Sansa looked around, blinking in the bright sunlight. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong and she couldn't figure out what. Looking around didn't seem to solve anything; she was in a field, along. Rocks rose up periodically, but there was nothing else. No trees, no people.
How did she get there? Sansa couldn't remember. Maybe she'd finally gone insane; it wouldn't surprise her, truly. It would be a small miracle if she came out of King's Landing at all, a far larger one if she stayed all there.
Noises broke through her thoughts; small, helpless noises. A boot stuck out from behind one of the rocks, and Sansa walked towards it slowly, quickly. Stepping over the foot gingerly revealed Sandor Clegane, bleeding from both his ear and somewhere on his abdomen; she couldn't make out where.
Sansa sucked in a gasp at the sight, causing him to turn and look at her. Surprise flashed on both of their faces.
"'Spose you're one of those fucking hallucinations then, little bird. Can't say I'm not glad to see you."
She knelt down next to him on the ground and looked at his ear, choking back her lunch. It was gone. Sansa couldn't bring herself to look at the other wound.
"I don't know how I'd be here, but I am. What happened, ser?"
He coughed a painful-sounding laugh. "I already told you, girl, I'm no fucking knight. Isn't it obvious? I got stabbed. Always knew it would end this way. Hoped it'd be my brother, at least."
"Who stabbed you? There's no one here but us."
Sansa looked around again, suddenly nervous that her statement was false. They were still alone, in a field filled with rocks and nothing else.
"I'll tell you who didn't stab me. That sister of yours." He wheezed out another cough. "Bitch wouldn't even kill me."
Sansa sat back on her heels, deciding that he was delusional. She might be too, actually, but at least they weren't alone and crazy. Small comforts.
"Ser, I-"
Sansa nearly fell forward; something struck her hard on the back of the head. Looking back up revealed nothing; Sandor was gone. Any proof that he'd been there was gone. She wasn't quite sure where there was, either. There were no rocks around; she was in the Red Keep.
A cursory glance revealed that she was in the throne room; she'd been in this before. Ser Maryn had torn her dress open, but Tyrion wasn't coming. Why wasn't he coming? He'd come last time; he'd saved her last time.
"Stop." A voice growled, and she closed her eyes. Sansa must have been shaking, or crying, or doing something wrong. A cloak settled over her shoulders like last time, but this time it was the Hound, Sandor, stopping the attacks on her.
Joffrey glared. "Step back, Dog. I'll do with her as I like. I'm the King!"
Sansa saw Sandor's lip curl. "Fuck the King."
There were gasps all around, and Sansa's own mouth was hanging open. He'd saved her. For no reason.
Sandor scooped her up, not even bothering to let her walk on her own, and strode outside of the room in long steps.
"Come along, little bird."
She furrowed her eyebrows and opened her mouth to ask a question, but suddenly she was back in her chambers in King's Landing, her handmaiden gently shaking her. It had all been a dream.