Chapter Three

The Hound left Sansa by the horses while he made enquires among the sailors about two passages for Braavos. Sansa didn't regret the decision to leave the kingdom but still felt nervous at the thought of disappearing completely. Once, when they were much younger, her father had taught his children the importance of being a Stark and insisted that a Stark must always be in Winterfell. With her brother bravely fighting the Lannisters and the rest of her true-born siblings dead or vanished it looked as though Winterfell would for now sit in Theon's greedy hands. She hated the idea of him running her father's keep and sitting in his great seat in the hall. If she had the control of an army she would have flown up North and reclaimed her home but realistically speaking everything that she currently owned in the world fit in a small woven sack. The Hound had been right in saying she was better off away from the fighting but Sansa was adamant that she was not running away from fear – she would be back one day. She stood by the stable entrance and watched as the townsmen went by on their daily errands. It was a smaller town than Winterfell yet there were more people and all seemed to acknowledge one another as they went passed. The stable boy, a dirty long haired youth, had been hovering by her side for the last half an hour but she didn't mind the company even though he couldn't get a sentence out without blushing. He reminded her of Tyrion the Imp's manservant Podrick Payne. "So far we've been lucky in the war," he was saying, "It hasn't come 'ere yet. My pa says no one in their right mind would try to burn down a port. Be like diggin' their own grave. Beg your pardon," he added quickly. "But people need to eat, don't they? Stop the ships and you'd be done for."

"I suppose." She didn't know much about the war except that every house seemed to be involved. The only house she was concerned with was her own.

"Did you see any fightin' on your travels? Pardon, but you look like you've been ridin' for a while."

"No, we avoided the fighting."

"I used to want to be a Knight an' fight in the wars but it's not likely I'll ever get out of Saltpans," he said cheerfully, and stretched his arms in a way to show off his meagre muscles. "Still, s'not a bad place really. Plenty to do...Where do you hail from then?"

Sansa was going to reply with a made up town name but the Hound responded before she got the chance. He returned with his cloak still pulled low over his face and his longsword hanging from his side. "Our business is our own. You'd do well to keep out of it, boy."

The stable boy took one look at the Hound and hurried back to work. Sansa raised an eyebrow and said "He meant no harm."

"He was eyeing you up like a steak of meat. You can't trust anyone."

"Except for you?" She asked lightly. She began to follow him down to the docks but halted when he stopped and looked back at her. She had only been asking in jest so his answer surprised her.

"Including me. The first thing you have to learn when alone little bird is to keep to your own council. I might not always be here to watch over you so you must learn to rely on yourself. People might try and sway you but you have to stay firm. At least on the inside."

"I can do that. I did all the time in Joffrey's court." Sansa replied, hugging herself against the mild wind. "I smiled and did as they asked like a pretty little bird, but it was all a mask. Inside I was screaming at them."

The Hound considered her for a moment and then nodded without saying another word although she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. The docks were the busiest place in town where people of all ages scuttled about shouting orders and fulfilling them. The Hound led her to the very end where a man dressed all in black stood talking to a young boy. "And when you've done that run back and tell me what he says," she overheard him saying and the boy ran off to obey. The man noticed them and greeted Sandor – evidently they'd met earlier. The man was about her father's age with tufts of grisly dark hair and piercing blue eyes that didn't seem to miss a thing. Sansa wondered if he was a runaway from the Night's Watch but in that case she doubted he'd still be flaunting his black robes. He looked her up and down when she was introduced and grinned, revealing a friendly enough smile. "Nice to meet you Leah Rivers. No wonder you're so keen to get off, eh? My ship was supposed to set sail two days ago but the weather's been so bloody bad that we've been stuck here in the mud and shit. Still, looks calm enough now. We'll be heading off tomorrow morning if you want passage."

"To Braavos?" Sansa hesitated, although it was more of a statement than a question.

"Aye. You been on board a ship before, girl?" She shook her head and the captain chuckled. He gave her a reassuring smile and once again she saw a little of her father in him. She felt comforted. "You'll find your sea legs easy enough. The name's Tybolt."

Sansa was frightened about being on the ship at first but by the time the harbour had vanished she was able to shrug off the fear easily enough. She was the only female on board so had a room to herself but the Hound was only next door in case any of the crew got ideas. She noticed the captain keeping a protective eye on her as well although she never caught any of the crew looking at her at all; in fact, they seemed to downright ignore her in favour of their work and the occasional game of gambling. Her favourite place to go was to the front of the ship where she could lean right over and see the wave's part and feel the sea spray against her flushed cheeks. Once or twice she even saw dolphins swimming a few yards away and knew Bran would've loved to see them. The blue sea surrounded them in every direction and it was all she could see in the far distance which made the sky merge with the horizon. Looking out over the waves she felt a surge of freedom that she was finally away from the Lannister's, King's Landing and all those who hated her. Nobody could hurt her here. The Hound always chastised her for roaming about unattended but she even found him less scary out at sea. The Hound kept himself mostly to his room but she always went to sit with him at dinner even though they usually sat in silence.

After the first week the weather grew so foul that she had to stay inside her bedchamber. She spent the time on her bunk occupied with the crew's mending and tying fishing nets in the attempt to ward off seasickness but eventually it caught up with her. For several days she kept to her bunk with a bucket beside her to catch her vomit. The sea was rough and it made the ship rock to and fro nauseatingly. She managed to eat a little broth but other than that she hid beneath her mattress with her eyes squeezed shut.

Their passage only took three weeks but by the time they reached Braavos Sansa was exhausted and keen to get on dry land. As they passed under the Titan of Braaos she marvelled at its size and thought of how Arya would've loved to be in her shoes. Old Nan used to tell them stories about the Titan of Braaos when they were little and Arya had always longed to travel to the free cities. Sansa was peering over the side at the approaching Braavos with the captain and Hound standing beside her. She had never seen such a town before; all the buildings were short and squat with hardly any trees or plants growing around them. Winterfell had been surrounded by grand oaks and even King's Landing had beautiful gardens. All the buildings were coloured stale shades of red and orange so that the overall impression was of dust. When they drew closer she saw that there were several larger buildings built behind the houses which looked like Septs...one of which looked to be on fire.

"What is that place?" She asked the captain, pointing to it.

"That's the temple of R'hllor, The Red God. All the Gods are honoured in Braavos although some are more demanding than others. What do you think of the place?" The ship had finally come to a stop and it was time for them to depart.

"It's...different." It was also very hot. She knew from her lessons with her old maester that the free cities had a different climate to that of Westeros and today was as hot as a summer's day in King's Landing. She felt stuffy and uncomfortably in her woollen gown of grey.

"Even an honest man can make a fortune in Braavos," Tybolt told her. "I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for."

"Thank you for your kindness," Sansa smiled and then climbed down the ladder into the waiting boat. Once the Hound was seated beside her the crew member who volunteered to take them ashore started to row. Sansa looked back only once to wave to the captain but after that she only had eyes for the approaching city of Braavos. When they disembarked in Ragman's Harbour she looked around them and felt herself shrink instinctively against the Hound.

"Confidence, little bird. You're safe now."

"From the Lannisters, yes, but who knows what we might find here..."

"Cutthroats and thieves are all the same no matter what language they speak. I can handle them."

"Where will we stay?"

"We need to find a home."

Sansa put a hand on his arm to stop him and looked down at her feet awkwardly. "How are you to pay for this? I have no money of my own."

"I have enough to see us for the moment."

Finding accommodation was easier than she could ever have expected...and as a daughter of Winterfell she had no idea what to expect in the first place. She was used to having everything prepared for her with maidservants to help her dress and clean up after her. The men of Braavos didn't seem that interested in who they were or why the Hound kept his face mostly covered, only the substantial amount of gold in his pockets saved from the various tourney's he'd won. A small house overlooking one of the canals was quickly purchased and like all the buildings of Braavos it was built from pale red brick with a flat roof. It only contained four rooms; two upstairs where they might sleep and two below for a large kitchen and tiny washroom. Sansa hardly took any of it in and before she knew it found herself standing in the kitchen bewildered. Like the rest of the house it was clean and simply furnished with an open window above the table and a great smoky hearth. It was not unlike a modest home from the seven kingdoms apart from the marble floor and airy windows. Its simple elegance reminded Sansa more of King's Landing than she cared to admit. She was just about to explore the rest of the house when the Hound came in.

"Will it do?" He rasped.

Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat and gave a tiny nod, surprised that he would ask what she thought. The Hound began to untie his armour and they passed a moment in silence. Sansa wondered for a split second if she was still doing the right thing before speaking. "I feel too indebted to you. For rescuing me from Joffrey...and now this. It's so much."

"It's nothing," he replied gruffly. "I have to keep my head low as well. I'm a deserter now."

She tried to catch a glance at his face to see what he was thinking but he avoided her gaze. Instead she looked around the room once more and her eyes fell on the hearth where a cooking pot perched ready to be used. The sight made her grimace and then suddenly she realised just how difficult this new situation was going to be. "I can't cook."

He snorted. "Better learn fast." He was simply dressed now in a pair of woollen breeches and a cream tunic. She thought he looked extremely odd without his armour – and smaller in size. "I'm going out for a while. While I'm gone you aren't to leave the house and make sure the doors and windows are bolted. It would be a fine thing to be robbed this early in."

"Where are you going?" Sansa asked, somewhat alarmed by his briskness. "You're leaving me alone?"

The Hound studied her and then his lips turned up into a smirk. "I can't stay with you every second of the day, little bird." She heard him chuckle as he left and then looked around at the empty room forlornly. Whilst clean and tidy the place looked cold and unloved – obviously it had been some time since the owner decorated it. She sighed and pulled a ribbon out of her pocket before braiding her hair back. She would try to repay the Hound back for his kindness by first making the house a little cosier. She hurried to lock the doors like he said and then fetched a broom from the hallway to tackle the hearth. After sweeping away most of the grime she got down on her hands and knees to try and reach in and clean the back wall but jumped after hearing a creak behind her and she bumped her head against the stone. Wincing, she looked over her shoulder and saw that a cat had crawled in through the shutters.

She got to her feet and shooed the animal out of the back door. Just as she was about to shut the door again she noticed that a man was selling flowers just across the opposite canal. The man was handsome with long auburn hair and a shaved beard that looked red in the sunlight. He was speaking the foreign tongue to a passing woman who blushed though the compliment must have worked for she purchased a yellow flower. Sansa looked at the flowers in his cart and didn't recognise a single specimen; she wondered if even Highgarden could boast to owning such beautiful flowers. The man noticed her looking and gestured for her to approach but she hesitated, fearful. The Hound would go ballistic if he found her strolling around the streets. Still, it was only over the bridge and she would be back within minutes...the street was almost deserted.

She made up her mind and approached the flower seller cautiously. As she drew closer she saw that he was dressed in a fantastic outfit of purple satin with slashed sleeves and pointed shoes. She smiled at him and he replied by picking out a single flower from his cart before surprising her by uttering her own language. "Elario sells his flowers every day but never has he given away one for a smile. This is the brightest flower he owns. Full in bloom." He held out an exquisite flower of orange and she took it with a curious look.

"You speak the language of the seven kingdoms."

"Elario can speak many languages. He meets many people and learns all sorts of new things."

"Thank you." Sansa lifted the gift to her nose and smelt the scent, feeling the velvet petal brush against her nose. For a second she was reminded of the glass gardens back in Winterfell. She hurried back into the house without giving the man named Elario another look but when she saw the plain kitchen again she took a couple of Hound's coppers from the table and headed back to the cart to buy a whole bunch of roses. She arranged them carefully in a jug and placed it in the middle of the scrubbed table so that the whole room smelt like summer. After that she explored the rest of the house and tidied and rearranged the upstairs rooms to look nicer. Her own room was painted in white with a small thatched bed of straw under purple sheets. It was hugely uncomfortable but she wouldn't complain; like everything else she would just have to get used to it.

The Hound arrived back just after nightfall with a sack of food and wine. There was a chicken to be cooked and potatoes to be baked. Sansa helped as much as she could but got squeamish when it came to removing the giblets. They ate the meal at the table with a fire roaring in the hearth although really it was unneeded as it was still warm outside. The Hound had taken one look at the flowers and grunted but he said nothing - which she took as a good sign.

"Where did you go today?"

"I had things to arrange. More food will be delivered tomorrow, as well as a few things for the house," he answered between mouthfuls, "The area is quite safe. Just behind the next houses lies the Isle of the Gods and the Temple of the Moonsingers...or some such horse crap. I can barely understand these Braavosi."

"The Moonsingers led the original Braavosi refugee's to this site, I believe," she murmured, thinking back to her lessons, although in honesty she had been more interested in gossiping with Jeyne Poole than listening to the history of some faraway place.

"The Braavosi are a religious lot. There are plenty of temples if you wish to pray for your family," he added after taking a long sip of wine. "I saw you go to the Godswood many times before though little good it did you."

"You don't believe in the Gods do you?"

"Which one? Seems we're spoilt for choice here."

"The Seven."

"No, little bird. I gave up believing in the Gods when I was younger than you."

She realised that he was referring to his face and made no reply. She knew all about that incident but had never mentioned a word to anyone in case he found out. His face looked dreadful in the firelight but it was his lips that she found the most horrifying...one side had burnt off leaving only pink scar tissue. No wonder the side of his mouth twitched sometimes. She thought about what his mouth might feel like but then flushed in embarrassment. The Hound would only laugh at her if she asked. She thought about how she might feel if Robb had held her face to a flame but the situation was unfathomable – Robb loved her and would never do anything to harm her. The Hound's brother Gregor must've been born without a heart.

"What was your childhood like?"

"Why in blazes do you want to know about that?"

"Well...I thought we could learn a bit about each other," she said earnestly. "We're going to be living together, after all. And if I'm not allowed outside than let me at least know you."

"It isn't exactly a fairytale, girl. My childhood was one of blood, pain, and anger. Gregor was a bully and a thug...and he made those years a living hell for me. I left as soon as I could."

"To lay your sword at Tywin Lannister's feet?"

"Aye."

"What then?"

"At first I was just another Lannister dog but after the crown prince was born I became his sworn shield. A decision I might regret if I cared to think on it."

"What do you like to think about instead?"

A bitter look took over his face. "Nothing. That's why I drown myself in wine. Frequently." He poured himself another glass and then filled hers too. She tried to protest that she wasn't a drinker but he just snorted. "This is foul stuff but it gets the job done same as any other."

"My father let us have a cup at feasts..." she took a sip and recoiled at the strong taste.

"I can't imagine your brothers abiding to that rule. I saw Eddard Stark's bastard drunk at Winterfell."

"Jon...I haven't thought about him in a long time. He'll be at the Wall, if he's still alive."

"I considered the Wall at one point," The Hound admitted and she looked at him in surprise. "But didn't fancy the idea of dying for someone else. There's no heroics in martyrdom."

"Nor Knights," she replied and he nodded in agreement.

"It's the whole stinking hypocrisy. No real man would beat an innocent girl. Nor stand by and allow it to happen..."

She laid her drink aside, "You saved me."

"I let them hurt you."

"You got me away from it all. I can handle a few bruises," she insisted. "I know you're a good man."

"Then you're an idiot. I'm no better than the rest of them," he snapped.

"Will you just let me thank you?" She was finding his stubbornness exhausting.

"If it please you." His retort was so sarcastic that it made them both chuckle and the tension left the room. Sansa finished her goblet of wine and found that her speech was becoming slurred and felt cheerful for the first time in months. She giggled when the Hound told her funny stories about Joffrey and she in turn told him about her brother's prank in Winterfell's vaults that frightened her. After the second cup they both moved to the rug before the fire and sat opposite each other cheerfully retelling stories and thoughts.

"I've never felt like this before," she hiccupped. "My cheeks feel funny."

"Might be wise to easy up, little bird," the Hound recommended.

"What should I call you now? I have no name for you and Dog is a horrid nickname."

"Sandor will suffice. Might look strange if the neighbours hear you call me hound. We're already too conspicuous."

"Sandor..." she tried the name on for size. "You shouldn't call me little bird anymore. I'm hardly little – I'm almost as tall as my lady mother now."

"You're still little, girl."

"Not a girl either. I'm a maiden flowered." She frowned and stood up and smoothed down her dress to show off her figure. It was an action she would never have tried if sober but the drink had made her bold. She put another hand on her hip and composed her face into one of Cersei's pouts. "You see?"

Sandor turned and his gaze ran up her form, taking her all in. He then looked away as though slapped and chuckled unkindly. "Teats and hips don't make you a woman. And wipe that stupid look off your face. You look like a common whore – it doesn't suit you."

She cringed and sat down on her seat, her face burning with embarrassment. Sandor sighed and he knelt before her, taking her chin in his rough hand. She remembered the other times when he'd knelt before her like this...once to wipe the blood off her lips and another to inform her of the loss of Winterfell. His grey eyes were glazed from the drink and his breath smelt sour against her face. Sometimes, when he thought she was looking elsewhere, he would look at her in the same way as this and it made her uncomfortable. "You're a beautiful girl, Sansa. You make a man want to kill for you. Don't be in such a rush to grow up...Not yet. Do me that one kindness."