Chapter 3~ Gone

She opened her eyes slowly, finding that her lids weighed far too much. She reached up to wipe them and found her arms heavy, asleep themselves. When her hands finally reached her face, she felt a thick, sticky mess covering the right side of her forehead. She groaned and tried to sit up, but a large hand stopped her easily.

"Slow down, Little Bird. Here, let me help you." a male voice said softly. She felt a large hand on the small of her back, and the man helped her to sit up.

"I…what happened?" she asked groggily, trying to make her vision focus.

"You were hit in the head. How many fingers am I holding up?" She looked in front of her to see three massive fingers on an equally massive hand.

"Three," she groaned, rubbing her forehead. The man grunted in response and gently pushed her hair out of her face. She turned to him to see a mass of black locks hanging in his face.

"A-are you the maester?" she asked. The man barked a laugh.

"Aye, that's why there's still blood all over your pretty face. No, there's no maester in the forest, Little Bird. You'll have to do with me until we can find one, or find a wood's witch in place of one."

"I-if you're not the maester…then who are you?" she asked, trying to scoot as far away from him as she could. She could not see his face, but somehow she knew he was scowling.

"Don't be daft, girl. That isn't funny."

"I…please, ser, I don't mean to offend, but…I do not know you." she said timidly, trying to gain focus of her surroundings. She needed to run, to flee. She had to get away from this angry man. But he's caring for you. He called you Little Bird.

"Look at me, girl," the man rasped, and when she did not obey he roared, "Look at me!" He grabbed her chin roughly and forced her to look at him. His face was a frenzied mess of scars and torment, the right side almost as fear-invoking as the left. His cheekbones were sharp, his nose too, like a well-honed sword. Even his eyes were the cool grey of steel, a sharp face with an even sharper gaze. The left side of his face was a mass of reddened burn scars, his lips melting into a permanent sneer.

His eyes were hooded with a black brow, and his black hair was swept over to the left side, trying to hide the gnarled ruin of his face. There was something in his eyes, some emotion hidden in the grey depths. It pained her to look into those eyes, so she turned her head away and squeezed her eyes shut against the sight.

"I—I am sorry, ser…I do not recognize you…" she whispered.

"I'm no ser," his voice was strained, as though he was keeping himself from yelling at her.

"Please, I—where am I? H-how did I come to be injured? W-w—" she paused and wetted her lips, steeling herself, "Who am I?"

/-/

Sandor stared down at Sansa with disbelief. He had let himself believe that everything would be okay. He had slipped up and kissed her, and she hadn't pulled away. The old hag had seen to it that the single most perfect moment in his life had been ruined, though. Now, Sansa couldn't even remember him. Hells, Sansa couldn't even remember Sansa.

She doesn't remember Sansa, he thought suddenly. She doesn't remember being a proper lady. She doesn't remember we're running...

And then he had a revelation.

She doesn't remember the Hound.

Sandor clenched his fingers into a fist and in one fluid movement he was across the little clearing they were sheltering in.

"I…You…Seven sheep buggering hells!" he roared and kicked over a massive fallen log. Sansa cringed, shrinking back noticeably. At least in this state she wasn't so intent on hiding her fear and feelings. She doesn't remember the Hound…he thought again.

"I am sorry, Little Bird…" he rasped, shoulders tight as a virgin's cunt. He ran a hand through his dirty black hair and exhaled loudly.

"Please, ser—um…my lord…can you tell me who I am?" Sansa asked pitifully. She was shaking with fear, her beautiful eyes rimmed red as though she was desperate not to cry.

"I am no ser, no lord. I'm the second son of an upstart house. I've no lands, no titles, no loyalties to any kings," he groaned, staring at her. Just do it. It will be better to hide Sansa Stark when he doesn't even remember herself…

"All I have is my wife, and she does not remember who I am now." His mouth spilled the words before he could stop it. Sansa's eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open, though she had the grace to cover it with one of her delicate, long-fingered hands.

"I…I am your wife?" she whispered. Sandor just nodded and fumbled with his hands, not sure what to do next or say.

"Y-you called me Little Bird…" she said, saving him from continuing the conversation.

"Aye. Your name is Wren, Wren Clegane. Before we wed, you were Wren Smith, the daughter of the blacksmith at Clegane Keep," and suddenly, Sandor heard the lie in his head and began spewing it into the clearing, "Your father saved my father's life once, and the only boon he asked was a good marriage for his only child. My brother would inherit the Keep, so you got the scarred son instead."

Sansa stared up at him, looking at him with a steady, blue gaze. She studied him closely, looking over every inch of him, her gaze burning him more than that fucking brazier ever had.

"What is your name…please?"

"Sandor, my name is Sandor." he answered, finding a softness in his voice he'd never heard before. Sansa slowly pushed herself up and tried to stand. As soon as she was vertical though, she stumbled forward. Sandor crossed to her in seconds and had her in his arms so she would not fall.

"Thank you…husband…" she said, tasting the word on her tongue.

"You usually just call me Sandor…" he said softly. He righted her and looked at the gash on her forehead. "Does that hurt badly?" he asked. His hand reached up without his permission and cupped Sansa's cheek. She shut her eyes tightly, and Sandor knew she was forcing herself to remain still and not turn away. He quickly pulled his hand away, as though burned, and drew away from her.

"I'm sorry," he rasped quietly. He reached for the wine skin and uncorked it, ready to pour the contents down his throat, but something stopped him. The Hound would get drunk, the Hound would get angry and mean and silent. You are no longer the Hound, as she is no longer Sansa.

"Here, Wren. Sit so I can clean your wound." he said, pouring some wine onto a torn cloth. She hesitantly sat between his legs, facing him, and closed her eyes as he began to gentle the dried blood away from her pale forehead. The gash was broad and deep, starting in her hair and spindling down over her right temple and onto her forehead. As he gently cleaned the dried blood away, bruises bloomed like lilacs across her milky skin.

"I know a bit about wounds, and will try to help as best as I can before we find a maester or a woods witch. Even so, it may scar."

"H-how did it happen?" Sansa asked softly.

"We were fleeing King's Landing. War's broken out between King Joffrey's forces and those of King Stannis. A low branch caught you and knocked you off your horse."

"Fleeing? Surely the Keep would be the safest place during battle?"

"Not for me, not for you."

"Oh," was all she said. She chewed on her lip as he finally finished cleaning her head. Sandor sighed, not knowing how to explain why either of them had to leave King's Landing, or why Wren Clegane would even be at court since she was so young and the Kinsguard took no wives.

"I was the King's shield, before we married, and he is a greedy, demonic child who was never told 'no' by anyone. He liked taking things that did not belong to him…and you happened to interest him far more than a man's wife should interest another man," Sansa gasped lightly.

"There was a girl he was to marry, from the North, but she realized his cruelty when he killed her father, and she escaped. You both had red hair, and for Joffrey that was enough. He would have raped you and asked me to thank him for the honor he did me. I won't have it. No one will touch you, or I'll kill them with my bare hands." he grumbled.

Sandor forced himself to calm down, and jumped slightly when he felt Sansa's small hand cover his.

"I…I can't remember you…Sandor…but you clearly care for me. I feel…safe…" she said hesitantly. Sandor opened his mouth to answer with a snarky comment, but something stopped him. She doesn't remember the Hound.

"You are my wife…Wren. It is for me to keep you safe." he said softly. Sansa leaned in to him and for one glimmering moment he thought she was going to kiss him. Instead, she placed her small hand on his unscarred cheek. Sandor used every ounce of his self control to not scorn her and push her away.

She doesn't remember the Hound.

But you do…