***All charachters and situations in Game of Thrones were the ingenious inventions of George R. and adapted by the writers of the HBO series, and I am thankful for them all. My interpretation is a reflection of what I and thousands of other fans wished happened.***
Sandor grew dizzied with the roaring blaze around him. The feelings of helplessness started to creep in upon him and close him in from all sides. With the sky alight in red and green hues, the smell of burning flesh wafted toward him, triggering the sickening response that he soon felt himself smelling his own. Searing pain reanimated his face, and all the strength and resolve in him melted away. His bludgeoned resolve took refuge within him, and his heart and courage cringed like a quivering and abused mutt, shaking in a corner fearing the heel of his cruel master's boot and spur. His own childhood screams filled his head and resonated through the screams of the men being tortured on Blackwater Bay. He knew in his heart that he should have been on no side at all, except of course, by the side of the Little Bird. In his exhausted stupor of wine and shrinking courage, he only thought of the valiance he had centered on her. He would find refuge in leaving this place, where he once was so fearless. He would have been cut down if not for Braunn, and could not bear the shame he would have to face in thanking him for saving his life. All that fucking fire…the crimson flames that illuminated the Red Keep, so fittingly named, would not keep him hostage. He denounced his king to the Hand, and his resolve rebuilt itself in him. He was sure that this was the end for him at King's Landing, and maybe even Westeros. He did not know. But he was sure of one thing. Something of valor was to result in all of this; he went to the place where he belonged, to the one who really needed to be saved. He would break the bird out of her cage and set her free.
His new cause renewed his strength and courage, and he ascended upon the back passage he always used as access to her chamber. Only one guard stood between him and her safety, and his blood would stain the way. There would be no obstacle to hinder his cause, and the disgust at the only one guard was posted to protect her was a direct reflection of how her captors never knew the value of their prize. The rage in him moved his sword through his throat and let the curdling gush silence the sentry. As he approached the door the wine swept through him, warming him as a wave that came from his gut into his head. A vision of Sansa smiling broadly at him was encompassing his thoughts. As he placed his hand on the chamber door he shook himself from the dream.
Little Birds don't welcome dogs when they are stolen away in their jaws. She fucking hates me. Can't even stand to see my bloody face. I could just crush her between these jaws and not a soul would fucking care. Stupid Little Bird.
As he entered the room, it was dark and still. No sign of the treasure he was to steal away. I should just leave her here and leave King's Landing. But he couldn't just leave her there. Not in the hands of Joffrey her beloved. He began to think of all the times he intervened when she had just had too much, and all of the times he did not. This was his true shame. His heart wrenched every time she was hurt, and although his face never showed it, he felt for her. Every strike she endured made his heart beat faster and his blood boil hotter. She never cringed to her fate, but willingly responded to the call of her abuser…to her master's heel and spur. So….loyal. The thought made him move to the corner of the room.
The fucking Starks and their loyalty…at the master's beckon call like….beaten dogs.
He thought of himself. So loyal to a point where it hurt. He remembered what he said to her about the sweetness of killing. To be in total control of their last moments. To watch them expire before his eyes. A pleasure that did not discriminate. The fierce and the cowardly, both rich and poor. Satiated with his memories of what gave him the most evil joy, he was himself again. Cold, cruel and strong. A killer, master of his craft. He felt as though he could use his sword again. He may have the opportunity and very soon. What he was about to do would require such delicious bloodshed as her protection and safety were his only cares. All he need do was wait.
The chamber door frantically moved. He keenly watched with his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to behead the thief who came to pilfer the chamber. Sansa burst into the room, exasperated. She slammed and bolted the door behind her, and was strangely reminiscent of the day that the City Watch betrayed her father. She then frantically remembered the terror of the Hound, as he appeared as a looming obstacle between her and the false safety of her chamber. She pounded the door with her soft palm and laid her forehead on it in the frustration of conflicted feelings, not knowing if she had locked her fate instead of finding security. Even as angry and fearful as she was, there was no insult to the heavy wooden door. Her hand seemed to pad on it despite the force she tried to push upon its surface. A picture of the Hound came to her mind. She felt vulnerable and alone. She needed him now, and realized she had come a long way from the way she found him do detestable.
He seemed so treacherous then….
A movement shifted behind her. Her ears strained to attention as fear swelled within her. Her scalp tightened as that fear gripped her spine. Next, her nose caught the musky odor of male essence intertwined with sweaty exuberance and the stench of wine.
A drunken assassin here to rip me apart. Who will save me this time?
She spun around fast as soon as her senses cleared in an attempt to protect herself in any way she could. But to her shock and almost relief, there stood the Hound. He was as fierce as usual, a terrible and looming obstacle, one that she could not avoid. But then she looked into his eyes and saw something that looked less fierce than the rest of him. When her curiosity moved her out of place, the Hound sensed her softness and immediately wanted to bash it away. He was reveling in his glory as a fearsome killer, and that was how he always wanted her to see him. The thought of claiming her made him fight a battle of his own, and he was sure to convince her that the only safe place there would ever be was by his side. He pulled his knife from his side sheath and moved toward her in a menacingly silent stride and gently pressed it against her throat. The closeness of him overwhelmed Sansa. She could smell the wine in which his mind was swimming. The warm steel, soaked by the heat of the flames at the Mud Gate unflinchingly graced the front of her neck. She trembled beneath its kiss, but somehow she was not yet afraid.
"Do you want to die here tonight girl?"
The gruffness of his voice was deep and low. Her mind was in a whirlwind. She thought of all of the times he offered intervention. How could he do this after he saved me? I thought he was the only one…The only-
"Answer me girl!"
The thunder in his voice shook her from within. She could feel the tension spread throughout the entire room. She felt completely betrayed. She shook terribly, like a leaf about to fall from a branch in Autumn's wind, trying to cling on to the place it called home. He was her only home, her only safety, and she was at his cruel mercy.
"Nnnnoo my l-lord," she tried to sound brave, but her whole body turned against her; she trembled and closed her eyes tightly as the tears ran down her beautiful cheeks. Her trembling intensified the kiss of the knife.
"I am no Lord! And I would not be the lord who spills your blood Little Bird. But Lord Stannis may. Look around you! Look at the city on fire. Do you think he would have pity on you because you are a Stark? And let's not forget your bloody love-struck King! Do you think any of them will? Lion or Stag? As sure as this knife is upon you they will move it to stain your beautiful silken dress." He said through clenched teeth.
"Loyalty, honor, duty….They have none! Tell me, Little Bird, how much they will spare on you when they have absolutely none? Did they spare some for you after each strike? Or, girl, are you willing to see how far they will go?" His voice intensified as he spoke of the great contradiction.
"You t-t-told me….But you told me about how sweet it was to kill. You are a killer too! How can I trust-"
"Trust? TRUST?" He roared, then he caught himself and took a deep breath.
"I leave Kings Landing now. I can take you from here. You can leave all of it behind. I will protect you and keep you safe."
He waited. The silence was deafening. A moment seemed like an hour, and then, time stood still. Her eyes opened to see his face so close to hers and strangely, she breathed him in. All of his grimacing terror, hate, resentment, sorrow and protection all at once. The knife fell from her throat. The tears that rolled down her cheeks were swept away by a gentle hand. She was in shock once more, but there was always something about how he could be so rough and strong, but at the same time his touch be as light as a feather when he touched her. She saw into him and yes, she was very afraid. But she knew that deep inside of him was something she had never known. Neither he himself, until now. He had laid bare his heart to her for the first time, and she accepted it, even though he is always so terrifying and frightening to her. For the first time, she sensed something more.
She stood there, staring at him, contemplating being saved by Stannis Baratheon instead. But something inside of her chimed in; that safety she had always felt when the Hound was near.
"Quickly girl. Gather your necessities. We've not time to waste. Decide now. "His voice was piercing and urgent, cutting through her moment of thoughts and swaying mind. The magic was over. There would be no more revealing moments, or time to wish for her dreams to come true. That this life that every girl dreams of would turn into a living nightmare was her deepest shame, and she would live it no longer. She darted for the wardrobe and pulled out a sizeable silken satchel and began to go through her things to see what she would take. At the sight of the sizeable bag, the Hound sneered. Stupid girl.
"Your necessities girl! We travel light and fast." His tone was rushed and laced with annoyance. He began to resent his decision to take her and the burden of having her at his side and under his protection. He would have to teach her so much, from survival to secrecy; he would have to teach her all. He then thought dreadfully of her moon blood, and how distraught she was when it came. He would get her to safety and a woman could possibly help her with her ordeal.
Seven Hells! Women and their fucking moon blood! I'll have naught to do with that.
But he could not turn back now. He had showed her his heart when he wiped away those tears. But he had to be callous. He had to be himself. She turned her back to him as she stuffed some floral soap, sweet perfume, a comb and some extra small clothes into a less sizeable bag, and managed to forcefully stuff a light cotton dress and petticoat as well as a light shift for sleeping, not even thinking about the fact that they could be headed north. She looked down at her shoes, and changed them for the traveling pair she wore while on King's Road when she left her loving home in Winterfell on her way to her living hell, the one she is leaving behind. Those shoes seemed to make the prospect of leaving even more encouraging, and she rushed to her protector's side. Out of the back chamber passage they went, but not before the Hound disheveled her chamber a bit, so there appeared to be a struggle. Blood from the guard was pooled, and conveniently used to blot here and there to make it appear that Sansa had been wounded.
He then stole the sentry's cloak, though it was stained with some blood. It would not make a difference to him. Sansa was abhorrently repulsed when the Hound forced her to put it on. She was smart enough not to outwardly protest, though she could not wait to take it off as soon as there was an opportunity. They rushed through the night toward the stables, led by the firelight of the battle. Stranger, the large stallion looked just as menacing as his master. His tack and bridle were already upon him, along with some travel satchels that were his standard wear. The bloody cloak encompassed Sansa very well, and enveloped her from suspicion as she stood awaiting the Hound to help her mount the stallion. To her haughty disappointment, he mounted Stranger first and settled into the saddle. For a moment Sansa thought he would not let her ride double with him, for she was a terrible rider. To her relief he outstretched a massive hand. She placed her small delicate one in his, and too tightly he gripped her and pulled her up like she was nothing. In front of him she seemed so small and thanks to the bloody cloak, practically unseen. She didn't look back towards her hell, and felt safe as a rough but steady iron hand came around to secure her into the saddle. The Hound lightly tapped Stranger with his heels and he silently started off towards the southern gate. Surely they would not pass directly through it for there were other indirect ways out of the city. They would not all be guarded now, too many men were needed at the walls. The only challenge would be crossing behind one of Balish's brothel. A perfect place though, as if there were any men there, they would surely be more than a bit distracted, making them easier to kill. As Stranger cautiously cantered through the wood and hidden trails he surprisingly moved along without a sound. Sansa thought this was so incredible for a stallion of his size. But to her this wasn't unusual that this pair surprise her. For as large and foreboding both her charges were, they could be surprisingly silent. The armor the Hound wore made not a clamor as they approached the brothel. The silence could be cut with the finest of blades, until it was time to pass the structure.
"Do not be startled at what you hear Little Bird." The Hound rasped behind her, keeping his voice as low as possible. Sansa startled at the sound of his voice, and at what he said, for she could hear nothing other than the careful falls of Stranger's hooves on the forest ground. But after a moment she heard it, muffled at first, but as they approached the rear of the brothel, they could hear more clearly. Sansa strained to better hear what she should not. But it was so enticingly close. Moans of pleasure escaped the windows here and there. The song of pleasuring whores was being carried on the wind in their direction. This was the first time Sansa had ever heard such sounds, and she was a bit embarrassed that the Hound was behind her this moment, so close to her, with his strong iron hand at her waist. The sounds were beautiful to her, and wondered if sex and intimacy were always just like this. But they could not be. She knew deep in her heart that Joffrey could never make her sing a song so beautiful. She was aware of herself now and wished to know how such music was made. She became aware of something else as well, of the saddle below her as Stranger rhythmically strode through the wood. A tingling that stirred deep within her caused her to shift in the saddle, a move that did not go unnoticed.
Why do they have to be so loud? It is so….unladylike!
She tried to think as if she was disgusted at what she was hearing instead of being secretly awakened. The Hound lowered his gaze to the treasure in front of him, and was thankful for his armor, for even though he was a hard as a stone in his resolve, his flesh below betrayed him and began to tingle as well. The sounds wafting through the night did not help, and suddenly he became aware of his Little Bird as she relaxed a bit in the saddle as she listened. As they passed the structure the moans got louder.
Buggering weasel Master of Coin! He can turn any coin into his pocket even during the worst of times.
It was easier to think of the weasel than of his right hand. Better for them both.
As they cantered through the hidden trail the sounds of pleasure drifted away, not a sentry in sight. The Hound then turned Stranger westward, knowing that a direct route north would be a mistake. It was time to gain speed now. With the sounds of the battle far off in the distance, the sky changed from glowing firelight to a brushed gray canvas of smoke, and finally to a velvet of inky black. The Hound shortened the reigns and leaned slightly forward, causing Stranger to break into a full gallop. There was no more time to waste.