DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to George R.R. Martin and his amazing Song of Ice & Fire Series. I claim no ownership to any of this, even the parts I made up :) I'm just having my fun because all seven gods of the faith, the old gods and R'hllor know that he probably won't take SanSan where I want them to go :)

SANSA

It was not until the Hound's breathing slowed and deepened that the tension finally began to leave Sansa's body. She had kept her eyes screwed shut but of course could still hear him sloshing about in the water; when he let out a gasp it nearly shocked her into sitting up, into asking what was wrong, but then she remembered she was supposed to be asleep at the moment, and silent when she was awake anyway, so she merely held her breath until she heard him stand and step out of the tub.

The room had grown chilly and again Sansa wondered where the Hound would sleep, but before her mind could formulate any sort of answer he was there on the bed beside her. She waited, frightened, expecting that he would reach for her, touch her, grasp her...but he did nothing of the sort and as he fell into a drunken sleep she lay there shivering and thinking of the cold nights at Winterfell when she and Arya would share a bed and try to shock each other with their cold hands and feet.

At some point Sansa's exhaustion took over and she fell into a fitful sleep punctuated with nightmares that she was back in King's Landing. Joffrey brought her the head of a wolf and laughed maniacally as he told her he'd killed her brother Robb himself; he then ordered Ser Boros to beat her and Sansa heard herself saying, "No, please no, the Hound, where is the Hound...?"

"Seven hells girl, shut up," she heard him rasp. He was hovering over her, pinning her to the pallet with his hands, and Sansa realized suddenly that she was no longer dreaming. She froze, her eyes wide. The Hound was staring down at her, his eyes gleaming in the darkness, and the silence stretched between them until she felt she needed to explain.

"I...I had a bad dream," she whispered. "I'm sorry." Sansa felt ashamed and childish, to be writhing and shouting in her sleep, making enough noise to wake him and possibly every other person in the little inn up - all because of a little nightmare.

The Hound's features contorted and the burnt corner of his lip twitched madly; she felt his hands tighten on her shoulders for a brief moment before he abruptly let go and backed away from her as if she was diseased. He seemed to hesitate, his hands clenching and unclenching, and finally he moved to the tiny opening in the far wall and tore back the thick, moth-eaten cloth that served as drapery. "It's nearly morning anyway. Get up. I paid for our time here and it's best we get an early start."

Sansa nodded and slipped quickly from the bed, grabbing up her dirty clothes and pulling them on as quickly as possible, keeping her back to the Hound as she did so. She could practically feel the anger emanating from him. Had she really been that loud? What had she said? She wanted to ask, but then again she didn't, and she wasn't supposed to speak, anyway...

They left the inn behind them and traveled away from the road again, her eyes itching and tired due to her lack of sleep. The sun rose and set and still they rode, the horses picking their way carefully in the dark. They stopped in the morning and slept amongst the trees again, a pattern that Sansa soon learned they would repeat quite a few times. They came upon more inns in their travels, but the Hound refused to stop at one again and she was too scared to ask if they could do so.

In this manner the days stretched into weeks, and though they cut back toward the east again they continued moving north as well - and that at least left Sansa feeling that at the very least he seemed to be taking her home.

SANDOR

When the little bird had first begun whimpering in her sleep, it woke him as quickly as if she had screamed. She was twitching and moaning and then suddenly she rolled over and reached in his direction, grasping at his arm, and he thought maybe, maybe...

Until she found her voice and called out, loudly this time, "No," then dropped back into mumbling so that the only words he understood after that were, "the Hound."

She was having nightmares, of that much he was certain, and it seemed that they in fact involved him. She was being too loud, on top of it all, and in his anger he found himself moving over her, pressing her shoulders into the pallet and cursing at her, forcing her to wake up. When she did she looked more frightened than ever and considering how many times he'd seen her scared, her reaction just then said more than he could have ever wanted it to say.

Sansa Stark will never not be afraid of you. She will never look on you with anything but fear and pity and will never speak to you with anything but forced courtesy,he told himself then. He had to practically leap off her, and when he told her they were leaving he stared out the open slat in the wall at the barely lightening sky rather than chance a look at her as she dressed.

Yet when they got back on the horses, he left the road and though he continued to bear north, he also cut east as well. They had gone too far west to bother with Maidenpool, he knew, but Saltpans...they could catch a ship there, and it was far enough west of Maidenpool that they wouldn't have to cut back too much.

He followed the original pattern of riding all day and night and sleeping the following day. Sometimes he allowed for a few hours' stop every morning, knowing that otherwise she would hate him even more than she already did, but inns were out of the question. He could not share a bed with her again - he wanted his reward far too much, yet also somehow did not want to give himself the temptation to take it.

The little bird remained silent as he'd ordered, yet her obedience angered him as much as it amused him, so that when she finally spoke – nearly a fortnight after they had left the inn where she'd had her nightmares of him - he felt a surge of relief that she was talking to him at all. They were about to get back on the horses for another night of riding when she touched him gently on the arm as he reached to help her up and said, her voice hoarse from disuse, "Please...may we find an inn? I feel...I need..."

Sandor could not help himself. He gently brushed a calloused hand across her forehead and realized that she was hot to the touch, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with fever. "Seven hells," he swore. "Why didn't you say something sooner, if you were sick?" She cut her eyes to the ground and he could feel her trembling beneath his hand, so he crooked a finger around her chin and raised her face to him again. There were tears in her eyes but she seemed intent on not allowing them to fall and he felt a surge of respect for her and a gut-wrenching twist of disgust in himself. "We'll find you an inn, little bird. A bath and hot food and a bed. And so long as it's safe to do so, we'll stay until you're better."

They did not have to ride far; mere hours after they rejoined the kingsroad they came upon a cluster of homes, a village slightly larger than the one they'd stopped in so long ago. Sandor led her to the inn, letting her lean on him, wanting to carry her but sure that others would raise questions if he said he needed a room for himself and his squire and said squire was draped in his arms like a child, regardless of whether or not the squire was ill.

"I'll need a room," he insisted to the nearly toothless man who kept the inn. "A room, some wine and something hot and easy to eat – stew, preferably. And a bath. My squire has caught a fever on the road."

The innkeep eyed Sansa. "You best not be bringing something dangerous into my inn," he said shrewdly.

"The boy caught a chill, is all. I've got the gold, now give us what I ask," Sandor ordered, holding out a stag for good measure. The innkeep snatched up the coin, bit it, and nodded.

"Aye."