Disclaimer: All this belongs to GRRM. Am just playing with the characters/theme. I promise to return them safe and sound when I'm done.
Beta Readers: A huge thank you to weshallflyaway for your constant help even in light of your crazy schedule!
Other notes: This is a direct continuation of The Flirt Part 1 and was written for Littlebirdhound who requested this prompt.
Neither the night sky nor its pale moon could drown the sickly green glow that clung to everything in sight. It reminded Sandor of his former Masters; their emerald eyes watching from every corner and shadow. The young warrior knew better, however in his state of inebriation it was difficult to ignore the relation. With his hand on the hilt of his sword and a satchel over his shoulder, the two young lovers departed into the war torn night.
Much to his surprise, no one paid them any mind; the guards and soldiers were far too distracted by the chaos unfolding around them. Maegor's holdfast was closed as Sansa had warned, yet they found no resistance. One look at his marred face, and the cowering beauty standing in front of him and the guards were scrambling to open the gates. They needed no explanations, Sandor's loyalty to the king was legendary. They also knew better than to question his majesty's orders.
When they found Stranger within the stables he was attacking some would-be thieves, readying and mounting the courser quickly, the two set off for the drawbridge that led to the outer courtyard. Fortunately for them, the guards were either dead, or had long since abandoned their post in the chaos, leaving the bridge accessible to all. Even the Barbican was found unattended, its portcullis lowered permitting them an easy departure; an unexpected sight, but not an unwelcome one.
There was no escaping the screams of dying men and steel clashing against steel that filled the night air. The scent of blood, smoke, and burning flesh, was also stronger beyond the walls of the Red Keep. The sights that greeted them were equally brutal. Sandor was untroubled by it all; the warrior was accustomed to battle and the macabre images that came with it. It was Sansa, now seated in front of him on his courser that drew his concern; he knew not how she would respond. The maiden however, remained silent as the grave. Her perfect porcelain features carefully hidden beneath a cloak of autumn gold, added to the visage of calm that seemed to exude from her. Only the warmth of her tiny fingers gently squeezing his hand revealed her need for assurance. Unfamiliar with such gestures, Sandor was uncertain how to respond. Truthfully, he needed the assurance almost as much as she did.
The journey to the iron gates proved less eventful than either had feared. Most of the men were busy fighting battles of their own and had enough sense to get out of their way. Those not quick enough were either knocked off their feet, or trampled on. The black courser was eager to put as much distance between them and the Red Keep as possible; a sentiment the scarred warrior and his little bird shared. Even at a steady gallop it felt like an eternity before the giant gates came into view. Sandor immediately sobered at the sight, for it was heavily guarded and drawn shut. There would be no easy way to depart without drawing unwanted attention. The guards called out demanding they stop their approach. Instinctively, the Hound slipped his hand to the hilt of his blade. With a gentle squeeze of his fingers and a hidden smile, Sansa immediately took control of the situation.
'Good evening Sers,' she began in kind tones. If the guards were aware of the young woman's relation to the King it did not show.
'No further Hound. Queen's orders,' announced the taller of two burly soldiers ignoring the northern princess' greeting. Still reeling from the wine, and the battle of Black Water Bay, the scarred warrior felt the last of his patience slipping away. When Sandor reached for his blade the guards promptly drew their own swords. Immediately, he felt Sansa's fingers resting heavily atop his hand resting on the hilt.
'Good Sers, I beg your pardons, Sa—The Hound meant no offense by his actions. The King has ordered him to escort me to Casterly Rock. There I am to remain, until his majesty feels it is safe for my return,' she politely explained. The first guard readily bought her story. His colleague, a burly bearded man who reminded Sandor far too much of Gregor, glared at them in suspicion.
'The Lion gates-' the burly man began, again ignoring the little bird's sweet chirps.
'-has been taken by Stannis' men,' Sandor interrupted. 'You heard the girl. I'm under the King's instruction. He doesn't give a damn how she gets there, only that she makes it intact and untouched. Either you let us pass, or I bloody well run you through for questioning my King's orders!' he barked. The men needed no further encouragement. Soon they were passing through the gates, and making their way along the road that led to Rosby.
It was some time later, as Stranger galloped along the well-worn path leading north before the scarred warrior began to relax. It was about time someone answered the little bird's prayers. Though far from safety, Sandor guided his horse down the main road. There would be time enough for hiding in shadows, travelling along deer paths, and everything else that came with being on the run. Even though his thoughts swam with wine, the warrior knew better than to believe the night would end just like one of his little bird's many stories. Only fools believed in happily ever after.
Then Sansa leaned back against his chest, her delicate fingers slipping over his hands encouraging him to hold her near. The faint crisp scent of lemon and flowers that lingered about her filled his nostrils, just as the warmth of her body teased the rest of him. It was not long before Sandor had forgotten all that was troubling him moments ago. Happy endings may not exist in the real world; perhaps, happy beginnings did.