Sansa sits at her vanity table, her blue eyes trained absentmindedly on the mirror. Hannah, her maid, is plaiting her long dyed brown hair into an intricate style, swept off the back of her neck and piled on top of her head. Sansa toys with the silver chain draped around her neck, a tiny bird charm hangs off the end, its little head pointed towards the sky.

"It's a gift for you," Petyr said many moons ago. "My little bird." The nickname dug deep, reminding a young Sansa of a scared older, man who disappeared out of her life many years ago. "Here, try it on." When Petyr clasped the necklace around Sansa's tender skin, it felt more like a chain, a collar, than a piece of pretty jewelry.

"Thank you," she had said with downturned eyes.

Petyr gave Sansa the necklace four years ago, and now, at eighteen, it still hangs around her neck like a heavy weight, reminding her how much she will always owe him. She is indebted to Petyr Baelish by his own trickery and her own foolish submission. If only she had escaped years earlier, things would be so much easier now. She would have been a runaway like her sister Arya, not some dressed up doll, not some silly woman who's every possession belongs to the man they were bestowed from. Well, she won't stand for it any more. The war is over, winter is over, and her family, however diminished, is restored to dignity and prosperity in Winterfell. She intends to escape the silver grasp of Petyr's little fingers and find safety in her family's walls.

"Does it look all right, m'lady?" Hannah asks as she finishes the final touches on Sansa's hair.

"Of course, thank you." Sansa stands up, and her long skirts sweep behind her as she paces across the room towards her window. The sky is bright, blue- a sharp contrast to the dull grey walls of the Eyrie castle. "Hannah?" Sansa asks.

"Yes, m'lady?"

"Have you received any responses to my letter yet?"

Sansa's stomach twists in anticipation. Five days ago, she placed her trust in Hannah and sent out a secret request for an able-bodied guard to sneak her out of the Eyrie and escort her to Winterfell. So many things could go wrong. Hannah could betray her, from bribe or fear. Someone could steal the letter. The wrong person could read it. Although, of course, Sansa did not sign her name to the treacherous document, it would be easy enough to link the request back to the lonely young woman stashed away under Petyr's command.

"No, m'lady. I'm sorry. Not yet. I promise I'll come to you as soon as I hear a response. I think there should be one any day now considering the salary you promised. There are many men who would be eager to help a proper lady, especially for the right reward."

"One can only hope," Sansa responds. A little blue bird lands on one of the castle turret's outside of Sansa's window. It chirps a soft, four-note melody, and Sansa leans against the glass, her eyes drawn to the little creature. "If only I had wings to fly away with," she says softly. "Birds don't need a guard or a horse. They only need two tiny wings and plenty of courage." Hannah does not respond, so Sansa says, "You can go now, Hannah. Please let me know as soon as you hear word."

"Of course, m'lady." After a tiny bow, Hannah exits the room, leaving Sansa alone in the drafty interior.

She presses a pale hand against the glass and wishes more than anything that she could just be free. To be within the arms of her depleted family, to be in the comfort of her childhood home, to be surrounded by love, not deceit and vice. The bird continues to chirp, and Sansa softly whistles along.

"Where were you tucked away all day?" Petyr asks Sansa. They are seated at the long, wooden dining table, silver tureens of soups and platters of meat, fruit, and cheese displayed in front of them. Servants silently step forward to fill their masters plates with food, and Sansa smiles sweetly at the little girl ladling her soup.

"I was reading," she responds.

"A pretty, young woman shouldn't spend her day with her nose tucked between the pages of some dusty book."

"What would you rather I do?"

Petyr smiles widely. He clasps his richly ringed fingers together, garnet and emerald catching the light of the candles. "I can think of a few things." His eyes flicker over Sansa, and she instinctively shrinks down in her chair, averting her gaze. "You've grown into a very beautiful woman, Alayne. I cannot believe you turn eighteen in less then a month, and yet, when you came to me, you were just past the days of girlhood."

When I came to you? Sansa wants to scoff. More like when you scurried me away like one of your many greedy treasures and spoils. "Thank you," she replies. Sansa keeps her eyes trained on her food, taking tiny sips of squash soup and bites of minted lamb. The food can't cover the bitter taste in her mouth. For years, Petyr has been hinting at his intention to marry Sansa, but only in these past few months has he seriously begun to proposition her. If she doesn't leave the castle soon, she has no easy way to stop his advances.

"I've been thinking," Petyr continues, always managing to have a two-sided conversation by himself. "It's time that people know the true identity of the beautiful lady living in my castle. Many people have been suspicious over the years that you are not truly my bastard child, Alayne Stone, but I've never given proof to their suspicions. However, if we truly wish to be married, than I must reject you as my daughter and restore you to your true name: Sansa Stark."

"But-" Sansa's mind is whirling. There. Now he's said it in plain words. He intends to marry her. "But my bastard name protects me, I can't just, I can't-"

"Your bastard name protected you during the war," Petyr corrects. "Now that the war is over, there's no need to conceal your true identity. Actually, quite the contrary. Your true name holds much more power now that the Starks have control of the North again, and you, my love, are in line directly after your brother."

Finally, Sansa raises her eyes to meet Petyr's gaze. She's unable to control the anger rising within her. "I don't care for what you are insinuating," she says sharply.

"What? Our marriage or the dethronement of your brother?"

"Both." The words begin to fall from Sansa's mouth before she can stop them. She stands up and throws her napkin down onto the table. "You may think you have the whole world wrapped around you tricky little fingers, but let me tell you something, Petyr Baleish. I am not some puppet you can control, and if you ever threaten my family again, I swear I'll-"

Suddenly her wrist is clasped in the iron grasp of Petyr. He twists it painfully, and tears fall from Sansa's eyes, though she refuses to make a sound. "I don't respond to threats well, Sansa. Now shut your pretty little mouth and go to your room. We will have a proper discussion tomorrow, and by then end of the week, I swear to you that we will be married." He shoves her away harshly enough that she falls the ground. Her hands break the fall, but they rub roughly against the hard ground, and she can feel blood escaping from the light scratches. She scampers up off of the ground and flees the hall without another look back at her captor.

It is only when she's alone, back in her room, that she lets a sob escape her choked throat.

Sansa is curled in her bed, her heart beating rapidly. Hannah came in earlier. With a pitying look, she wrapped Sansa's hands in soft white cloth and wiped the tears off of her pale face. "I have to leave," Sansa told her. "Tonight. It has to be tonight. I can't wait for a guard. Time is running out."

An obedient employee and a true friend, Hannah spent the rest of the evening secretly gathering provisions for Sansa. She stored grains and fruit and a blanket in a large wicker basket. "A horse will be saddled and tied up just past the gates," Hannah said. "More provisions will be stored in its bags, but I could only get so much on such short notice."

"Thank you so much, Hannah," Sansa said, grasping her hands tightly. "You are a good friend, risking your own life and honor for me. I will never forget it, and I hope to repay you some day."

"You may be a lady, but as you have told me your story, I know that you have lived through more misfortunes than I, for I still have a father and a mother, a safe home and a good man who wishes to marry me. I am more than glad to secure your own happiness." For the first time in her life, Sansa hugged her maid tightly and wished her goodbye.

It's almost three in the morning now, and Sansa quietly slips out of bed. The castle will be quiet for just an hour or so- after everyone has gone to sleep, but before people awaken for morning duties. She's already dressed in her travelling clothes- a warm cotton dress, a heavy cloak with a habit, and her leather riding boots. Although winter is over, the chill in the air will continue to get colder on her way to Winterfell. That is, if I can make it Winterfell.

Sansa is not at all happy to make the journey on her own, but after the dinner she had with Petyr, she realizes tonight is her last night to escape. And if she should fail, if she should be captured and dragged back into the confines of the castle, well at least she'll know that she tried to change her fate. At least she'll know that she didn't sit by, complacent to let some domineering, horrible man control her future.

Grabbing the basket of goods, Sansa heads for her bedroom door, but as a last thought, she rips the silver bird necklace from her neck and throws it onto her bed. Let Petyr find his gift instead of her warm body come the morning.

The corridor is empty, but cautious, she pads softly down the hallway, sticking to the shadows and corners. She takes the spiraling staircase down ten floors until she reaches the bottom of the castle. "Now for the hard part," she whispers softly. She can't walk out the main door, for there will be at least three guards on duty outside of the gates. Instead, she walks down the hallways until she is at the Southside of the castle, and she pushes open one of the rusted windows. It sticks at first, but finally, she is able to budge it open with only a small amount of creaking.

She looks outside into the dark abyss. The Eyrie castle is built on a steep hill, the treacherous cliff brining many men to their early deaths. There is just enough room for her to slip out of the window, and if she hugs herself against the castle, she should be able to scurry around the sides until she reaches the main path. That is, if I don't fall off into a very, very painful death. But maybe death is just another sort of freedom.

Trying to find the courage that so many of her siblings have always had, Sansa takes a deep breath and climbs out of the window. Her heart pounds when her foot slips on the damp grass, and she has to cling to the stonewall with her injured hands to keep from falling. Slowly, she regains her footing and begins to walk along the outer wall. It takes at least half an hour until she reaches the main footpath, but at least this part of the journey is safer.

Being careful to look around her for wandering men or women, Sansa begins a steady descent of the worn path. After spending months upon months in the castle, the task is long and tiring. Her shallow breath impedes her, but she keeps going, knowing that she is on borrowed time. Finally, just as the sun is threatening to rise, Sansa reaches the bottom of the hill.

She kneels down to the ground and kisses it, and then she looks skyward and says, "Thank you Gods, thank you whoever is looking after me." She knows it is only the beginning of a very long journey, but at least she has gotten this far. Sansa picks herself up off of the ground and heads for the spot where Hannah promised a horse would be tied up.

Sure enough, in the distance, there is a horse grazing on dried grass, it's black mane barely visible in the dim, morning light. But as Sansa nears, she notices that there's a second horse next to it, almost identical in its black coat. Why two horses? Sansa thinks. What use could I have for two horses?

She is about to approach the animals, when from behind, one strong arm wraps around her waist and another covers her mouth. "What is the little bird doing out of its cage?" A deep voice asks.

Sansa begins to shake, fear coursing through her, but then, something clicks in her brain. The voice doesn't sound like that of Petyr Baleish, no, in fact, it sounds like a voice she hasn't heard for many, many years. A voice that is so wrapped up in dreams and fantasies- she almost doesn't believe in its true existence. The hand covering her mouth pulls away, and softly, in barely a whisper, Sansa says, "Ser Clegane?"

The man spins her around so she is staring straight into his dark, scarred face. His intense eyes stare her down. "I've told you before, Lady Stark, I'm not a Ser."

"Well, what should I call you then?" Sansa's scattered thoughts are trying to organize themselves, but there are too many questions running through her mind at the same time. What is he doing here? Where has he been all of these years? Has he come for me? Her memories of the hound are so muddled and confused that she cannot pull apart reality and fantasy.

"Sandor," he replies in that familiar gruff voice. His hand rests on the hilt of his longsword, and Sansa's eyes sweep over his black clothing.

"And, Sandor, why are you here?"

A deep grin cracks across his marked face, and he jingles a hollow sounding moneybag. "For the money, of course. I heard that a lady needs an escort."

A/N - My first A Song of Ice and Fire story. Let me know what you think!