DISCLAIMER: Characters etc. belong to George RR Martin; I'm just having some fun and expect nothing out of this other than my own amusement at placing my favorite ship exactly where I want them.

Thanks again for the wonderful reviews that I've received! To Linda - I can't reply to you in a message because you don't have a account, but I'm sorry if you find Sandor to be a bit too "mean"...honestly my take on it with this particular fic is that of course he's still the rough-around-the-edges Sandor that GRRM created, and on top of that he's kind of dealing with a lot between saving Sansa and then in his mind also sort of ruining her by taking her maidenhead, plus kind of being pushed into their little "marriage", and now a surprise baby :O I just believe that Sandor would react to this with his usual kind of nasty attitude because he doesn't know how else TO react :)

SANSA

It was only a day or two after they left the inn when she had begun feeling ill. It was never an overwhelming sensation; at first she told herself that she really was simply tired. That could happen, she knew - becoming so tired that one felt sick in the belly. But when the time came that she could barely stand to stomach food, Sansa knew that this had to be more than just exhaustion.

She thought back, tried to count the days, and though it took her a few tries to get the exact number...in the end it did not matter. She should have had her moon blood sometime in the midst of their journey…certainly by the time they'd spent at the inn. Sansa had dealt with this women's curse for well over half a year now, and as she was a healthy highborn lady it had always been regular.

My lady mother had very little time with my father before he left to join Robert's Rebellion, she recalled. Yet she gave birth to Robb while he was still away.

Sansa was as frightened as she was excited. Even when she pushed the concerns about bastardy to the back of her mind, she had to admit that she knew Sandor would not exactly be happy about this. Convincing him to wed had been difficult enough...and a child...

He need not know quite yet, she reassured herself. You have time.

Jaime Lannister and that big ugly maid had ruined that, though. She'd heard that the Kingslayer had lost a hand, but he was still Jaime Lannister - and this woman was obviously a warrior in her own right. Surely Sandor could beat them, but it would not be an easy fight, really, and Sansa preferred him whole, healthy, uninjured.

So though her hands trembled with nerves and fear, though she'd wanted to share this news with Sandor and Sandor alone, Sansa gave up her newly discovered secret.

The look on the warrior maid's face was one of shock and horror; Jaime Lannister hissed in surprise and said, "Seven hells, Clegane, what have you done?"

Sansa clenched her hand over Sandor's arm as he sneered, "Trust me, Lannister, the girl was perfectly willing."

"Lady Sansa...is this...is this true?" Brienne asked in disbelief.

Anger welled up inside of Sansa and threatened to spill over. Anger at the disbelief of this woman who was just as ugly as she believed Sandor to be; anger at Jaime Lannister's surprise when he had been with his own sister; anger at herself for not saving her secret, for putting Sandor on the spot as she had just now. "Please, would you give us a moment?" she said through gritted teeth. Jaime and Brienne glanced at each other and the look that passed between them made Sansa want to scream. "We'll dismount," Sansa offered. "We won't run." She felt Sandor stiffen under her hand, but there was nothing to be done. Jaime and Brienne knew where she and Sandor were going, and they must know that she and Sandor had nowhere else to go.

"Dismount, then, and hand your horses' reins here," Jaime said.

"You'll not want to get so close to Stranger, here," Sandor warned snidely.

"I'll take my chances, Hound. And you'd best watch your tongue, for you're walking on thin ice."

"Sandor," Sansa said gently. "Please." When he looked at her there were so many emotions burning in his eyes that it nearly took her breath away. The anger was there, the old anger that had frightened her so, and Sansa knew without a shadow of a doubt that some of it was for her. A shiver ran up her spine and she turned to struggle down off her pony's back. Sandor dismounted, as always a surprisingly smooth moment for a man of his stature, and stalked off to the edge of the road, Sansa biting her lip and following.

"Not too far, now," she heard Jaime Lannister call, and at the sound of his voice Sandor stopped and spun around, his hands grabbing roughly at Sansa's shoulders, drawing her close enough to talk softly but keeping her too far away for her to reach for him.

"Tell me that was a well-told lie, Sansa," he rasped, and beneath the anger in his eyes she saw something else.

Fear.

Sansa could not help herself. "What are you afraid of, Sandor?" she asked, lifting her hand as she would if she were going to touch his cheek, though his grip on her made that impossible.

"Fire," was his immediate response, "but you know that, little bird."

"Don't," she snapped, knowing that he was not being honest and hating him for it, Sandor who had always been nothing if not brutally honest with her...

"Enough. Tell me now, little bird, tell me that you aren't."

"Would you have me lie, then?" she asked softly. His hard gray eyes met hers and for a long moment they merely looked at each other. Finally Sandor shuddered and dropped his hands to his sides, but when Sansa stepped forward to embrace him he held them up again and took a step back.

"I did not mean for this," he mumbled. "I did not want it."

"I didn't mean for it either," she admitted. "But it is happening now, and we must make the best of it."

Sandor made a helpless gesture. "No good can come of this," he said. "You are well and truly ruined. Our marriage is a farce, made under false names. Gods, Sansa, you are still married to the Kingslayer's brother! He's not like to forget that, no more than the Imp is. I won't trust that that little bastard is dead until I've seen his head on a spike."

Her stomach fairly leapt into her throat, and Sansa had to press the back of one hand to her mouth to keep the bile down. She stood there until the sick feeling calmed a bit, and when she removed her hand from her face she grabbed one of Sandor's hands with it before he could pull away. "It doesn't matter now," she whispered hoarsely, trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. "It can't matter now. Come. If we face them together...if they see that we want this..."

"Want what, little bird? You wanted to play at being husband and wife, and though I didn't agree I gave in. I cannot pretend that you should have my child, that this is in any way proper, or right, or...or safe."

"Safe?" Sansa willfully ignored what he'd said about their marriage and latched onto the part of his admission that confused her. "Sandor, women have children all of the time. My own mother had five. And I am my mother's daughter."

"Look at me, Sansa! I'm...I'm a monster. And my brother..."

With her free hand Sansa reached up and cupped his cheek. "You are not a monster. And your brother was an abomination, but he has nothing to do with this."

What Sandor did next was so unlike him that it worried her even more than his anger or his rude words. He closed his eyes, pressed his cheek into her palm and heaved a sigh. "A child of my blood could be like him," he finally rasped.

Sansa stepped closer, pressing herself against him, and stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips over his. "No," she murmured. "A child of our blood will be strong, loyal, and the heir to the North." When Sandor opened his eyes again and looked at her, she could see that he didn't believe her – but just then Jaime shouted for them.

"I think all four of us have some things to discuss, Lord and Lady Clegane," the Kingslayer called sarcastically. Sansa gripped Sandor's hand even tighter as they turned and walked back toward Jaime and the warrior maid Brienne. "Good girl," Jaime said condescendingly. He had dismounted from his horse and staked it to the ground at the side of the road and was pacing impatiently nearby.

"Enough, Kingslayer. We had a plan of our own and we'd like to get on with it," Sandor growled.

"A plan? Let's hear it, then," Jaime replied, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the closest tree. Sandor looked to Sansa and she gulped.

"I'm a bastard girl from the Riverlands. Nora Rivers. Sandor is Norse Wynrent and hails from the Reach. He came north to smith for a small lord and was burned in a terrible accident. We...we were recently married, just before leaving home to travel south for his father's funeral."

Brienne was watching them with a look that resembled pity, but Jaime's mouth was twitching and then, a moment later, he was laughing. When he laughed, Sansa suddenly understood why so many – including herself – had once thought Jaime Lannister the height of handsome. His eyes flashed and their corners crinkled sweetly, his perfect white teeth were bared, and all of this came together to make him look like a jolly golden god. "What...what is so funny?" she finally asked.

"My dear Lady Sansa," Jaime Lannister said with a grin, "I've recalled something that I recently said to a...a boy I know. He asked me why I killed all of the Starks, and I told him that I'd not killed them all. I told him that you were alive and that if the gods were good, you would forget you were a Stark at all. That you'd wed - " here he broke off again, bending at the waist and laughing as if fit to burst until Sansa stomped her foot in annoyance and Sandor growled another warning and Brienne murmured his name and brought him back to them. Jaime straightened and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes before continuing, "I said you should wed a blacksmith or an innkeep and whelp a bunch of children. That you'd never fear some knight coming by and murdering your family.

"And now here you are, falsely wed to a man who is playing at being a blacksmith - with a baby in your belly - and if I have the right of Clegane here you'll certainly never have to fear for your life or that of your children. Not so long as he lives."

"Will you let us be on our way then?" Sansa asked hopefully, and when Jaime leveled his gaze on her she thought for a moment that mayhaps he would...

And then Brienne spoke. "I'm afraid we cannot do that, Lady Sansa. You see...I've made a promise. An oath. Several lives hang in the balance. You must come with us, if only for now...but I swear that I will do everything in my power to see you safely on your way as soon as possible."

"Bloody hells," Sandor swore. "Give me one good reason not to cut the two of you down, right here, right now. Kingslayer knows I could do it, too." One look at Jaime's face told Sansa that Sandor spoke the truth. This woman may be some sort of warrior, but she was nothing compared to Sandor. Jaime Lannister may have been good competition for him in the past, but with the loss of his sword hand the amount of prowess he'd had was cut to the quick.

"I would give you several good reasons to come with us, if I thought you'd care about half of them or believe the other half," Brienne sighed. "The fact of the matter is that I need you to trust me. All of you." She looked pointedly at Jaime just then, who gave her a confused, concerned glance in return.

"I don't understand," Sansa stated fiercely. "You know my situation, yet you would make us move in the wrong direction? What lives other than mine own, Sandor's, and our child's 'hang in the balance'? Where would you take us?"

The warrior maid took quite some time to answer, biting her lip and looking so nervous that Sansa began to feel something akin to fright. When Brienne finally spoke, though, her words made no sense at all to any of them - leastwise Jaime Lannister, by the look Sansa noted on his face.

"I must return you to...to your mother."