Chapter 7

The large warrior's boot made a scratching sound on the door as he pushed it aside. Red stained weirwood, centuries old, creaked as it opened up to darkness. No, not again.This was the way the hooded figure had left, most likely leading them to some exit from this worrisome maze that was once a secret passage way, a simple hall connecting but two rooms.

There was no other option but to continue into the dark. The man carrying her knew this to be true, for his gait did not falter in continuing onward. He walked, and as he walked even his light, expert steps resounded in the dark, the sound of them filling Sansa's head. It became all she heard, thethump, thump, thumping of each footfall consuming her until a tightness took hold in her chest. Her breathing became ragged. 'Please, can we stop for a moment?'

'No, we've no time to waste.' She thought she heard a taint of fear in his voice. 'The sun will be up soon. They'll find you gone, and me along with. If that buggering boy King has any sense he'll have sent for us both at first light.'

A sinking feeling in the girl's chest.

'Where are we going?' she asked, eyes wide in the darkness.

'Away from here, north might be.'

'No,' she said. 'No! Take me back! Stannis won't hurt me! Please.' Her fingers touched the rough, moist skin of his neck. She was desperate, thoughts racing back to Dontos and what he had planned for her. What if it was a safer way out? 'They'll take you back, I know it. They will pardon you-'

'Little bird, I've no intention of going back. I'm leaving, and whether you want me to take you north matters not so long as we're lost in this seven times damned hell.' He spat off to the side.

'You would do that?' she half whispered.

'Aye, I would.' His voice was directed down towards her. He might've been looking at her if it weren't for the pitch blackness betwixt them. You would only look at me in the dark…

'Why?' Sansa asked.

The man hissed, shook her slightly. 'Is it not enough to know I would? Does the little bird think me as one of her savior knights? Aemon, might be? Ha!' The force of his laugh bumped her, and she wanted to hit him there. Her body was growing sore from the hard steel of armor pressing around her, making her more irritable. He continued.

'I would take you to your brother, another green boy but King no less. Seek pardon,' his hand squeezed her arm, 'as recompense.'

'And join his army?' she enquired, 'Fight for the north?' The thought almost sent her to hysterical laughter.

'Don't believe he would take me, then? Fine. He'll pay me your weight in gold and I'll be off.'

Sansa remained silent in thought. She had told no one of what transpired in the Godswood when she went to pray. And Dontos had told her close to nothing of what he had planned for her. The fool was always stumbling drunk after her, hardly coherent and even less so when he had an air of nervousness about him. What was this fateful impasse she found herself in at this moment? On one hand Sansa knew Dontos felt he owed her for saving his life the day of Joff's nameday tourney, and on the other she did not fully trust him, and had often wished he had but a spark of the ferociousness she found in Sandor Clegane.

Does he not tire from all this? 'I think I am well enough to walk on my own, now.'

He grunted a reply and set her down, gently pushing her to her feet. It felt better to not be pressed against the notches and bolts any longer. Limbs sore from underuse, she stretched blindly and bumped into the large man at her side. 'Pardon…' she said, as if by habit.

He reached across to her and she felt his hand touch her waist once, for an instant, before finding her arm. She heard him clear his throat and then felt his hand grab for hers. She let him have it.

'In case you decide to get lost,' he growled, 'or run.'

Before she could respond, a faint blue light illuminated the stone tiles underfoot just a few paces ahead. 'Dawn approaches,' he rasped, and tugged hard on her hand as he sped forwards.

Twenty heartbeats passed and they arrived at the exact spot where once there was a narrow slit in the wall, something resembling a window. In it's place, however, was a doorway, wide enough to fit three men of Sandor's breadth side by side. But what it opened up to was nothing if not daunting. Dawn was quickly approaching, and it shone clearly through the doorway as it doubled as one large window leading out into the last wisps of smoke on the night air. Sansa looked out and down, head reeling at the distance to the ground before Sandor tugged her back to him.

'Bloody useful this is,' he grunted. 'Thanks to the ghoul bitch for nothing.'

He tensed, then, 'We'll leave another way, stay in the shadows. Out the Mud Gate. I can bloody a few men before any one takes notice-'

'No,' Sansa interrupted, 'she would not have led us here for no reason.' She faced him. The man's face was drawn in weariness, scarred side as equally coated in blood as the good, his body on edge, eyes piercing hers under his brow. She imagined she might not look so different in terms of fatigue. 'I must go back to my rooms to retrieve some things before we go. Will you wait here?'

His dark eyes squinted into the distance, leather gauntleted hands resting at his hips as he leaned on one leg, contemplative. 'Stay if you want, little bird,' he seemed to speak to the wind, 'it's no hair off my arse.'

She frowned. 'I will come,' the young woman reaffirmed. 'Wait for me.'

'Aye,' he conceded, 'but not for long.'

Running through the passageway, leaping over rusted pottery and tattered scrolls, she stopped for a moment to pick one of them up, a souvenir for the adventures she'd had in her secret passageway. She would only read it if she made it safely from this place. She found the staircase in almost no time, and bolted up the steps. When finally she approached the door, she saw it open as she had left it. Except now she heard someone rummaging about in her room.

A shadow moved above her. The silhouette of a man outlined against the dark blue of her ceiling. Sansa stood still as stone, petrified. He called down.

'Who's there? Show yourself! I am armed!'

By the characteristically slurred speech Sansa recognized the fool instantly. 'It's only me,' she said as rushed into her room. Before she could make it to her chest she was trapped in his flabby arms, and whirled around and around the room as he sang so incoherently that Sansa understood not a word of it. 'What is it?' She asked when he finally put her down. 'What has happened? Tell me!'

'It's done! Done! Done! The city is saved. Lord Stannis is dead, Lord Stannis is fled, no one knows, no one cares, his host is broken, the danger's done. Slaughtered, scattered, or gone over, they say. Oh, the bright banners! The banners, Jonquil, the banners! Do you have any wine? We ought to drink to this day, yes. It means you're safe, don't you see?'

He is mad with drink. She pushed past him to her dresser and pulled out a satchel, dropped the old scroll in and began filling it with her woolen riding clothes and as much of her belongings as she could conveniently fit. The blade of her father's dagger flashed when she hid it within her skirts.

Ser Dontos gasped at that and hopped over to her, almost falling. 'My sweet Jonquil, not now! It is too early yet.'

She faced the fool, shook him. 'Tell me what's happened!'

'They came up through the ashes while the river was burning. The river, Stannis was neck deep in the river, and they took him from the rear. Oh, to be a knight again, to have been part of it! His own men hardly fought, they say. Some ran but more bent the knee and went over, shouting for Lord Renly! What must Stannis have thought when he heard that? I had it from Osney Kettleblack who had it from Ser Osmund, but Ser Balon's back now and his men say the same, and the gold cloaks as well. We're delivered, sweetling! They came up the roseroad and along the riverbank, through all the fields Stannis had burned, the ashes puffing up around their boots and turning all their armor grey, but oh! the banners must have been bright, the golden rose and golden lion and all the others, the Marbrand tree and the Rowan, Tarly's huntsman and Redwyne's grapes and Lady Oakheart's leaf. All the westermen, all the power of Highgarden and Casterly Rock! Lord Tywin himself had their right wing on the north side of the river, with Randyll Tarly commanding the center and Mace Tyrell the left, but the vanguard won the fight. They plunged through Stannis like a lance through a pumpkin, every man of them howling like some demon in steel. And do you know who led the vanguard? Do you? Do you? Do you?'

'Robb?' It was too much to be hoped, but...

'It was the spirit of Lord Renly! Lord Renly in his green armor, with the fires shimmering off his golden antlers! Lord Renly with his tall spear in his hand! They say he killed Ser Guyard Morrigen himself in single combat, and a dozen other great knights as well. It was Renly, it was Renly, it was Renly! Oh! The banners, darling Sansa! Oh! To be a knight!'

In that instant she knew she would leave this place. She had enough of ghosts to last her a lifetime, enough of the knights turned fools and fools turned knights, and, more than anything, she had enough of the Lannisters. When she was done packing, her eyes darted towards the door in the floor. Dontos was still swinging around her room, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she still stood there watching him. A foot caught in her rug and he toppled dangerously near the hole. Suddenly, he remembered.

'Wha…? What is this place?' He looked into the door. 'Where d-did you go?' he hiccupped.

'No where of any concern to you,' she replied, a fist burrowing into his jerkin. She pulled him back roughly, 'You must go now. I've grown weary of your drunken presence.'

The man seemed even more confused than before, hissing as he clambered back on his feet. Sansa shoved him forward, hearing him curse once before he turned and gave her one last pat on her arm, leaned in to place a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek. 'Not tonight my dear, but soon. The worst is almost over.' He was finally outside her chamber door, the hall empty except for some whimpering old hag some paces away. The lanterns were dimming. Her shoulder moved to heft the bag higher there. 'My lady, what-?' but he had no time to finish his sentence before Sansa slammed the heavy door in his face.

Metal scratched against metal as she barred it shut.

There was close to no time left before the city awoke. If there are enough men left alive. Well, I won't be here to see.The rug sent up dust as she pulled it across to the door. Holding the frame and the edge of one side of the rug, she dragged them both over her head and descended into darkness.

Sandor stood from where he was crouching near the open doorway, gathering some coiled rope in his hands as he went. It seemed he too had thought to get supplies while she was gone. There was a look of suspicion on his face as he eyed her satchel.

'I thought it best to be prepared,' she explained. 'I'm pleased you decided to stay.'

'Not staying, and enough with the courtesies.' He grumbled as he pushed past her to test one of the dragon shaped sconces on the wall. The palm of his gloved hand struck it once, twice, and deemed it strong enough for he began to hastily tie the end of the rope to it. Strong hands pulled down hard to secure the knot, and he then turned to the shocked girl facing him.

'Little bird thinks we would fly down?' He grinned savagely at her before taking some steps in her direction, nearer to the ledge.

Silently, the rope slid against the castle wall as it descended some distance into open air. Heart heaving in her chest, Sansa put out her pale hand to the wall to steady herself.

A hand closed on her arm. 'Come now, don't tell me you're still frightened after all you've seen.' Sansa met his cold, dark eyes and saw there increasing agitation.

'What if we fall?' She asked, nausea churning in her tummy.

'Then we die. Not much we can do about that. Here, girl.' He crouched before her and brought her arms over his broad shoulders, around his neck. He smelled of iron and sweat and wine, but he did not appear drunk. If he were, Sansa was that much more frightened for what lay ahead.

'Need a stronger grip than that if you don't want to go flying now.' His rough voice brushed against her ear and she held him tighter as he hefted her up. A heavily muscled arm came around to secure her tightly against his breastplate. Fear made her bring one hand down to hike up her skirts so her shoes met on the small of his back.

The Hound seemed amused at that. 'Careful where you put those things.' He walked over to the sconce and gripped the thick rope with one hand. His skillful hands secured it around his forearms and shoulder. Sansa climbed higher on him as he approached the ledge. The tall man stood facing inward.

'I'm going to let go of you now, little bird. Keep your grip hard.'

It felt as though her heart was trying to burrow through her chest with fear. Fists held firm on his cloak, she put her cheek close to his, ignoring the smell of soot in his black, lank hair. Closing her eyes she resolved herself to praying until they made it safely to ground. The wind blew harder against her face as he stepped closer outside and he pulled up her hood.

She moved her head as if to say thank you, but all he said was 'You hair is being blown around, and someone might recognize you.'

And then, sensing her terror, added 'You should watch, in case some one spots us.'

'I will try,' was her only reply. She was brave, a Stark of Winterfell. Bran had never feared climbing, and he was only a young boy before he... before he fell and became a cripple. Oh, Gods!

The warmth around her back gone, Sandor began to climb down. Sansa had never clung to anything so hard in her life. Her heart felt ready to implode before she realized her eyes were closed.

The Hound's feet were against the outside wall now, moving at an infuriatingly slow pace. It would be mid day before they'd make it down, she knew, and by that time they would have been spotted, and Joffrey would have both their heads, Kingslayer be damned.

'What do you see?' His huffing voice sounded distant to her ears. Summoning some courage deep within her, she opened her eyes.

'We're alone,' she gasped. Solid ground was about twenty man heights down, a short ledge few paces distant before breaking off towards the sea. It was still too dark to see but she was able to hear distant waves, far off, sweeping against the shore.

Hearing her breath waver, Sandor teased her by patting her back, one hand on the rope. 'Stop,' she pleaded, 'hurry.' She might wretch all over him if he did that again.

A chuckle resounded from the wall. 'Everything scares you. You have nothing to fear from death, little bird.'

The ground slowly approached them as Sandor steadily brought their bodies down. They carried on in such a pace until suddenly he stopped completely. She shifted her weight on him. 'What is wrong?' Terror raked through her.

'No more rope,' he said, and the three man heights left suddenly became ten as Sansa contemplated jumping the rest of the way.

'What will we do?' Panic was rising in her chest, her head aching from a lack of sleep and the wine from earlier. His head tilted to look down, and then he tugged on the rope once before he spoke.

'You'll get on the rope. I'll jump and then you will jump after me.'

'You're mad,' she stated. 'I won't-'

'I will catch you, little bird.' If that was meant to reassure her she was having none of it.

'I can't,' she whimpered.

'Then you'll remain dangling on this rope until Joffrey's men cut you down, and I won't be here to catch you,' he rasped, growing impatient.

She clamped her thighs hard around his waist, determined. 'If you think for a moment I'd even let go of you-'

A distant shout from below interrupted her. She gasped and they both turned to see a unit of five soldiers making their way over to them.

'OY! THIEVES!' one of them called.

'You dare steal from the King's castle?'

'Sedition!'

'Treason!'

'Come down and face justice!'

Sandor growled roughly into her ear. 'Get on the rope,' he commanded. His tone broached no argument.

It took all her might to reach out one hand to grasp the scratchy line, but when she did she held it firmly as Sandor was able to maneuver around her so that he managed to tangle the rope around her waist and leg. A whipping sound close to their heads and Sansa saw an arrow rebound off the stone wall. Mother have mercy. The vision of Sandor's rage at the attack gleamed from his face. 'Fuck!' He let go then, shaking the rope so much that Sansa cried out.

He fell, and landed in a crouch, practiced. His sword was out before she could even blink. Four men charged him, but it was the archer he was after. Parrying every guided strike at his side, the archer had no chance to loose another arrow before Sandor's greatsword cut clean through string, bow, and man. A limp body dropped to the grass. Then he turned to face the others.

Sansa's body was dangling in midair, casually bumping against the wall as her blood pumped loudly in her ears. Were the Hound to die here, she would reveal herself to these men. Surely they would only send her back to the Queen, seek a reward for her capture as Sandor had wanted from Robb. A pale, orange light shone on the horizon, bathing everything in its luminescence.

There were but three men left standing around Sandor, viciously attacking him on all sides. But the tall man was like something inhuman in his speed. The strength of his swings broke lesser swords in two, cut clean through helm and plate and meat, blood splaying all around him. Sansa watched him in horror until there were only two men left.

Another whip, but this time from above. An arrow drove straight into one soldier's neck, a vulnerable soft spot, and blood exploded from him there. The precision needed to hit such a small target from that distance was unfathomable. The man fell to his knees, coughing blood, dying. Sansa looked up.

And saw, above her, a hooded figure. Thank you, she thought distantly as she twirled.

The last man died instantly on the edge of Sandor's sword.

He then walked over to the dying one, kicked at his shoulder to turn him, and drove the point of his sword straight through his neck. A small mercy, to have put the young soldier out of his misery.

Sansa knew what she had to do when Sandor stood beneath her, sword sheathed at his hip.

She untangled herself from the rope, being sure to leave the knot around her arm for last. When she was ready, she took one deep breath, steadied herself, and then let go.

Strong arms encircled her in less than a heartbeat.