A/N: Disclaimers
- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And both the title of the fic and the title of this chapter belong to Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)

*My betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48, once again thank you for everything girls!

- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).
- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

*A/N: Dedicated to kylathelurker for liking Sandor's grandpa so much! This one is for you

When their last day in Pentos finally arrived Sansa didn't want to wake up. This is the last night we get to sleep here, she regretted drowsily. She had been having such a nice dream, and though the featherbed was quite old it was also cozy and the pillows were so comfortable that she was loath to open her eyes.

It wasn't until she heard Sandor putting on his boots that she remembered the wonderful dream she had woken from had been about Sandor. Sansa blushed at the thought, and even more so when she realized she didn't feel embarrassed anymore for this intimacy with a man who was not her lord husband. After blinking away the night's sleep she shifted around so she was lying on her back and saw Sandor turn his neck to look at her. She couldn't help but smile as she stretched lazily, not even realizing that the movement ensured that her long legs could be seen beneath her skirts. Sansa yawned and caught Sandor staring at her bare legs as she massaged one against the other. When she finally remembered that she was a princess and a lady and shouldn't be exposing her legs like this, she pouted and said the first thing that came into her mind. "How are you feeling?"

Sandor looked back at her face with an incredulous expression on his. "What do you mean?"

She turned on her side again, leaning her head up on her elbow. "Are you sad or excited that we are leaving this place?"

Sandor considered that for a moment. "Both," he admitted. "And you?"

"Oh, it is the same for me and I'm nervous. I am so happy we are going to embark upon this adventure, yet I also feel a little sad to leave Pentos and this room… in a way it has become a sort of home, hasn't it?"

Sandor nodded and grunted in agreement. "These bloody buggering Pentoshi know how to enjoy life, don't they?"

"They do," Sansa agreed. "Yet I was thinking not so much of the city but of who we've become as we stayed here."

"I know," Sandor said. "And I also know what you mean about this room… Not in a million years would I have thought we would one day be where we are now."

Sansa didn't want to let her attachment to this place damper both their spirits for the journey ahead of them, so she decided to act jolly and playful.

"To be sure! I would never have thought there would come a day when I didn't mind your snores anymore," she said teasingly.

Sandor broke out into a loud laugh. "Is that the way of it then?" he asked her once he recovered.

Sansa could feel herself blushing as she sat up in bed. "Well… they startled me at first back in the Kingswood, but not for very long," she tried to explain. "And now I don't even notice them."

Sandor gave out a grudging grunt. "Good answer little bird. Else I would have shown you something which you would never stop minding about."

Sansa had woken up so relaxed and happy that she felt something akin to mischievousness. She arched her eyebrow as her hand reached out casually for her pillow. "Really? Why now, I'm so lucky then!"

Sandor sensed that something was happening. "You are…" he agreed slowly.

"Oh but you're not!" she squealed, and without further ado she shocked both herself and Sandor as she threw the pillow at him in play.

She gasped at her audacity as Sandor took a long moment to stare at the fallen pillow on his leg and then at her before he laughed maliciously and said, "You asked for it, little bird!"

Knowing what was coming Sansa tried to get out of bed as quickly as she could, but the blankets were tangled around her legs and before she could do anything more than just exclaim "No please!" Sandor grabbed her ankle with one hand while he threw the pillow at her. He did it so gently that Sansa barely felt it, but waves of laughter took hold of her and she began to giggle uncontrollably as she tried to free herself. Sandor was having none of that though. Forgetting the pillows he began to tickle the sole of her feet. Taking care not to hit him in the face with her leg thanks to the mad struggle for freedom that possessed her, she cried, "No Sandor! R- really I can't- can't stand… tickles!"

"Should've thought twice about starting a pillow fight against me then, shouldn't you..? Yield!"

Oh gods, it feels so good! She had loved to get into fights like this back in Winterfell with her siblings before Septa Mordane told her that it was no proper behavior for a lady. Sansa couldn't believe how much she'd missed this! Yet it was even more incredible the way Sandor Clegane was playing along just as enthusiastically as Bran and little Rickon once did!

"No- I- don't… yield!" she spat, in between breaths.

Sandor was laughing as well, his smiles making the scarred side of his face stretch out oddly, and while the morning light streaming through the balcony threw into sharp detail all the craters and red cracks that covered half his face, Sansa felt the pressing need to suddenly get closer to him. From somewhere she found the strength to pull her upper body into a sitting position and taking hold of Sandor's tunic she fell back on the bed, bringing Sandor on top of her.

The first thing she registered was that her ankle was finally free, but now that she had her wish of being closer to Sandor everything had changed. There was no laughter now, only stunned silence from her behavior by both of them. His nose was almost touching hers when he finally blinked twice and tried to pull back… But something in Sansa didn't want to let him go just yet.

"Don't," she whispered ever so faintly, making herself wonder if she was really saying these things. "I… I haven't yielded yet." It was a poor excuse but she needed to say something.

Sandor wouldn't or couldn't say anything. Sansa had learned over the weeks to read not only Sandor's face, words and manners but his eyes as well. Now she saw in them longing and guilt clashing with each other. Maybe he is thinking back on the night of the battle when he threatened to kill me if I didn't sing him a song..? But if that was the case and Sandor was feeling guilty about that, then he couldn't have been more mistaken! Instead of fearing him she somehow still wanted to draw him even closer to her- to somehow close the small gap that was between them. After all, he didn't have to pin me to the bed this time. It happened the other way around…

Sandor's mouth began to twitch then. Once even that little movement had been too much for her to look at, but in these mad moments the thought of kissing him right there crossed her mind!

Sansa wasn't sure if Sandor would want that though, so instead she brought up her hand to the scarred side of his face and gently, lightly, slowly Sansa brought her fingers closer to his mouth, his rough stubble scratching her.

What a fool I was to be afraid of this man!

The contact of their skins pressed together liked this only served to make the twitch worse, and as she felt the trembling of his mouth beneath her fingertips, Sandor let out a deep groan.

The sound sent a shiver through her body as her hand moved towards his bearded jaw and cheekbone, the sensation of the warmth they were sharing making her feel giddy with excitement. Sandor actually leaned into her hand, moving Sansa beyond words…

Time stood still and neither of them knew if they stayed like that for just a minute or for hours without end.

For Sansa at least, it didn't matter. Her rational conscience was long gone. She didn't know that she was discovering life's deep well of desire, nor that what she was feeling was the urgent thirst for its sweet waters. In her mind, thousands of wild thoughts and bold suggestions were being born, but in the end her body seemed to know what was expected of her by instinct in such a situation as this.

Sansa felt Sandor trying to keep his hips and legs as far away from hers as he could, but his chest was starting to crush her into the bed. She brought her other hand to his chest, caressing him timidly. She hoped that the reason why he wasn't touching her was because he was using his hands to support himself above her rather than because he wasn't feeling the need of it, for that would have completely clashed with her own situation.

Sansa could feel the powerful strength in Sandor's chest. He was strong and muscular and big; so broad of shoulders that his mere presence made her feel giddy and helpless and fragile like a little bird more than ever before. There was a sudden wetness between her legs, and Sansa blushed fiercely at the notion that Sandor would somehow feel it; would somehow know. Her eyes widened when she thought about that, and her lips parted open a little, betraying her.

Their eyes had been locked with each other's this whole time, Sansa drinking him in with her gaze as she felt Sandor drowning in hers intensely… These were the most beautiful feelings she'd ever recalled possessing. Not even Joffrey made me feel like this when I still thought him good and kind. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Joff had only been a boy, while Sandor was a man grown, but it didn't matter much now, did it? The things she was feeling were like nothing she had ever experienced before, nor even believed possible of existing.

Is this normal? Is this what married people feel when they are alone? Sansa wasn't married to Sandor. Even if he was her friend and protector she had a very big suspicion that this kind of behavior wouldn't be allowed had they not been the only people in the room- in the world!

Sansa had never found herself in a situation like this, yet she felt that things could be taken even further were Sandor and her willing. Yet she didn't know how to let Sandor know this, nor was he letting her know that either.

Maybe I should lean in closer to him? she considered.

As a sigh left her soul, whether because she was disappointed Sandor wasn't doing anything or because she was warmly agitated Sansa never knew, for in that moment she caught a sudden flash of anger cross Sandor's eyes and face, and before she knew what was happening he had managed to wrench himself free of her gasp, letting out a long contained gasp.

Sansa blinked a couple of times, staring now at the ceiling above her, her chest rising up and down as she breathed deeply and loudly. She turned her head to see Sandor sitting by the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, swearing loudly.

He stood up and paced the room three times before striding outside to the balcony never looking at her.

Sansa wasn't sure why things had suddenly changed, and she wasn't even sure yet if Sandor was angry at her or just as confused as she was. Will I ever dare ask him what has just happened? She asked herself. Yet she found no right answer to that question. Oh, for mother to be here so she could explain things to me..! Yet she could never know that I've been sharing the bed with Sandor, least of all whatever it was that just happened here. She wanted to scream at both her septa and her mother for not telling her what was to be done in such a situation as this. The only advice she could recall that could remotely be related to what had happened had come from Queen Cersei, so Sansa dismissed it instantly.

As she was sitting up in bed Sandor came into the room, his eyes flickering quickly over her before he settled with staring at the wall behind her. She wanted to throw a pillow at Sandor again because of that, only this time out of anger not mischievousness.

"Get dressed," he informed her shortly, yet not unkindly. "We must set out soon and we still haven't had our breakfast."

With that he left to check on Nan and Stranger she supposed. Sansa sat in bed staring at the closed door, wondering if she wanted to cry or laugh. In the end she settled for neither. She got up, washed her face, mouth and hands, brushed out her hair, braided it and changed into her clothes.

She was packing up the last of their things when Sandor came back to escort her to breakfast, still avoiding her eyes. Sansa wanted to scream. Say something, anything! Talk about the weather if you must, but speak up!

Sandor didn't say a word.

What the fuck had just happened? Sandor wondered for the hundredth time as he sat in front of Sansa as they broke their fast. Bloody hell…

Sandor couldn't even think of what the meaning of what had just transpired between the two could be. He was, at present, too stunned for words. Yet I managed to control myself, he remembered, but he wasn't sure if that still felt like the right thing to do.

He tried to remember every single detail of this morning to figure out just why had the little bird had initiated things…

Sandor had woken up once more curled up around Sansa's body, as the little bird slept on, a happy little smile playing across her face. He'd disentangled himself from her slowly and gently, musing that he was getting good at this. Every morning they would wake up to find at least one of them finding was hugging the other in a tight embrace, and some mornings both would be clinging to the other. Yet they had come to the unspoken agreement of never mentioning such things.

Yet this morning he remembered that this had been their last night in Pentos. Off to Norvos of all places! He would have laughed at how sweet it sounded had he not feared he would wake Sansa up. Let her sleep a little longer. She'll be deprived of a soft bed and feather pillows soon enough. They had bought two new bedrolls- the best they could afford, yet they couldn't be compared to a real bed. Sandor had then played the list of the things they were bringing along once more in his head to make sure they weren't missing anything.

When Sansa had finally woken up he had gone hard at the sight of her perfect goddess like body stretched across the bed in a very alluring manner. He had stifled the urge to take her in his arms then, yet the sight of her long bare legs was so enticing that it had been hard for him to carry on the small talk Sansa had began the morning with.

Then out of nowhere she had playfully thrown a pillow at him, an invitation even a blind idiot could read. He'd taken a hold of her ankle and begun torturing her with tickles, having as much fun as he ever did as a little boy with Arwyn. Yet pillow fights and tickles had never had the bloody effect then that they were having on him now. Sandor had been wondering what Sansa would do if he moved the tickles up from her ankle to her knee when she had surprised him beyond words by quickly sitting up for a moment only to drag him back to the bed with her. He had been on top of her when his world had stopped. The only thing that seemed to matter was that Sansa bloody Stark had a tight hold of his tunic and that she was pleading with him not to go away. Seven hells!

So he had stayed, more than happy to grant her wish, getting lost in time in her Tully blue eyes and the sweet warm smell of skin and hair. How long did we fucking stay like that I'll never know..!

It had taken much determination not to give in to his passions then. Only years of serving the Lannisters and staying silent as they committed atrocities could have prepared him to restrain himself from doing more than just laying on top of the little bird, who all the while gazed up at him, devouring not only his face but his secrets and his soul with those enchanting eyes of her, just as he did the same with her.

The struggle of keeping his distance had been so strong that his mouth had begun to bloody twitch. Perfect, he'd thought. Now she'll push you away in disgust.

Yet that was an insult to Sansa. She had managed to see beyond his scars and twitches since before they left Westeros, and if he had been in doubt since then, she had sure shut him up with the way her hand had been drawn to the trembling muscles besides his mouth. Instead of kissing her hand the way he'd wanted he'd leaned into her palm, feeling lost in the best of heavens.

Gods what did I do to deserve this glory..?

This was clearly the first time Sansa had experienced anything of this nature though. Confusion and wonder had been plain on her face, yet he had caught a sigh of eagerness and something soft in there as well. I can't teach you this, he'd thought. Sansa, I fucking want you but I cannot take things further.

Sandor had reasoned that since this was all new to Sansa it was the novelty of it that she felt drawn to, rather than to his person. What if you send everything and everyone to hell and take her now? Will you be able to bear it when she asks you never to touch her again and to take her to White Harbor as soon as you can procure a ship?

The answer to that was no, so he had tried to keep his hips and rock hard cock as far away from Sansa's blasted lower body as possible, arching his body upwards below the waist.

He had relished in her touch and would have gladly remained with her like that until winter crossed the narrow sea, but reality had reached him first as he saw that Sansa was somehow realizing that if she brought her face closer to his, something new might happen. Her little sigh had been too bloody much; they had crossed the line and stepped into a stolen fantasy from which they must now part from.

So he had managed to wrench himself away from her tight grasp at long last, barely noticing her stunned and bewildered expression before pacing the room in confusion, trying to find the right words to say to her.

Nothing occurred to him, probably because he was aching for some sodding relief. He had stepped onto the balcony instead to try and ease his need for a moment, until he could get downstairs to the courtyard and the place he'd taken to going whenever this sort of situation came up. He couldn't bloody well release where Sansa might hear him, so he had entered the room and told her to change before he mumbled an excuse of seeing to the horses, all the time avoiding her eyes. If I see her I will have to face whatever she will be feeling at present. Sandor's own emotions were so mixed up at the moment that he couldn't very well try and explain things to her.

When he'd returned to their rooms to escort her down to breakfast he had decided that the best thing was to ignore the whole situation. If we talk about it we both might very well regret it soon enough.

So now here they sat, breaking their fast, in sullen silence and avoiding each other's eyes…

It didn't take Sansa long to give up hope on Sandor addressing what had just occurred between them. She felt a little wounded, though she couldn't exactly explain why this was so. Yet, later, as they ate their food, Sandor already drinking from a flagon of wine, Sansa came up somehow with the notion that if she started talking as if nothing had happened, then Sandor would think that the experience hadn't been of consequence to her. It certainly wasn't to him, or he would have said something. Look me in the eyes at least…

And if this silence lingered on any longer it would start appearing as if they were angry with the other, and Sansa didn't want that one bit. She wanted things to be as they had been before waking up this morning. Resigned and a little sad, Sansa Stark pushed the memory of this morning's pillow fight with Sandor to the back chambers of her mind and locked them safely in there.

She put on a mask similar to the one she'd learned to don on in King's Landing and broke the silence between them with a cheerful, "Oh Sandor look! Two little dwarves have just entered the inn. Don't they remind you of someone?"

Sandor seemed to take the hint of a parley quick enough. He turned around to look at the newcomers, his brow suddenly wrinkled up with a frown. "Seven bloody hells! I didn't think it possible there was a single dwarf out there who looked uglier than the Imp, yet it appears I was very wrong! There isn't one but two."

Sansa pleaded with him to keep quiet. "Oh Sandor hush! They'll hear you."

Sandor laughed. "And what if they do, little bird? Think they'll come demanding me to apologize when there's the risk of picking a fight they cannot win?"

Sansa gave Sandor a look. "I know you. You wouldn't hurt them. You might mock them with your words but you aren't vicious and cruel the way Joffrey was."

Sandor chuckled hoarsely. "Thank bloody hells for that..! Now little bird, if you're finished with your food I think the time has come to leave this place."

Sansa suddenly got very nervous. She nodded in understanding and together they climbed the stairs up to their room one last time to pick up their things. Everything had been hidden in their saddlebags and some bags tied to them. When Sandor began to don his armor back on Sansa silently moved to help him pretending that nothing was amiss. Sandor finally seemed to want to catch her eyes, but she purposely didn't meet his gaze.

As they were about to close the door of the room in which they had experienced so many simple and beautiful things, Sansa felt the desire to gaze upon the view from their little balcony for one last time.

Pentos was a sea of tilted roofs, and in the great port beyond fishing boats could be seen moving across the bay, their sails rustling with the wind, their masts looking imposing even at this distance. She let her eyes wonder above the markets and palaces and temple, resting one last time on the Gardens of Vente before she sighed deeply, closing her eyes and taking it all in. I'll remember this place and these days till the day I die.

When she opened them again Sansa turned around to see Sandor staring at her, a wicked grin across his face, and his hand on the pommel of his swordbelt.

"All ready?" he asked her cheerfully.

"All ready," she nodded in agreement.

They left Pentos by the Sunrise Gate in the direction of the Rhoyne, Sansa riding Nan and Sandor riding Stranger. They weren't the only ones leaving the city though. They had to stand in a long line for some time before their turn to reach the gates came. When the city inspectors saw Sandor they frowned suspiciously, making Sansa's heart stop beating. Please oh please, don't let them know that he is the Hound! If word had reached the Free Cities that there was a price for them both they would be lost. The inspectors turned to look at Sansa who willed herself to hide all her fears and misgivings from her face just as Sandor's hand discreetly landed on the pommel of his sword.

The men must have been convinced that nothing was wrong since they finally signaled for them to leaves as they moved to the persons behind them. Sansa sighed in relief and looked over at Sandor who winked and grinned knowingly at her. She returned the smile widely before turning back to look at Pentos for the last time in heavens knew how long. I'll miss this city so much… I felt safe here.

Hours later the only landscape around them was rolling grasslands in the distance as they rode on the wide Valyrian roads which were made of stone and thousands of years old. The roads ran straight as a sewing needle or an arrow to the horizon. The smell of the sea had long ago disappeared to be replaced by the smell of trees. Though the Sunrise Gate had been crowded earlier on, the roads were so wide and long that at some point or another during the day everyone seemed to settled to their own pace, so that now Sansa and Sandor felt quite alone with no people to be seen behind them or before them, save for a single solitary figure atop a donkey far ahead. Their saddle bags were bulging with cheese and sausages, flour and salted ham, yet they hadn't been able to touch any of it at all since leaving the city. Sansa knew they had to take care to ration their provisions but it was a little hard not to think about eating something when her belly began to make little rumbling noises in complaint, and even more so after weeks and weeks of being able to eat more than was her wish if she so wanted it.

Oh stop it, silly! This isn't as bad as the Kingswood, and we couldn't have stayed in Pentos for much longer, she tried to remind herself for the hundredth time this day. It was wonderful but too close to King's Landing. Sooner or later we might have been discovered and then what? No, it's better this way. It'll be tough at first but in the end Norvos awaits… Great Norvos, she thought, excited. It sounded so foreign and mysterious that Sansa could almost close her eyes and see it.

Neither Sandor nor she spoke much that day. Sansa had no idea what thoughts occupied Sandor's head, but for her time went by with her musings of Norvos, smiles appearing every time she thought about how fine it was to ride Nan (though she wasn't blind to the fact that in a day or two she would be feeling quite the opposite) and of the pillow fight that had happened earlier on.

At long last, night finally arrived. They decided to rest for the night beside a well so they could re-fill their skins and rest the horses. Sandor claimed that since the road was so smooth it wouldn't be that bad to sleep on the ground, and Sansa could only hope he was right. She smiled up at him when he told her that with obvious concern in his voice, and thought she had reassured him for he returned the smile.

Soon enough the horses were watered and fed and hobbled for the night and Sandor had made a warm fire though the night wasn't chilly. Sansa had been off to make her water some distance away from the spot, both looking around nervously for any vipers that would strike at her from the ground, and smiling at the memories that this brought of their time in the Kingswood. It actually felt nice to sit by the fire under the stars.

When she returned to their little camp Sansa smiled when she saw that Sandor had laid their bedrolls next to each other. So our sleeping arrangements haven't changed despite this morning, then..? She wondered. Excellent!

It wasn't only that she wanted to keep on sleeping by Sandor, but also that apart from keeping warm with each other's bodies when the fire died out, in this strange far away land it was nice to think she wasn't all alone in the big wide world. Sandor made her feel so at ease, yet she chose not to remark on the bedrolls' positions.

Sansa went to sit on her bedroll and folded her hands in her lap delicately waiting for their supper to be ready, humming to herself.

After a few verses Sandor turned to look at her and rasped, "Sing me the song of Florian, little bird."

Sansa hoped the darkness could hide her blushing cheeks, yet she smiled. "If you say please, I will."

Sandor looked loath to do so, yet in the end he mumbled a barely audible please, so Sansa began her song; their song in a way. When she was done Sandor stared at the fire for a long moment, brooding.

"Did your mother ever sing to you?" she heard herself ask him.

His eyes quickly met hers, yet in the end he only shrugged. "I suppose she did, but I can't remember. She died when I was too young. My grandfather read Arwyn and me stories though."

Sansa feared to ask him what was on her mind, yet she had to know. "Sandor… did- did your grandfather… how did he die?"

Sandor looked at his hands then. "He didn't die thanks to Gregor if that is what you're wondering, Sansa. No, the old man died in his sleep when I was about six I think, and he died content. Or at least as content as one can die when you know your family's name will live on thanks to the likes of Gregor."

Sansa thought Sandor was very mistaken. "I'm happy he died peacefully of old age, but you have it all wrong! I'm sure by what you've told me of him that he died happy knowing that the family's name was going to live on through you."

Sandor looked at her with something akin to astonishment in his eyes before he almost laughed. "Well, he did die before I was burned and realized what knights were all about so he probably thought I would one day marry and have children and try to be as good a knight as I bloody could."

The notion of Sandor marrying and having children was new and strange to Sansa. "I think," she began slowly. "I think you would have made your grandfather proud had that been your fate."

Sandor looked impressed by her praise but his nasty mood was back. "If you say so, little bird… Just don't start thinking on whom you could marry me off once the war is done and your safely back at Winterfell. I won't have you thanking me for my services with a wife of your choosing."

Sansa giggled. She could not imagine ever doing anything of the sort! The time I would have to spend coaxing the bride to not fear Sandor would tax even the most resolute of wills. It only worked for us because we were thrown into such hard circumstances I guess… "Oh all right," she assured him. "I promise I'll never try to find you a bride."

As they hungrily devoured their sausages Sansa and Sandor sat side by side pondering the maps of Essos they'd brought with them, contemplating the road ahead of them, surrounded with possibilities for new paths and journeys were they to change their minds; they didn't feel like changing them, though. At least for Sansa it was just nice to look at a map and imagine where she was at present. I'm a crazy little bird indeed! She thought, resigned yet content.

"Sandor?" she suddenly said.

"Yes, little bird?"

"How old are you?"

Sandor frowned at her. "Why?"

"Because I think you might be younger than you look."

Sandor looked amused by that. "Meaning what exactly? Are you saying I look as old as Maester Pycelle?"

"Oh no!" Sansa chuckled, quickly trying to reassure him that wasn't at all true. "I didn't mean so old! At least less than five and thirty."

Sandor arched an eyebrow at her. "Not even close. I'll be turning eight and twenty soon."

"Really?" she said amazed. "That isn't so dreadfully old!" Though there was a time when I wouldn't have thought so. She remembered that Lord Beric Dondarrion had been in his early twenties when she and Jeyne had first seen him, and the man had been handsome enough, yet he had looked so dreadfully old to her inexperienced eyes…

"It isn't," Sandor agreed. "How old are you?"

"I'll be three and ten soon," she informed him happily.

Sandor snorted. "A girl."

"Well, I'm not claiming I am a woman grown, but neither am I the little girl you once knew. You said so yourself some weeks ago that I was starting to look different, remember?"

Sandor was clearly growing uncomfortable with the conversation. "What the hell do our ages have to do with anything, Sansa?"

She shrugged her shoulders gracefully. "Nothing… I just thought that if our name days weren't too far apart we could celebrate them once we reach Norvos."

Sandor looked about to laugh cruelly at the notion, but instead he only said, "As you wish..:"

When they finally lay down side by side for the night beneath the thick woolen blankets they'd brought with them, without speaking they both looked up at the thousands of stars up above in the skies. They make you feel so tiny..!

"What are you thinking about, Sansa?" Sandor asked her, his voice being the only sound for miles around.

"I was thinking that I am very lucky to be alive and sharing all of this with you. And you?"

"I was remembering when my old maester taught me the names we know the stars by."

They recited the names together after that, as well as discovering some shining new figures up there: it was funny how a bunch of stars could look like a castle to Sansa, while to Sandor the same stars looked like some giant being slain. It was a very enjoyable night for them both.

Just as they were drifting off to sleep though Sansa whispered, "Sandor why would you always speak to me so harshly back in King's Landing? Why were you always so hateful?" It makes me sad we lost so much time of getting to discover each other just because you frightened me… she thought.

They looked at each other in the dark then. Sandor's breathing seemed to be lulling her into some spell. Some moments passed in which he said nothing, only looked at her, but in the end he answered, "You would have been glad of the hateful things I did one day when you were the queen, and I was all that stood between you and your beloved king."

Sansa could find no words to let him know what hearing that meant to her. Had I been forced to marry Joffrey at least there would have been one person in the Red Keep who cared about me… Sansa's hand searched for Sandor's under the covers and took a tight hold of it, which was unnecessary since Sandor could have pried away his hand had he so wished it. Instead though, he brought their entwined hands to rest atop his chest, encouraging Sansa to huddle close to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and slept.

The next morning they stayed long enough to water the horses and have a quick cold breakfast before they were on the road again. Their days passed in much the same manner; many days later as the quite small Velvet Hills, which were famous for their ancient mines, and the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe drew near, they had been trotting along on foot near midday as a mercilessly hot sun was cooking them up in their light clothes, a sun which had forced Sandor to take of his armor and wear only his mail shirt for protection, when Sandor suddenly put his hand to her shoulder in warning. He handed her Stranger's reins silently just as Sansa noticed his free hand reaching out for the pommel of his sword. Sansa gulped and squinted at the distance. Slowly they crept forward until the truth of what lay before them hit them both, making them look at each other in astonishment. For ahead by the side of the road, two little children were faring quite badly.

A/N: Please, do review if you feel like it!