DISCLAIMER: Characters etc. belong to George RR Martin. No copyright infringement intended.
*Thanks so much to the reviews I've already received! I've written very little fanfiction and this is the first time I've actually posted my fanfic online, so your kind words are very encouraging! And there should be quite a bit more of this particular story, I think…for every "chapter" I write another one comes to mind
SANSA
When the Hound touched her chin - for she knew it had been him from the moment he first spoke - Sansa felt a thrill rush through her. It felt like fear and excitement together and she froze for a moment when he told her to climb the flimsy rope ladder that had been tossed down by a deckhand. "Go!" he commanded, removing his hand from her face.
"Yes, ser," she capitulated, and turned her back on the nasty growl that rose in his throat. She heard the sound of steel punching through wood and vaguely realized that he was sinking the rowboat, and then she was at the edge of the rail and a swarthy kind-faced man helped her onto the deck of the boat. Moments later the Hound swung over the rail and landed beside her. She was surprised at how nimble he was, considering his size. The other man extended his hand to the Hound.
"Captain Dougan, at your command," he announced.
The Hound eyed the hand but didn't shake it. "We need to leave. Now."
The captain was obviously flustered as he looked over the Hound's shoulder at King's Landing, now blazing with light, the bells still clanging furiously. "Right," he agreed. "Quarters are below. Seems the eunuch wanted not a few people out of the city tonight; you two will need to share a cabin, the one at the end of the hall. Don't worry," he said in response to Sansa's sharp intake of breath, "there are two beds. And truthfully...men at sea are a wanton sort. It's likely best that you not have a room of your own. This man will protect you."
"Any ale or wine to be had?" interrupted the Hound. Captain Dougan frowned at him for a moment, then shrugged.
"Plenty, so long as you can pay for what you drink."
"Oh, I have the coin. The eunuch pays well."
"That he does," the captain agreed with a smile, and then he was gone.
"Come," the Hound insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder and leading her across the deck, down a short flight of steps and toward their cabin. Sansa breathed a sigh of relief when they entered it; they had the entire front of the ship to themselves, it seemed. She peered out the window and in the bright clear moonlight she could see the underside of the figurehead, a busty golden mermaid with her hands cupped over her breasts. She blushed fiercely and turned away from the window, nearly running into her tall robed companion.
"Excuse me, ser," she mumbled, staring at her feet. This time when she said the word, he took her chin in one hand again and used the other to push back his hood.
"Don't call me 'ser', little bird," he rasped.
And Sansa smiled.
SANDOR
He'd had to hold himself back the first time she called him 'ser', but there was no use bothering when she did it again. They were to be sharing a cabin, apparently - she'd know who he was sooner or later. But when he pushed back his hood to reveal himself, when he used that mocking name that he'd always called her...she merely smiled at him. It was then that he recalled that glimmer that had flashed in her eyes some hours before...a glimmer of recognition, of course.
She'd always known it was him.
Sandor felt his fingers pinch her chin and had to force himself to let go of her. He almost felt bad when she reached up to rub the place he touched; obviously he'd hurt her. "Sorry," he grunted, turning his back on her and stalking across the cabin to claim the bed near the door. He pulled off his robe and removed the breastplate that he'd worn just in case. Though he'd known he would be on the water that night, he'd taken the chance of wearing some armor. Better drowned than shot through with quarrels, he'd told himself.
He kept his back to Sansa as he changed his shirt, it being stiff with sweat and sea mist, and tightened his sword belt around his hips. "I need a drink. You stay here. If anyone bothers you let out a good scream, but you shouldn't have anything to worry about. They know who you're with." Sandor left the cabin without looking back at her.
Once on deck, he searched out Dougan and traded some of Varys's coin for two jugs of Dornish red. He kicked back on a bench and watched the moon, attempting to ignore the men sitting nearby. They were drinking something - likely cheap ale, he chuckled to himself - and having a boisterous conversation about the passengers their captain had picked up in King's Landing. It was only when they mentioned "the pretty young thing" that Sandor sat up and listened to them. Stupidly, he had assumed that they were alone with Captain Dougan when they'd boarded the ship - he should have known better. Sailors were a sneaky sort, always perching in the rigging above your head and seeing everything with their hawk eyes.
"Pretty all right. A maid, d'ye think?" a portly red-faced man wondered.
"With teats like that, I doubt it. Probably some whore being sent north as a lord's mistress," another replied.
"Nay," the third man spoke up. "She's too young for all that. And high-born, for sure."
"Well neither her birth or her maidenhead is going to protect her from the roving hands and eyes on this ship," the second man guffawed - and then he sputtered on his ale as Sandor grabbed him by his collar, dragging him to his feet.
"Saw plenty of the girl and none of her protector, did you?" Sandor growled as he pulled the man's face close to his own. The sailor was staring at Sandor's scars, eyes wide with fright and disgust. Sandor threw him down to the deck of the ship and stood menacingly over the trio. "Keep your words, your eyes and most especially your hands to yourselves," he warned them. He watched them tremble for a long moment before finally stalking back to his bench and his wine. He hadn't been drunk since the night before he received Varys's letter, but he meant to enjoy himself tonight.