"Promises" Sandor/Sansa Fic
"Promises"
After Blackwater Battle Sandor and Sansa run across broken country and eventually the narrow sea.
Fandom: ASoIaF | Pairing: Sansa/Sandor | Spoilers: CoK
Rating: PG (violence)
Word Count: 37,000 total (parts 1-10)
Parts: 1 / 10
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3] [ Part 4] [ Part 5] [ Part 6] [ Part 7] [ Part 8] [ Part 9] [ Part 10]
Spoiler Warning: through CoK
The color was seeping back into the world and still she hadn't stopped shaking. There was still blood on her dress and she could smell the sweat seeping off every inch of her clammy skin. She hadn't noticed she was shaking until he'd stopped the steed, tossing his cloak at her as he stumbled off the massive horse, barely conscious enough to lift her down and tie the wild-eyed beast to a tree before he collapsed against the trunk and into unconsciousness.
And then it was just her, alone with the darkness, the sounds of night clustering even closer amongst the specters of trees, and the wretched regret gripping so hard to her stomach she could hardly breathe.
But now it was getting light and she knew she would have to summon the courage to move, speak, do something. He was still here: he had collapsed- she knew it must have been only hours ago but it felt as if she had been sitting there for days holding that cloak around her shoulders against the cold and staring glassy-eyed at the blood on his armor.
Was it the wounds that had caused him to be so still? Shouldn't she help him- get up, move close and make sure he was even alive? But she couldn't stop shaking and her guts were cinched tighter than any stitching, not to mention that deep inside she was screaming at him with every ounce of fury she'd pushed into a depths all these long months.
What could he possibly have been thinking? The bitter truth was it was her own self to blame- he had been about to go, to run and leave her alone with all of them, those people who either didn't see her at all or looked too hard. She had called out to him, and her stomach turned anew at the thought of it: she had called out to him! And now here she was, shaking and sweating on the floor of the forest. In all rights she shouldn't even be able to look at him after what had happened at the gate… the way he'd laughed and the color of all that blood turned black and ivy in the creeping fire of the night- but she couldn't look away.
Was he dying? Was he dead? He couldn't be- his wounds weren't that severe, in fact they had hardly seemed scratches at the time and now that the light was growing she could see that there wasn't nearly as much blood as she had first thought. And then she realized: drunk! He was drunk- that's all, drunk and exhausted and he fell asleep! The sudden anger of it brought her to her feet and she tried to convince herself that it was the blood returning to her limbs and not relief that made her twisted stomach loosen.
She stood, stumbling slightly at first on her numb knees but making them work all the same. Stepping closer to him, she heard his heavy grumbled breath as he snored into his chest. At least his hair covered his burns with his head like that - it made her just brave enough.
Her hand began to reach out but she caught it back this time, remembering how it had disobeyed her the night before and all the harm that had caused.
She hesitated for a moment, not knowing quite what to say, "My… my lord?" She tried, her voice still quaking slightly despite herself.
He didn't stir.
"My lord?" She tried again, her tone gaining strength.
He grumbled this time and rolled slightly into himself as he licked his lips, making her feel stupidly invasive even though it was he who had slept amongst her bedding just the night before. And that thought was all it took for the ire to surge once more.
She grabbed his shoulder and shook him as hard as she could; "Sandor!"
His body lurched and then he was staring at her: his pale grey eyes were wide with shock at first and then, to her horror, they seemed to fill with fear.
"Seven fucking hells!" He swore as he lurched to his feet and she scrambled backwards to get out of the way of his bulk.
He stumbled and for a terrifying instant she let out a small cry as she thought he would fall on her but he caught himself- standing but bent with one hand on his knee to steady himself and the other on his forehead. Sandor let out a staggered groan that transformed into a deep growl and then he was upright again, his eyes blazing with such an intense fury that she almost fell as she stumbled backwards clutching the cloak around her.
"What…" He couldn't seem to make his mouth follow his mind as he stared around them, clutching his head with that horrible fearful rage in his eyes that finally rested on her, "Why are you here? I- I can't… I thought it was the that fucking dream again- I thought..."
His voice trailed and the heavy silence cut only by his ragged breath was almost more frightening.
Finally she managed to find her own voice, and hated herself moments after for how stupid and simple she sounded: "We ran."
He stared at her, long a hard, as if trying to understand how something like this could have possibly come to be and she felt herself start to shake all over again. He doesn't remember. He didn't mean to take me. He was drunk, and he's forgotten, and I've been such a fool.
"I'm going to be fucking sick." He swore as he buckled over once again.
"It's getting light!" She stammered out.
"I can damn well see that!"
"I just- I just thought it would be time to go." She managed, trying to say something that made sense.
"You're right." He said, pulling a heavy hand still brown with blood across his mouth, "If we leave now- we might get back before anyone notices you've gone."
"Get back, but--!"
"What else do you want from me!" He suddenly roared at her and she fell back into silence, trying to stop her treacherous eyes from watering.
He started to stumble towards the great black horse still waiting where it was left, "I don't know what I did- I'd had to much wine, the battle was…" His large hands tightened and stilled on the bridle. He seemed not to be able to look at her, "I don't know what I must have done, Little Bird. I'll get you back- I won't let him hurt you for this, I can promise that at least. I'll tell him I stole you--"
"You didn't steal me." She burst out.
He looked at her then, peering over his shoulder in mute confusion.
He doesn't know, you silly fool, he doesn't even remember.
"You asked me to go…" Sansa said, "You told me you'd keep me safe. You told me you'd kill anyone who tried to hurt me… and I went with you."
He was quiet for a moment and finally turned back to his horse muttering, "Then you're as simple as they all think."
"What?" She almost shouted despite herself.
He spun to face her, striding at her with a maelstrom of emotions ripping through his visage and his mouth twitching like her father's legs when the axe fell: "You're a damned, simple, stupid bird!"
"What do you think a dog can do for a little lark caught in a cage?" He said, "Do you think a fucking hound can protect you from a pack of lions!? They'll come- all of them, and when they find you, no matter how many I kill there will be more, and when they drag you tethered back to him- with those grinning little bastard eyes of his he won't stop until-- until-- WILL YOU TAKE THAT BLOODY RAG OFF!" He finally roared as he reached out and ripped his cloak from her shoulders but she was clutching it to herself so fiercely and his pull was so violent that she started to fall.
He cursed as she cried out and felt her knees bite into the dirt before his heavy arms caught her under her own. As she tumbled against his chest she felt- only for a moment- how hard he was shaking.
She sat on the earth, still chilled from night's breath, feeling numb as he turned back to the horses, letting the profanities pour under his breath.
"Come along." He finally muttered, she could tell he was still fuming but felt oddly comforted by how gentle he tried to keep his voice.
Sansa made herself look him in the eyes, "We can't go back."
"Don't be a fool girl." Clegane spat at her, "This isn't one of your fucking songs- don't you see how it will end for you? I can't save you, no matter how much…" His voice trailed off into a growl and he turned back to the saddle.
"No…" She began again, using all her strength to make her voice loud enough for him to hear, "We can't go back."
"Seven-bloody-hells girl, I won't explain it to you again, there's--"
She suddenly burst: "You killed them!"
Sandor stilled.
"You killed the men at the gate, they recognized you, and…"
His stare bored into her, "…And?"
"Ser Boros- you killed Ser Boros."
-----------------------
How long had they been riding? Days? Weeks?
She'd tried to keep track at first but then it had all started to drip and blend, bound together by the feeling of Sandor's mail pressing into her back rhythmically with Stranger's steps and his arms stiff as a statue on either side of her.
He hadn't so much as looked at her since that first morning- when he'd buried his armor and her dress in the grove he'd woken in. She'd felt such a fool for not bringing more to wear even though he was the one who had locked her small wrist in his grasp of iron and dragged her to the stables once she had said she would go with him.
The two horses would have been noticeable, she remembered thinking that horrible night when the sky danced green, as he'd pulled her up behind him and told her to stay under his cloak. It was even more frightening now to remember just how drunk he must have been as they made their way to the Old Gate. There was hardly anyone there- everyone seemed to be scrambling towards some chaos at the other side of the city and she had thought for a moment that they would be lucky- just slip by while no one was watching, but then that empty voice echoed through the air like a bell tolling: "Clegane!"
Stranger's pace had quickened and she had felt her arms pull her body against his back, making herself as small as possible. She knew the voice, it was the one that hadn't sounded in protest when her wretched prince had commanded her endless pain and shame, a voice belonging to a man she couldn't look at without seeing the silk of her dress pour from her limbs like water.
Sansa had pressed herself against Sandor's back and when she held him that tight she could hear his heart thudding, through the mail and steel, through the screams and snapping of flames. She clung to that sound, screwing her eyes shut and trying to ignore everything else in the world but the steady drumming of his strength.
"Where in the name of the seven have you been? We watched the imp leading your men! His grace has been asking for you for hours!"
"The queen asked me to check the gate." Sandor grumbled.
Keep moving, she begged whomever was left to watch over her, please, just let us keep moving.
Boros' gauntlet landed heavily on Stranger's bridle. The horse spun and thrashed at him with a fury. Sandor tried to steady him but it was too late, the cape lashed to one side and Sansa turned her face hard against The Hound's back out of the light of Boros' torch.
The knight snorted, "Queen asked you my arse- I suppose you don't need to spill blood to want a woman. You sure she wouldn't rather spend her night under someone who actually defended this bloody city."
She could feel him reaching out towards her but suddenly steel sang and Sandor's sword was free. Sansa spun in shock to see Boros' piggish eyes widen at the sight of her face and only after look to Sandor's blade under his throat as his thin mouth curled into a smirk.
"Didn't get enough of a look in the courtyard, eh dog?" The knight oozed as his hand slid to his own hilt. Sansa could hear Sandor's teeth tighten against each other.
"Perhaps if I had pulled a little harder we might have had a peek at her cunt as well as those ti--"
Sandor swung and Boros hardly had enough time to prevent the broadsword from caving his face in from his cheekbone to the crown of his bald head.
Sansa couldn't believe the standing knight's sword was still whole. She held on as tightly as she could and perhaps for the first time in her life truly realized just how strong The Hound was. She could feel each muscle tighten and extend under her and when he swung again it was all she could do to keep herself on the steed.
But Boros knew it was coming this time and managed to step aside and slice out himself, catching Sandor across his shoulder. The Hound didn't even seem to notice as he cut back. The knight parried as best he could, stepped to one side, and let his blade slide along Sandor's leg where his greaves separated.
Sandor gasped out and Sansa felt his body slacken as Boros raised for another swing. Without thinking she hit Stranger's flank as hard as she could and the horse let out a scream as he kicked, hitting Boros' calf with a sickening crack.
The knight's face went as pale as his cloak as he fell.
Sandor took a moment to stare into his face and smiled as Sansa watched with what she might have felt was vicarious joy were it not for the sickness clinging to her stomach. The broad sword caught Boros just above his jaw and went halfway through his skull before Sandor pulled it back. The bones of his face were peaking through like bread under too much jam and she tried not to be sick as Stranger spun, riding down the three foolish men who were trying to close the gate.
"We'll stop here." His voice suddenly sounded and the rumble of it's depth against her back brought her back to the present.
"Stop?" She asked stupidly, "I- mean, I thought-"
"Do you want to eat or not?" He snapped.
The ache in her stomach had become almost acceptable in these past days- weeks, however long it had been.
She'd been rocked to sleep through sheer exhaustion and the gentle slip of the saddle under her, sometimes even the slowing of The Hound's heavy breath against her chest which told her he too had fallen victim too exhaustion was just too rhythmic to defend against and her heavy eyes would slip into a dreamless dark.
She was sore, and she was hungry, but she was here and that was her choice and for some reason it felt wrong to indulge even her own perception of suffering when she knew it was all her own doing. But she must eat, she knew that, and walk the stiffness from her legs so she simply nodded, avoiding the sensation that the sound of her voice seemed to annoy him viciously, even though he had asked her for a song.
"This farm's as good a place as any." He muttered as he pulled himself down from Stranger's back. He staggered slightly when he landed and she realized he must be even more sore than she, after all she could simply drift while he guided them… where? Somehow she couldn't bring herself to ask.
He reached up and gripped her waist to pull her down. Sansa felt her body tighten under his hands and she reprimanded herself internally for being so foolish, after all they had been riding just as close together for so long now.
He didn't even want to take you… you made him do it.
Her feet didn't want to support her weight but she made them- determined to be at least that strong. When she looked up she saw that he was watching and for a moment, she thought she saw him smile.
The farm was deserted- of course. She hadn't seen so much as a horse since they had left King's Landing. They were in the wood most of the time, and only stopped at an abandoned house to take what was left in the pantry, a rough spun dress for her, and a more plain cloak to hide Sandor's face.
This place didn't seem any better than the last. The house was burnt and the barns and stables seemed eerily still. It was always strange to see places once so full of sounds now so silent- it made her feel like an intruder even though she was sure any spirits remaining felt little peace.
"Lions…" She heard herself mumble.
Sandor scoffed beside her, "Wolves leave a carcass just a bare, Little Bird. Fish too for that matter- it's war, plain and simple. That's all."
She felt herself shudder- Robb would never do this, nor her uncle or grandfather and never her mother. They were good. She knew that. It was one of the last things she knew.
"It's awful." Was all she said.
Sandor snorted again and for a moment she was sure he would laugh at her but he didn't.
"It's not safe here by the road. I can hear a stream just past those trees, here-"
He pulled a sheathed dagger from his belt and threw it to her. She caught it- barely.
"You wait for me there. I'll see if there's a root cellar no one bothered to check and maybe if we're lucky some flea-ridden bed rolls. We'll sleep in that wood tonight. My horse needs the rest."
"I-…" She trailed.
"What?" He snapped.
She felt the blood seeping into her cheeks and hated herself for it, "I'd rather stay here with you."
He seemed as if he might yell at her but instead he simply grabbed her arm and started to walk her towards the wood with heavy but quiet steps.
There was a brook, and even a pool. In truth it was rather a lovely place and once he saw her there and could see that she was assured there was no immediate danger he let her arm go.
"You can always scream," He scoffed, "Birds can scream as loud as anything else, and I'll be close enough to here a fucking whistle. It might take me some time to find the cellar, but not until dark, so don't come dancing out of this cover to look for me before then."
She nodded, still rather uncomfortable at the idea of him leaving but not wanting to be any further trouble- she hated the way his mouth twitched when she annoyed him. The sound of his footsteps leaving soothed her and when she heard to distant sound of Stranger whinnying at his return she felt that he was indeed close enough for her to feel safe enough.
The water seemed so still in the wood, just as everything else there, as if it was too frightened to move freely after all the horror it had seen.
Her own legs clung to stiffness and she stretched them as she walked to the bank. As soon as she was that close to the water she knew she had to feel it and tugged off her shoes, gasping as her toes moved for what felt like the first time in a week.
The water was clear and warmer than she would have thought but just cold enough to feel cleansing.
It reminded her of a pool she had known in the wood just outside of Winterfell's walls. She and Jeyne had wandered by it when they were still just children and the Septa had been allowed on the warmest of days to escort them out to seek cooler waters that those inside the castle. They'd skipped stones and splashed each other with squeals of indulgent mischief. For a moment she could almost hear the sound of Jeyne's laugher echoing through those woods and see her own young smile reflected back at her in the water. But it was hardly a memory. Jeyne was gone, and in many ways, so was Sansa.
She dipped the tips of her fingers into the surface and suddenly realized how filthy she was. It had been weeks since she had bathed and she couldn't tell the difference between her smell and Sandor's or for that matter Stranger's.
She pulled down her hood and let the auburn waves trickle down, holding some in front of her to inspect. They were almost brown and she wrinkled her nose. Since they had escaped she'd been so full of thoughts of guilt and confusion that she'd hardly even thought about her appearance. Well, that was the end of that- if she had learned anything it was that without her grace she had nothing. She had made her choice. It was time to live with it.
Sansa righted herself and gazed across the stream, looking for a place she could cleanse the stench of travel from her body.
Next Part >
After Blackwater Battle Sandor and Sansa run across broken country and eventually the narrow sea.
Fandom: ASoIaF | Pairing: Sansa/Sandor | Spoilers: CoK
Rating: PG (violence)
Word Count: 37,000 total (parts 1-10)
Parts: 1 / 10
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3] [ Part 4] [ Part 5] [ Part 6] [ Part 7] [ Part 8] [ Part 9] [ Part 10]
Spoiler Warning: through CoK
The color was seeping back into the world and still she hadn't stopped shaking. There was still blood on her dress and she could smell the sweat seeping off every inch of her clammy skin. She hadn't noticed she was shaking until he'd stopped the steed, tossing his cloak at her as he stumbled off the massive horse, barely conscious enough to lift her down and tie the wild-eyed beast to a tree before he collapsed against the trunk and into unconsciousness.
And then it was just her, alone with the darkness, the sounds of night clustering even closer amongst the specters of trees, and the wretched regret gripping so hard to her stomach she could hardly breathe.
But now it was getting light and she knew she would have to summon the courage to move, speak, do something. He was still here: he had collapsed- she knew it must have been only hours ago but it felt as if she had been sitting there for days holding that cloak around her shoulders against the cold and staring glassy-eyed at the blood on his armor.
Was it the wounds that had caused him to be so still? Shouldn't she help him- get up, move close and make sure he was even alive? But she couldn't stop shaking and her guts were cinched tighter than any stitching, not to mention that deep inside she was screaming at him with every ounce of fury she'd pushed into a depths all these long months.
What could he possibly have been thinking? The bitter truth was it was her own self to blame- he had been about to go, to run and leave her alone with all of them, those people who either didn't see her at all or looked too hard. She had called out to him, and her stomach turned anew at the thought of it: she had called out to him! And now here she was, shaking and sweating on the floor of the forest. In all rights she shouldn't even be able to look at him after what had happened at the gate… the way he'd laughed and the color of all that blood turned black and ivy in the creeping fire of the night- but she couldn't look away.
Was he dying? Was he dead? He couldn't be- his wounds weren't that severe, in fact they had hardly seemed scratches at the time and now that the light was growing she could see that there wasn't nearly as much blood as she had first thought. And then she realized: drunk! He was drunk- that's all, drunk and exhausted and he fell asleep! The sudden anger of it brought her to her feet and she tried to convince herself that it was the blood returning to her limbs and not relief that made her twisted stomach loosen.
She stood, stumbling slightly at first on her numb knees but making them work all the same. Stepping closer to him, she heard his heavy grumbled breath as he snored into his chest. At least his hair covered his burns with his head like that - it made her just brave enough.
Her hand began to reach out but she caught it back this time, remembering how it had disobeyed her the night before and all the harm that had caused.
She hesitated for a moment, not knowing quite what to say, "My… my lord?" She tried, her voice still quaking slightly despite herself.
He didn't stir.
"My lord?" She tried again, her tone gaining strength.
He grumbled this time and rolled slightly into himself as he licked his lips, making her feel stupidly invasive even though it was he who had slept amongst her bedding just the night before. And that thought was all it took for the ire to surge once more.
She grabbed his shoulder and shook him as hard as she could; "Sandor!"
His body lurched and then he was staring at her: his pale grey eyes were wide with shock at first and then, to her horror, they seemed to fill with fear.
"Seven fucking hells!" He swore as he lurched to his feet and she scrambled backwards to get out of the way of his bulk.
He stumbled and for a terrifying instant she let out a small cry as she thought he would fall on her but he caught himself- standing but bent with one hand on his knee to steady himself and the other on his forehead. Sandor let out a staggered groan that transformed into a deep growl and then he was upright again, his eyes blazing with such an intense fury that she almost fell as she stumbled backwards clutching the cloak around her.
"What…" He couldn't seem to make his mouth follow his mind as he stared around them, clutching his head with that horrible fearful rage in his eyes that finally rested on her, "Why are you here? I- I can't… I thought it was the that fucking dream again- I thought..."
His voice trailed and the heavy silence cut only by his ragged breath was almost more frightening.
Finally she managed to find her own voice, and hated herself moments after for how stupid and simple she sounded: "We ran."
He stared at her, long a hard, as if trying to understand how something like this could have possibly come to be and she felt herself start to shake all over again. He doesn't remember. He didn't mean to take me. He was drunk, and he's forgotten, and I've been such a fool.
"I'm going to be fucking sick." He swore as he buckled over once again.
"It's getting light!" She stammered out.
"I can damn well see that!"
"I just- I just thought it would be time to go." She managed, trying to say something that made sense.
"You're right." He said, pulling a heavy hand still brown with blood across his mouth, "If we leave now- we might get back before anyone notices you've gone."
"Get back, but--!"
"What else do you want from me!" He suddenly roared at her and she fell back into silence, trying to stop her treacherous eyes from watering.
He started to stumble towards the great black horse still waiting where it was left, "I don't know what I did- I'd had to much wine, the battle was…" His large hands tightened and stilled on the bridle. He seemed not to be able to look at her, "I don't know what I must have done, Little Bird. I'll get you back- I won't let him hurt you for this, I can promise that at least. I'll tell him I stole you--"
"You didn't steal me." She burst out.
He looked at her then, peering over his shoulder in mute confusion.
He doesn't know, you silly fool, he doesn't even remember.
"You asked me to go…" Sansa said, "You told me you'd keep me safe. You told me you'd kill anyone who tried to hurt me… and I went with you."
He was quiet for a moment and finally turned back to his horse muttering, "Then you're as simple as they all think."
"What?" She almost shouted despite herself.
He spun to face her, striding at her with a maelstrom of emotions ripping through his visage and his mouth twitching like her father's legs when the axe fell: "You're a damned, simple, stupid bird!"
"What do you think a dog can do for a little lark caught in a cage?" He said, "Do you think a fucking hound can protect you from a pack of lions!? They'll come- all of them, and when they find you, no matter how many I kill there will be more, and when they drag you tethered back to him- with those grinning little bastard eyes of his he won't stop until-- until-- WILL YOU TAKE THAT BLOODY RAG OFF!" He finally roared as he reached out and ripped his cloak from her shoulders but she was clutching it to herself so fiercely and his pull was so violent that she started to fall.
He cursed as she cried out and felt her knees bite into the dirt before his heavy arms caught her under her own. As she tumbled against his chest she felt- only for a moment- how hard he was shaking.
She sat on the earth, still chilled from night's breath, feeling numb as he turned back to the horses, letting the profanities pour under his breath.
"Come along." He finally muttered, she could tell he was still fuming but felt oddly comforted by how gentle he tried to keep his voice.
Sansa made herself look him in the eyes, "We can't go back."
"Don't be a fool girl." Clegane spat at her, "This isn't one of your fucking songs- don't you see how it will end for you? I can't save you, no matter how much…" His voice trailed off into a growl and he turned back to the saddle.
"No…" She began again, using all her strength to make her voice loud enough for him to hear, "We can't go back."
"Seven-bloody-hells girl, I won't explain it to you again, there's--"
She suddenly burst: "You killed them!"
Sandor stilled.
"You killed the men at the gate, they recognized you, and…"
His stare bored into her, "…And?"
"Ser Boros- you killed Ser Boros."
-----------------------
How long had they been riding? Days? Weeks?
She'd tried to keep track at first but then it had all started to drip and blend, bound together by the feeling of Sandor's mail pressing into her back rhythmically with Stranger's steps and his arms stiff as a statue on either side of her.
He hadn't so much as looked at her since that first morning- when he'd buried his armor and her dress in the grove he'd woken in. She'd felt such a fool for not bringing more to wear even though he was the one who had locked her small wrist in his grasp of iron and dragged her to the stables once she had said she would go with him.
The two horses would have been noticeable, she remembered thinking that horrible night when the sky danced green, as he'd pulled her up behind him and told her to stay under his cloak. It was even more frightening now to remember just how drunk he must have been as they made their way to the Old Gate. There was hardly anyone there- everyone seemed to be scrambling towards some chaos at the other side of the city and she had thought for a moment that they would be lucky- just slip by while no one was watching, but then that empty voice echoed through the air like a bell tolling: "Clegane!"
Stranger's pace had quickened and she had felt her arms pull her body against his back, making herself as small as possible. She knew the voice, it was the one that hadn't sounded in protest when her wretched prince had commanded her endless pain and shame, a voice belonging to a man she couldn't look at without seeing the silk of her dress pour from her limbs like water.
Sansa had pressed herself against Sandor's back and when she held him that tight she could hear his heart thudding, through the mail and steel, through the screams and snapping of flames. She clung to that sound, screwing her eyes shut and trying to ignore everything else in the world but the steady drumming of his strength.
"Where in the name of the seven have you been? We watched the imp leading your men! His grace has been asking for you for hours!"
"The queen asked me to check the gate." Sandor grumbled.
Keep moving, she begged whomever was left to watch over her, please, just let us keep moving.
Boros' gauntlet landed heavily on Stranger's bridle. The horse spun and thrashed at him with a fury. Sandor tried to steady him but it was too late, the cape lashed to one side and Sansa turned her face hard against The Hound's back out of the light of Boros' torch.
The knight snorted, "Queen asked you my arse- I suppose you don't need to spill blood to want a woman. You sure she wouldn't rather spend her night under someone who actually defended this bloody city."
She could feel him reaching out towards her but suddenly steel sang and Sandor's sword was free. Sansa spun in shock to see Boros' piggish eyes widen at the sight of her face and only after look to Sandor's blade under his throat as his thin mouth curled into a smirk.
"Didn't get enough of a look in the courtyard, eh dog?" The knight oozed as his hand slid to his own hilt. Sansa could hear Sandor's teeth tighten against each other.
"Perhaps if I had pulled a little harder we might have had a peek at her cunt as well as those ti--"
Sandor swung and Boros hardly had enough time to prevent the broadsword from caving his face in from his cheekbone to the crown of his bald head.
Sansa couldn't believe the standing knight's sword was still whole. She held on as tightly as she could and perhaps for the first time in her life truly realized just how strong The Hound was. She could feel each muscle tighten and extend under her and when he swung again it was all she could do to keep herself on the steed.
But Boros knew it was coming this time and managed to step aside and slice out himself, catching Sandor across his shoulder. The Hound didn't even seem to notice as he cut back. The knight parried as best he could, stepped to one side, and let his blade slide along Sandor's leg where his greaves separated.
Sandor gasped out and Sansa felt his body slacken as Boros raised for another swing. Without thinking she hit Stranger's flank as hard as she could and the horse let out a scream as he kicked, hitting Boros' calf with a sickening crack.
The knight's face went as pale as his cloak as he fell.
Sandor took a moment to stare into his face and smiled as Sansa watched with what she might have felt was vicarious joy were it not for the sickness clinging to her stomach. The broad sword caught Boros just above his jaw and went halfway through his skull before Sandor pulled it back. The bones of his face were peaking through like bread under too much jam and she tried not to be sick as Stranger spun, riding down the three foolish men who were trying to close the gate.
"We'll stop here." His voice suddenly sounded and the rumble of it's depth against her back brought her back to the present.
"Stop?" She asked stupidly, "I- mean, I thought-"
"Do you want to eat or not?" He snapped.
The ache in her stomach had become almost acceptable in these past days- weeks, however long it had been.
She'd been rocked to sleep through sheer exhaustion and the gentle slip of the saddle under her, sometimes even the slowing of The Hound's heavy breath against her chest which told her he too had fallen victim too exhaustion was just too rhythmic to defend against and her heavy eyes would slip into a dreamless dark.
She was sore, and she was hungry, but she was here and that was her choice and for some reason it felt wrong to indulge even her own perception of suffering when she knew it was all her own doing. But she must eat, she knew that, and walk the stiffness from her legs so she simply nodded, avoiding the sensation that the sound of her voice seemed to annoy him viciously, even though he had asked her for a song.
"This farm's as good a place as any." He muttered as he pulled himself down from Stranger's back. He staggered slightly when he landed and she realized he must be even more sore than she, after all she could simply drift while he guided them… where? Somehow she couldn't bring herself to ask.
He reached up and gripped her waist to pull her down. Sansa felt her body tighten under his hands and she reprimanded herself internally for being so foolish, after all they had been riding just as close together for so long now.
He didn't even want to take you… you made him do it.
Her feet didn't want to support her weight but she made them- determined to be at least that strong. When she looked up she saw that he was watching and for a moment, she thought she saw him smile.
The farm was deserted- of course. She hadn't seen so much as a horse since they had left King's Landing. They were in the wood most of the time, and only stopped at an abandoned house to take what was left in the pantry, a rough spun dress for her, and a more plain cloak to hide Sandor's face.
This place didn't seem any better than the last. The house was burnt and the barns and stables seemed eerily still. It was always strange to see places once so full of sounds now so silent- it made her feel like an intruder even though she was sure any spirits remaining felt little peace.
"Lions…" She heard herself mumble.
Sandor scoffed beside her, "Wolves leave a carcass just a bare, Little Bird. Fish too for that matter- it's war, plain and simple. That's all."
She felt herself shudder- Robb would never do this, nor her uncle or grandfather and never her mother. They were good. She knew that. It was one of the last things she knew.
"It's awful." Was all she said.
Sandor snorted again and for a moment she was sure he would laugh at her but he didn't.
"It's not safe here by the road. I can hear a stream just past those trees, here-"
He pulled a sheathed dagger from his belt and threw it to her. She caught it- barely.
"You wait for me there. I'll see if there's a root cellar no one bothered to check and maybe if we're lucky some flea-ridden bed rolls. We'll sleep in that wood tonight. My horse needs the rest."
"I-…" She trailed.
"What?" He snapped.
She felt the blood seeping into her cheeks and hated herself for it, "I'd rather stay here with you."
He seemed as if he might yell at her but instead he simply grabbed her arm and started to walk her towards the wood with heavy but quiet steps.
There was a brook, and even a pool. In truth it was rather a lovely place and once he saw her there and could see that she was assured there was no immediate danger he let her arm go.
"You can always scream," He scoffed, "Birds can scream as loud as anything else, and I'll be close enough to here a fucking whistle. It might take me some time to find the cellar, but not until dark, so don't come dancing out of this cover to look for me before then."
She nodded, still rather uncomfortable at the idea of him leaving but not wanting to be any further trouble- she hated the way his mouth twitched when she annoyed him. The sound of his footsteps leaving soothed her and when she heard to distant sound of Stranger whinnying at his return she felt that he was indeed close enough for her to feel safe enough.
The water seemed so still in the wood, just as everything else there, as if it was too frightened to move freely after all the horror it had seen.
Her own legs clung to stiffness and she stretched them as she walked to the bank. As soon as she was that close to the water she knew she had to feel it and tugged off her shoes, gasping as her toes moved for what felt like the first time in a week.
The water was clear and warmer than she would have thought but just cold enough to feel cleansing.
It reminded her of a pool she had known in the wood just outside of Winterfell's walls. She and Jeyne had wandered by it when they were still just children and the Septa had been allowed on the warmest of days to escort them out to seek cooler waters that those inside the castle. They'd skipped stones and splashed each other with squeals of indulgent mischief. For a moment she could almost hear the sound of Jeyne's laugher echoing through those woods and see her own young smile reflected back at her in the water. But it was hardly a memory. Jeyne was gone, and in many ways, so was Sansa.
She dipped the tips of her fingers into the surface and suddenly realized how filthy she was. It had been weeks since she had bathed and she couldn't tell the difference between her smell and Sandor's or for that matter Stranger's.
She pulled down her hood and let the auburn waves trickle down, holding some in front of her to inspect. They were almost brown and she wrinkled her nose. Since they had escaped she'd been so full of thoughts of guilt and confusion that she'd hardly even thought about her appearance. Well, that was the end of that- if she had learned anything it was that without her grace she had nothing. She had made her choice. It was time to live with it.
Sansa righted herself and gazed across the stream, looking for a place she could cleanse the stench of travel from her body.
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