Chapter 10

Sansa watched as the crossbow quarrel hit the Hound in the shoulder. She was shocked as he went down, and a sick feeling rose in her stomach. The archer advanced on him, but she seemed to be forgotten.

Do something! He's going to kill him! Her mind screamed and she backed up from the two of them on her hands and knees. Sansa's eyes darted around the scene before her and she saw the dagger. The hand was still attached, and the thought of touching it made her skin crawl. She grabbed it anyway and pried the fingers loose from the hilt as she saw the archer land a well placed kick that made the Hound gasp in pain.

"That was my brother you killed," the archer had reloaded and was lowering his weapon for a fatal kill. Sansa's hands were slick with blood from the dead man's hand and she quickly wiped them off. She had one chance, and if her hands slipped, they'd both be dead. She slowly got to her feet, still out of view of the two men.

The Hound made a retort that made the archer stiffen in anger. It was now or never. Sansa grasped the dagger in both hands and drove it as hard as she could between the shoulder blades of the outlaw.

Sig shrieked suddenly in both rage and pain, and the bolt missed the Hound's head by inches. The archer jerked backwards and tried to dislodge Sansa from his back. He howled curses into the night, and swung his crossbow like a mace. It took her in the shoulder and she let go of the dagger with a cry of pain.

The Hound was on his feet again, steel in his hand. Sig assessed his chances, and decided that he didn't stand a chance. He fled the same way the singer had before him, leaving his dead brother in the snow.

"You have some wolf in you after all," the Hound gasped, face pale and drawn. His eyes didn't linger on her long, but went to the barn instead. The fire had spread to the roof of the barn, and the horses were both shrieking in fear. The grey eyes that could be so fierce were now filled with a look she had only seen once before. The fear of fire. The fear of burning.

Despite the dull throb in her shoulder and the ache in her head Sansa ran towards the barn. He shouted at her, but she didn't catch the words. She knew that they needed to get the horses out. If they didn't, the horses would perish and the trip on foot would most likely kill them both…and the way he looked at the barn clearly suggested he wasn't going anywhere near it.

She pulled her cloak over her nose and mouth and went into the burning barn.

It wasn't hard to understand his fear of flames as she glimpsed the hell before her. The heat was unbearable. It rose in waves in front of her and distorted the air. The horses had gone mad in fear, but couldn't get free of the ropes that held them. Stranger bucked and lashed out with his hooves at the wooden wall, but it held fast despite the strength of the war horse.

Sansa dashed forward. She needed to loose the horses quickly. Every minute she wasted was a minute that the roof could collapse. She reached the mare first. The whites of her eyes were clearly visible and every now and then her eyes would roll in fright. Sansa struggled with the rope, but it finally gave. The chestnut took off past her, almost knocking her over in the process.

Sansa then went to Stranger. Unlike the mare, she couldn't even get close. Hooves lashed out whenever she tried, and when it wasn't hooves the savage horse tried to bite her. Despair rose in her throat and she shouted at the horse, though her words were lost in the crackle of flames. When she breathed in, it was all she could do to catch her breath. The smoke burned her lungs and made her eyes water.

This must be what hell is like. She thought vainly as she tried once again to undo the ropes that tied Stranger to the barn. He had pulled on them so tightly that she couldn't even budge the knot.

You're going to die if you don't let me help you! The thought gave her strength, but it wasn't enough to untie the ropes. Her head started to swim again. If she didn't get out of here soon, she wouldn't make it out at all.

A rough hand covered hers and she jumped in fear. When she looked up the Hound stood before her, quarrel still in his shoulder, and a grim look on his face. He lashed out with his sword and cut the ropes that held his horse. The beast took off without a second thought, and then she was being pulled from the barn.

As they burst through the barn door, the blast of cold air that hit them was the best feeling she had ever had. They were both coughing by that point, and she gasped heavily at the cold, clean air that filled her lungs. He wouldn't let her sit, not so close to the barn. The Hound pulled her further into the forest. When he had dubbed that they had gone far enough he finally let her go and they both ended up on the forest floor.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. For a while it was all they could do to clear their lungs of smoke and to breathe without coughing. Multiple times she was forced to spit up some sort of obscene gook. She would have been horrified if she hadn't seen the Hound doing the same thing.

When she could finally breathe, she wiped the tears from her cheeks with a dirty hand. She had blood and soot on her fingers. It didn't seem to matter. She crawled over to the Hound. His face had grown taut with the pain and his eyes were shut. Blood was still oozing slowly from the wound on his shoulder. The sight made her lightheaded again.

"You're wounded," she managed. Her voice was hoarse and hardly her own. His eyes slid open to look at her. The fear was gone, she was relieved to see. He was the bravest person she knew, and fear in his eyes unsettled her more than anything.

"I've had worse," he admitted, his voice even rougher than normal. She wondered if the burn caused by his brother had somehow caused his throat to have that distinctive rasp. It certainly would make sense, since her voice sounded much the same.

She moved to the side that wasn't wounded and huddled against him as the wind picked up. He put his good arm around her shoulders. They said no more to each other. Instead they watched the barn burn, and took what comfort they could from each other.

oOo

He had so much that he wanted to tell her, but nothing seemed to be the right thing to say. Should he thank her for saving him from the archer, or curse her for leaving the barn in the first place? Were thanks in order for thinking fast and releasing their horses, or should he shout about how stupid she had been to run into a burning barn, horses be damned. Should he tell her that she was brave, and that he was sorry for being so craven as to let her run into a burning barn alone? Would it be best to apologize for stalking off in anger?

Sandor settled for silence. Sometimes you didn't need words. She knew the consequences of what she had done, and she didn't need to be chastised for it like a child. No child would have been as brave as she had been. One look at her upturned face confirmed what he suspected. She knew what she was doing, and it had probably saved both of their lives.

Her face was dirty, save for twin tracks of white where her tears had washed away the soot. There was a good deal of dried blood that marred her hair and her lower lip was bleeding. A deep feeling of admiration ran through him then. Few women would have been able to handle themselves half as well as she had in such a situation.

She's not all pretty dresses, sweet songs and courtesy. The thought would have once disturbed him and made him angry. Now in only made him more attracted to her than ever.

Sansa felt him looking at her and opened her eyes. She met his gaze and he could see how tired and vulnerable she was.

I want her. Damn it all, I still want her. The thought was fierce and despite his weariness he felt himself stir at the thought. It wasn't the right time or place for such things. She wasn't in the right mindset for that, and neither was he…but he found that he didn't really care.

He brought her face to his and kissed her for the second time. She tasted faintly of ash and blood, but it didn't matter. It felt right, and it felt damned good. She pushed herself into the kiss and opened her mouth. It startled him, that she knew to do such things, but he was beyond caring. She hadn't pulled away. His little bird wanted him after all, it seemed.

His breeches were suddenly too tight. He wanted out of them. He wanted her, right there in the snow with the blood still in her hair and the tears drying on her cheeks…and he might have had her too, but as he moved to pull her on top of him the point of the quarrel dug into the tree behind him and jarred his whole shoulder.

The kiss broke off and he moaned a curse, half in pain, half in disappointment.