree to sit again. His voice was gruff in response, a dash of annoyance obvious as he spoke. “It’s is far safer for you than the North would be right now, little bird. With your mother and the young wolf gone, there’s prospective eyes watching Winterfell, waiting for the right moment to strike.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on his meagre supper. “Riverrun has the Blackfish and the rest of the Tully clan. They will be able to keep you safe.”

Sansa tiptoed around the fire and back to her bedroll as she pondered his words. “Why would I need them to keep me safe when I have you?” she asked, tilting her head down to look at him curiously. Her fingers picked delicately at the fish’s burnt flesh, and she popped a piece into her mouth. It was certainly no meal in the great hall, but it was better than the berries and roots they had been living off of for the last few days.

“Are you thick?” he began. “Or do you genuinely think that your great-uncle is going to let the fucking Lannister Dog stay in his castle simply because he returned a member of the family?” His tone put the girl off, and she glared at him with surprising ferocity.

“And why wouldn’t he? You saved me from King’s Landing. You’re bringing me back to him, when gods know any other man would simply… would simply have his way with me and---and tossed me aside or left me for dead.”

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t do the same?”

Sansa’s gaze was steely now, and she clenched her fists in her lap. Her eyes never tore away from his; instead, they remained locked into his grey ones with an unmatched tension. “Because you’ve had more than plenty of chances over the years and you’ve done nothing but protect me.”