Chapter 2

A hand materialized out of the dark and seized her upper arm in a crushing grip. Before her fall could even start she had been yanked back into the safety of the Eyrie. She let out a small cry of both pain and disappointment.

"The little bird thinks she has wings, does she?" a voice rasped harshly in her ear as she was roughly pulled backwards into the callous embrace of one of the brothers of the Faith.

"Let me go, let me fall, let me…" she started, panic setting in as she struggled feebly against the iron grip, but her struggles slowed, then ceased as she came to her senses. Was she lying to herself even now, even after all she had just figured out? He was dead. Dead men can't save anyone, least of all her.

"Let you die, girl? Is that what you want?" the voice snarled. There was such anger in his tone that she quailed before him. There was no answer she could give other than yes…but that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"You're hurting me," she whimpered instead and his grip loosened. Her arm burned where he had been holding her and she knew it would bruise. She could feel his rage as he held her to his chest, but it didn't matter. She had to know.

Sansa twisted in his arms and brought her eyes to his face. There wasn't much she could see that wasn't hidden by the scarf wrapped around his face, but she could see the stony grey eyes that had frightened her so badly back in Kings Landing. They were angry eyes, and they still scared her, just a little.

He let go of her arm as she reached up to undo the scarf, but otherwise he didn't move at all. Sansa pulled and the scarf fell away from his face. The Hound looked back at her, the ruined side of his face just as fearsome as it had been when she was two-and-ten. A storm of emotion threatened to spill over her small frame. She wanted to hit him, and hug him, kiss him and scream at him.

Instead, Sansa fainted.

oOo

"Seven Hells," Sandor muttered as he caught the little bird as she fainted. He lifted her into his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing. Sansa's head fell softly against his shoulder. He didn't know what kind of a reaction he would get when she showed himself to her, but it hadn't been this.

What did you expect? Her to be overjoyed and to name you her Knight whilst throwing herself into your arms and begging you to take her away? Have you learned nothing? He berated himself as he carried her to her chambers. It hadn't taken him long to figure out where they were. The servants in the Eyrie were horrible gossips, and clueless. He had followed some that were trying to guess the contents of Alayne's name day present from her father as they brought it to her chambers. Neither of them had sensed him following them. They might as well have been blind.

Have things been so bad here that she had to jump from the damned Moon Door? What was Petyr Baelish doing to her? He wondered, which didn't do anything to help his already growing anger. Leave it to the little bird to make him feel this angry. Sandor couldn't even recall the last time a rage this strong had boiled up inside. The sudden urge to hit someone swelled behind his fists, but he pushed it back.

I don't want to hit someone…I want to kill someone. He realized. It had been almost two years since he last killed a man…

Sansa started to stir in his arms. She let out a low moan that got his blood pumping worse than it already was. He hadn't been this close to a woman in about the same time he had last killed a man, maybe longer…and this wasn't just any woman, this was the little bird.

"Hush little bird, you're safe," he assured her as they got to her bed-chambers. Thankfully no one seemed to think it important to guard the bed-chambers of a bastard girl. Sometimes low birth had its advantages. He entered her room and barred the door behind them with one massive hand. Then carried her to her bed and set her down as soft as he could. Sandor found a lone chair in the room. It was a dainty thing and he didn't trust it to hold his weight so he fell to one knee beside her bedside.

She was awake, and was looking at him, but Sansa said nothing.

"Does my face still frighten you so much that you can't bear to look at it without collapsing in horror?" he rumbled. His throat was sore. When was the last time he spoke? When was the last time he had needed to speak? Talking hurt, but her silence was making him more uncomfortable than he already was.

"No,…" she started, but seemed to be at a loss for what to call him, so she closed her mouth. A small smile twisted his face as he let out a short snort of amusement.

"Learned have you? No sers or m'lords for me. Not anymore. You've grown up little bird," he mused and she turned a pretty shade of red and looked away from him.

"They said you were dead," she started and then seemed to run out of words, but her gaze returned to his…if only fleetingly, as if she couldn't believe he was real.

"Do I look dead to you?" he growled, his amusement forgotten as she mentioned death. If he had not come, she would be dead right now. The thought made the scarred side of his face twitch and he reached out, quick as a snake and took her arm. She gasped, and turned red again, but didn't look away.

"Have you lost your mind girl?" he asked, and when she didn't reply he grasped her a little tighter. "Have you?"

"N-no m'lord!" she replied quickly, forgetting herself. Her eyes were wide and her breathing was coming too quickly.

Gods be damned, you're scaring the life out of her! Sandor closed his eyes and stopped gripping her so tightly. He felt her relax a little, and he tried again, this time looking into her eyes, and trying to stifle the rage that wanted so badly to lash out at everyone and anyone. It was not right to lash out at her, especially not how he'd found her tonight.

"You will tell me what made you think that life is so worthless and horrible that you would throw it away," he rasped, trying to read into her expression. When she looked away, he brought his hand to her chin and lifted her face so he could look at her. Tears brimmed in her eyes again.

Seven hells, can you do nothing right?

"Out with it little bird, and speak true to me," he tried and his voice was a bit less harsh this time.

"I…it was…I don't know," the tears spilled over as she blinked, and she wiped them away hastily. "I was tired of the lies, I think. Everything here…everyone, even me…it's all a lie. I believed the lies, and I lived them, and I was tired of lies," she bit her lower lip and looked pained. "Death is…the ultimate truth."

She wasn't wrong. You couldn't lie in death, or be lied to….but not for someone so young. Not her. His rage started to simmer again. This was the work of Petyr Baelish, the no good worm. He was the one who had taken Sansa from Kings Landing, he was sure of it. Taken her here and made her into someone she wasn't. Someone fake…and that wasn't something Sansa Stark needed. Too long had people lied to her and made empty promises. It had driven her to the Moon Door, and if he hadn't been there…

His resolve hardened and he moved so his face was mere inches from hers, and his hand kept her from pulling back. She was uncomfortable, but he didn't want his message to be ignored.

"You will never, ever, try to take your life again. Do you hear me little bird? Do you hear me Sansa Stark of Winterfell?" He spoke softly, but firmly. She nodded, slowly and when he made no move to release her she responded.

"Yes, I hear you. I…I will not try to…to do that again," she stammered. He released her chin and sighed deeply. Rubbing his eyes with one hand he got to his feet and looked down at her. She was still beautiful with tears drying on her cheeks.

"I offered it once, and I will offer it again. You may come with me if you'd like. I will not let anyone hurt you again." Including myself. He added as a silent promise to himself.

"Take me with you."

It took him a moment to realize she had spoken. She didn't hesitate…she hadn't even let it sink in…she had just agreed.

"Are you certain?" he asked. It wouldn't do to have her change her mind halfway out of the Vale. That would be hard to explain to everyone when they came riding back to the Eyrie.

"If I've ever been certain of anything in my whole life, it's this. Take me away from here. Take me…well, anywhere," she sounded both eager and resigned at the same time. He watched as she pulled her cloak tighter around her, and it was only then that he realized that it was the one he had left on the floor of her bedroom.

She kept that disgusting stained cloak? Why would she do that? He wondered with a slight scowl.

"We leave as soon as I take care of some unfinished business. Pack the warmest garments you have, and not too many. We need to travel light," he barked as he strode towards the door.

"You're going to kill him aren't you?" she asked. He froze with his hand on the door and looked back over his shoulder. She was perched on the edge of the bed, her hands bunched in his old cloak, looking more like a child then she had since he had found her. He couldn't read her expression, so he said nothing. Sansa nodded meekly at him, as if giving him permission.

He turned and left her alone as his rage returned tenfold. His had fell to the scabbard of the sword he had stolen from Vardis Martell. It felt right to have a sword again, and he knew that his days of peace were over. The Brotherhood would do just fine without him.

He couldn't fix all of Sansa's hurts, but he knew where the fault lay for her most recent suffering. This was Petyr's fault, and he could do something about that at least. A smile rose to his face, and it would have scared his poor little bird to death if she had been there to see it.

oOo

Sansa could feel her heart beating in her throat, and her stomach was filled with an odd fluttering sensation she hadn't felt in years. It frightened her, but it excited her too. He had come back for her. The Hound had come when she needed him the most…and he was going to kill Littlefinger. That thought should have made her feel something, anything, but she felt neither joy nor sorrow.

He came back. It was the only thought running through her head as she rose from the bed to pack her things. The Eyrie was a cold place, so she had plenty of warm garments…but she doubted that any of the dresses she brought would suffice. He would laugh at her meager attempt. No, she needed something more practical.

She slipped from her room and made her way to the servants' quarters. She knew where to find the clothing she would need for their trip out of the Vale.

He came back. Sansa staggered and put a hand on the cool walls of the castle as the thought floored her again. It wouldn't let her be, playing over and over in her head. He came back, he came back. Her eyes slid closed for a moment as she tried to get a grip. She was going to be free of this horrible place. The cold walls and the false pretenses would be stripped away. No more lies, no more false father. Freedom. Escape. He came back, and he's letting me out of this cage. This little bird will finally be free.

The thought filled her with a cool resolve. If she was going to be free, she needed clothes, and to stop wasting time. The sooner she was finished packing, the sooner they could leave. Sansa pushed herself off of the wall. She walked at as quick a pace as she dared. There were still some guards up and about patrolling the halls at this hour and she did not want to be caught out of bed. That would raise questions. Alayne had always been a good girl and never wandered about at night.

What if they catch him? What if Littlefinger… the thought almost made her turn back and run for Petyr's room. Her pulse quickened at the thought of the Hound dying when they were so close to being rid of the Vale and the Eyrie and the Moon Door forever. No, she needed to prepare for the long trip ahead. The Hound was the strongest and most skilled swordsman she had ever known. Hadn't she watched him match Ser Gregor blow for blow at her father's tourney?

Surely none of the guards here even come close to Ser Gregor, he…he will be fine. She assured herself, though she didn't know if she was just trying to convince herself or if she really believed it.

oOo

He didn't beg. I'll give him that much. He knew death when he saw it. Almost wish he had begged, it would have been sweeter. Sandor thought as he cleaned the fresh blood off of his blade on the lavish sheets upon the bed that belonged to Petyr Baelish. The rage had all gone out of him, but there was no regret. Had he ever felt regret for killing anyone? No. His little bird spoke true, death was honest. More people would benefit from what he did to Littlefinger then would be harmed by it. The thought brought a twisted smile to his lips and he sheathed the blade.

He left the chambers just as swiftly as he had arrived, and stepped over the two unconscious guards that lay at the foot of the door. A quick look left and right told him that no one had noticed anything was amiss as of yet. Good, best get this done swiftly. Dawn is a few hours away, we best be long gone from here when it comes.

Sandor made his way into the kitchens and took provisions as he went. He paused at the sight of several bottles of Dornish sour, and decided against taking all of them. Three bottles made it into the sack he had emptied as he entered the kitchens. Two he left behind.

Fuck it. Everything else made its way back, why not a little Dornish sour as well?

The rest of the sack he filled with foods that would hopefully last them a long time on the road. The bread would go stale, and the cheese would go hard, but it would have to do.

It didn't take him long to reach the little bird's bedchamber, and thankfully, somehow, he still hadn't run into anyone save Littlefinger's guards (who had put up quite a pitiful fight…but then again, who would expect to be attacked by one of the Faith?). He opened the door, ready to rush his little bird along.

The bag fell from lifeless fingers. She was gone. The Hound turned from the room, heart in his throat and dread pumping through his veins.

She's back at the Moon Door, and I might be too late this time.