Author's Notes: The fast-paced, impressions-based progress of this story seems to be bogging down now that Sansa and Sandor are on their own… oh well! I still try not to get stumped with too much detail and endless descriptions of every little incident and event. This also means that I am asking readers to take some 'leaps of faith' especially about the AU nature of some events… For example, as was quite rightly pointed out by an observant commentator, Tyrells having sided with Lannisters already before Blackwater could have suggested an inevitable win to that side. True, but the outcome of military battles can always be influenced also by chance and not only by the biggest numbers, so in this story Stannis prevails… Maybe his fleet wasn't quite as decimated by the wildfire due to a freak change of wind, or maybe lacking Tywin's brilliant leadership Tyrell forces stumbled and failed to reach the capital in time, or… In any case, there will be several big holes in this story I am sure – big enough for the Mountain That Rides to charge through - but as in the end it is focussed on Sandor's story and how his destiny gets fulfilled, I hope you indulge my improbably leaps… :-)

Summary: Aye, he is not blind to the fact that the girl is utterly under his power, and should he wish so, he could take her every which way and nobody could do anything about it. Why he doesn't, when he is a red-blooded man and she a maid ripe to be plucked, he doesn't know.

Sandor

A steady stream of travellers crowds the roads; fugitives from the battle, common people displaced from their homes and endless bands of soldiers travelling this way or that. The Hound and the girl try to blend in as well as they can, having changed their clothes to those of lowly peasants. A bloodied rag tied around Sandor's head as if to cover a fresh wound hides his distinguishable features – the girl suggested it and he acceded.

They hear that Stannis won a decisive victory and holds Joffrey and Cersei as his prisoners. The Hound snorts. What Stannis should do is to kill the bitch and her brood, but he is too bloody honourable and lets them live, inviting trouble to his new rule.

He knows that the Lannisters will try to rise again, and what he should really do is to go to Casterly Rock and place himself under Lord Tywin's command once again. He tells the girl as much, and she doesn't contradict him, only looks at him with eyes so solemn and serious that the arguments he formed in his head to justify his stand die without being uttered.

He tells himself that he only needs to find somebody else that can take her out of his hands. He tells himself what a fucking fool he was to take her with him in the first place. He tells himself he doesn't care what happens to her; not now as he didn't before.

Yet days go by and still he hasn't left her.

"Take me to the North, to my family," she says. "Please," she adds as an afterthought.

Sandor glances at her sharply. This is the first time Sansa asks him for something. She has seemed content to follow his lead so far, walking beside him when he walks, riding with him when he tells her, eating, sleeping and looking after their meagre things at the pace he sets. His remaining tourney winnings, secured in his saddlebags before the battle in case of a defeat and escape, ensured they were able to buy some provisions from those who left the capital better prepared.

"What's in it for me?" he grumbles, tightening his hold on the reins. She sits securely within the circle of his arms, adjusting her movements to the rhythm of Stranger's steady gait.

"Gold. Other rewards. My brother will pay you well for my return." She stares at the road ahead of them. Wisps of her hair tickle his face, but he doesn't brush them aside.

"Your brother is still in the Riverlands, the last I heard. Wouldn't you rather go there?"

She – Sansa – turns to look at him across her shoulder. "He will turn back home, might already be on his way. I know my brother. The Lannisters have been defeated and my father has received his justice. Now Robb wants to look after his own people."

Sandor grunts non-committedly and they continue riding in silence. Yet the more he thinks about the proposal, the more appealing it sounds. Why not screw the Lannisters, go to the North and take the girl there, receive a handsome reward and become his own master? He could then travel across the Narrow Sea perhaps, and make his new life in the foreign lands in some reputable sellsword company.

So he accepts, naming his price and letting her know in no uncertain terms that the arrangement is purely a business transaction for him. He is a sword for hire and he will do his part as long as she can guarantee that she will do hers. When she asks what he wants from her as a collateral or assurance, he finds no words as he knows she has nothing. Except herself.

Aye, he is not blind to the fact that the girl is utterly under his power, and should he wish so, he could take her every which way and nobody could do anything about it. Why he doesn't, when he is a red-blooded man and she a maid ripe to be plucked, he doesn't know.

Sandor realises then that recently he has done great many things that make no sense - ever since he allowed the girl into his world. He curses and speaks to her harsher than he intended, but she absorbs it all silently and stays quiet and subdued for the rest of the day.

At first they keep to themselves, but a few days later in a small settlement where they stop to buy food and grain, the girl talks to a family also on their way to the North. It is led by a stern-eyed man, accompanied by his equally imposing wife, their two adult sons, two young daughters and a handful of servants. The head of the household is an influential Northerner, a merchant in King's Landing, who after having had enough of the southern wars decided to take his family and business and go back to his homeland.

There is safety in numbers, and although initially eyeing Sandor suspiciously, Sansa's words convince the merchant that he will be better off with the extra protection and help the two of them can provide. Their cover-story is that of a sellsword on his way to sell his services to the Young Wolf of Winterfell, and his woman. Sansa tells that his man is tired of unfulfilled promises of the House Lannister, and that House Stark is said to keep its word. The merchant agrees, declaring his support to his old liege lords, and so a mutually beneficial arrangement is struck and they find themselves continuing their journey with new travelling companions.

In the evening of the first day they are pointed towards one of the supply wagons and told that they can sleep there. So far they have slept in the open, each on their own bedding across a fire. As Sansa climbs into the wagon and spreads their beds and quilts across it as if it's the most natural thing in the world, the Hound barks at her.

"What do you think you are doing, girl?"

She looks at him blandly. "Making our beds, of course. This is the first time since we left King's Landing we will have a roof over our heads." She glances at the roof in question – a grand word for a stretch of rough-hewn fabric across four supporting beams, but it is well oiled and will keep the wind and rain away.

"Not worried about your reputation then?" he sneers, although the realisation that she is ready to sleep in such close quarters with him without batting an eyelid makes him feel…strange.

"Reputation doesn't protect me from my foes. And they already think we are a couple - it is just simpler that way. Or would you care to explain them why a big man like you travels with a woman without sharing his bed with her?" Her eyes take in his puzzled expression and Sandor could swear there is a hint of amusement in their depths. Except he hasn't seen her amused for a long, long time.

Without waiting for his answer she continues. "Or would you rather tell them that you are in my service – and let them wonder how a common girl can command a warrior like you in her pay?"

Sandor has to admit that it makes perfect sense, but still… He can't let it go quite as easily.

"If you are prepared to sleep with a man, you better be aware of the consequences," he shoots back at her, expecting her to blush, turn her gaze away or show some other signs of embarrassment. However, he is left waiting in vain.

"I am," she says matter-of-factly and doesn't even look at him but only continues to unpack their bags. It is Sandor's turn to be surprised. What in seven hells?

He can only conclude that she doesn't know what she is talking about, grunts and leaves to look after Stranger.