A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this out. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 10

"I should have known a slimy worm like you would be helping Lannister," spat Ned angrily, glaring through his swollen eye at Petyr Baelish. "Scum attracts scum."

Petyr sat on a chair by the door of Ned's cell, legs casually crossed as if he was sharing a drink with a friend at a bar, his thin lips smirking cynically as he looked at the man who had married the woman he'd always wanted. A man who didn't deserve someone like Catelyn Tully. A man who spent most of his married life searching for a treasure, not appreciating the treasure he had at home.

If Cat had married him, her childhood friend and the man who had loved her forever, she would never have suffered the neglect she had endured with Ned Stark. No, he would have lavished her with attention and affection every day of his life. Not chased all over the place for some ancient relic, valuable as it is.

"Maybe so, Stark," he drawled, "but I'm the one sitting here and you're the one in captivity."

"How much is Lannister paying you? Let me go and I'll double it."

Petyr burst out laughing with sarcastic amusement. "You really think this is about money?" He shook his head slowly. "That's just a side benefit. No, I'm after something far more valuable than that, Stark."

"What?"

"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" He uncrossed his legs and leant forward. "For a smart man, you are incredibly stupid. No, Stark. I'm after the greatest prize there is. Cat Tully. The woman who should have been mine all along if she hadn't been pressured into marrying you."

Ned reared up to attack the weasely little man, but the goons behind him stepped forward, one of them punching him in the gut, throwing Ned back onto the bed, winded from the blow. "She'd never have you, Baelish," he wheezed. "She didn't want you then, she won't want you now."

Petyr smirked, his moustache twitching like the rat he was. "I was just a poor, besotted boy back then. I couldn't compete with the might and wealth of the Starks but that's all changed. Now, I'm powerful in my own right and have more than enough money to keep her satisfied."

"You're a fucking Lannister stooge," spat Ned.

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" came the smooth reply. "I have carefully cultivated my relationship with Tywin Lannister in order to get what I want. He relies on my social and political savvy and I have greatly profited from that." Petyr leant forward, as if it impart a secret. "Oh, and another thing…" He sighed theatrically at the lack of response. "Your beautiful daughter is here on Essos, looking for you, presumably." Ned's wan face grew even whiter at that news. "She has certainly grown into a stunner, and so successful too. I've often fantasised about what it would be like to have both mother and daughter…"

Ned roared in fury, struggling against his restraints until a blow to his head knocked him out. Petyr stood, gazing down at his enemy with disdain and brushing at his trousers, as if to get rid of the stench of this place.

He didn't know if Sansa Stark had the dagger with her but it didn't matter. He'd get his hands on her first and then the dagger if necessary. She couldn't hide forever – she knew her father's time was limited.

"What's this dagger look like, anyway?"

They were sitting around the campfire, Sansa jumping at every noise she heard, much to Sandor's amusement, as Sansa told him about her family and more specifically, her father. The tale of Ned Stark's obsession with finding this dagger intrigued him. He hadn't missed the masked bitterness in the Little Bird's voice as she spoke of all the times her father had been absent during her life.

"I've only got a drawing of it," she replied. "Obviously, there are no photos seeing as how it went missing so long ago. We found a sketch in my father's study that he must have drawn from descriptions he'd found during his search."

"Can I see it?"

Sansa shrugged and reached for her backpack, pulling a folded paper from her purse and handed it to him. "I assume it's an accurate representation. At least I hope it is so I'll know I've actually found the right thing."

Sandor unfolded the paper and stared down at the sketch. It certainly looked like something that could have been crafted by the smiths of Ancient Valyria. The stylised dragon-shaped guard turned it from a functional weapon to a ceremonial one, though Sandor had no doubt that the Valyrian blade would cut through all but stone. The pommel looked like an egg that was being kissed by flames. "What's that on the pommel?" At her blank look, he pointed to the egg-shape.

"Oh, according to what we found, it's some kind of stone. Ruby, maybe? I don't really know and we didn't have time to go through all Dad's things."

Sandor sucked in his breath. Ruby. It made sense. According to Sansa, this dagger had been given to her ancestor for his loyalty to the Targaryen king at the time. It would be priceless on the open market, and even more on the black market.

"What we did find was an account of how it was lost," continued Sansa, oblivious of Sandor's fascination with the dagger. "My ancestor, Eddard Stark, left Winterfell to become the Hand of the King, leaving his son, Robb, in charge. Unfortunately, Eddard was betrayed and killed by the new king and Robb called the banners and went to war against the Lannisters, the king's house. Eddard had a young hostage, Theon Greyjoy, whom he'd treated as another son, rather than a prisoner of war. Theon betrayed Robb Stark, attempting to take Winterfell and killing the two younger sons. He returned to the Iron Islands after stealing the dagger. It was subsequently taken to Essos by the Greyjoy armada where it was eventually lost. Until my father found it – or its location, anyway. I just wish he had made it easier to find."

"Probably for the best, Little Bird," murmured Sandor. "Judging by the thug who tried to take you, if it was easy to find, they'd do more than kidnap you and it's buying your father time."

"Yeah," she sighed. She looked about to say something but a yawn emerged instead, making her giggle self-consciously. "I think I'll try to get some sleep now."

"I'll bank the fire and settle down myself shortly," nodded Sandor, watching as she kicked off her shoes and slid into the sleeping bag, tossing and turning until she seemed to find a comfortable position. She had her pink bag underneath but it still was no mattress. "G'night Sandor," she murmured.

"Night, Little Bird."

The stress of the day must have taken it's toll on her, as Sansa fell asleep almost immediately.

Sandor watched the firelight flicker on her face, which looked even younger in sleep. He couldn't help wonder what her lips tasted like…or any part of her, for that matter.

For someone who'd never camped before, Sansa had been quite a trouper about the whole thing. She'd followed instructions and had offered to help where she could and hadn't complained too much about forgoing the luxuries – like toilets. Sandor chuckled to himself as he remembered the disgust on her pretty face when she realised how it worked out here.

Glancing down at the picture of the dagger still in his hands, the smile faded from his face.

Sandor was well-read in many subjects and he knew, even if Sansa didn't, just how much an item like that would be worth on the black market. Something that rare and old was virtually priceless.

Something that would allow him to purchase back his family's home, and even more.

Even with Sansa's fee, he still needed a little more to cover the asking price, which would require he stay on in Essos for a few more months at least.

If he had the dagger, he could name his price and get away from this gods-forsaken place straight away.

A log snapped, drawing his gaze back towards Sansa.

And what of her father?

Sandor had already gathered that she didn't care anything for the relic, other than as a way to get her father back.

Despite what other's thought of him, Sandor had always worked on his own set of principles. Could he steal the dagger? It would be something Gregor would do. Without any qualms. It went against the grain, and he'd feel as guilty as fuck, but it would also be his ticket out of here. He could even give back the money he didn't need. The dagger would be gone, but it would be some reparation, wouldn't it?

Sansa sighed in her sleep, and Sandor already felt guilty for his musings.

If he took the dagger, her father would most probably die.

What if he could save Ned Stark and somehow still keep the dagger for himself? Would that make Sansa hate him less than she inevitably would if he went through with it?

Ned would probably want to set the authorities onto him, but what could they do? It's not like Sandor broke into his house and stole the dagger. How could Stark prove it belonged to his family, and besides, it's been lost for so long that any statutes regarding ownership would have long passed. Treasure found belongs to the finder, at least on Essos. He wouldn't have a legal leg to stand on if he tried to prosecute Sandor.

It would be more a moral issue than a legal one. And it would be Sansa's word against his as to who actually found it.

Sandor didn't owe the Starks anything. He'd only met Sansa days ago. They weren't friends. She was technically his employer. Nothing more. Despite the overwhelming attraction he felt for the girl.

Nothing would ever happen between them, anyway. Sure, she could ogle his body, but she wouldn't want him. She'd spent most of the journey so far hating him, even if tonight had been peaceful.

He re-folded the picture and stepped over to put it back in her backpack. There was still a long way to go before they got to The Sorrows and even then, they still had to find the actual thing. He had time to decide what he was going to do.

Sandor kicked off his shoes and slid into his sleeping bag. He closed his eyes but found he had too many things racing around in his mind to sleep. Normally, when this happened, he grabbed a book to read but he didn't have…

Reaching for his pack, he rummaged through it, as quietly as possible, and found Sansa's book. He also found the small torch he always carried and scrunched down in his bag, so that neither the book nor torch were visible. It would be too humiliating to have Sansa wake up and find him reading her novel.

Flicking on the torch, he snorted to himself as he read the blurb of 'Florian's Defeat' again. Well, it should be so mind-numbingly sappy that he'd probably fall asleep before finishing the first chapter…

The scurrying of feet nearby woke Sansa from her sleep.

Heart thumping, she opened one eye, imagining some huge, wild beast was getting ready to pounce and devour her. Instead, it was just dark. All she could see was the shadows of the trees and the distant stars. Lifting her head, she saw that the fire had burned itself down to embers, giving out only a little heat but no light at all.

Turning, she could just make out the shape of Sandor's sleeping bag about two metres away.

She tried peering at her watch to make out the time, but she couldn't see a thing. It looked dark enough that dawn was still a few hours away.

Of course, having woken up, the first thing her body demanded was that she go and pee. Though annoying, at home she'd go to the toilet and go back to sleep.

Out here, though…

Sansa wiggled about and closed her eyes, willing herself to go back to sleep and not think about her bladder or the creatures that crawled in the night.

She was at that hazy stage between being awake and asleep when she heard rustling nearby and sat up abruptly, breathing hitched with fear.

What was that? What if whatever it was decided to crawl into her sleeping bag? Or just eat her whole, like a burrito? An owl hooted and Sansa couldn't help the small squeak that left her throat. All thoughts of the toilet fled in her fright, so there was that.

She heard Sandor move but he didn't wake.

Why didn't he wake up? What if she got attacked by some animal? Sansa couldn't help resenting him, despite how illogical it was.

Suddenly, the space between them seemed like a gulf. How could he save her from that far away? It didn't matter that she had initially felt relief that he had placed his sleeping bag at a distance.

Crawling out of the bag, jumping at every little sound, Sansa slowly moved her bedding closer to Sandor, leaving only a small gap between them. In the dimness, she could just make out the top of Sandor's head.

Once back in her bag, she turned so that her back was to Sandor though she felt stupidly aware of how close they were now. It was almost like sleeping in the same bed, though there were two layers of sleeping bags between them.

Sansa wondered what Sandor would think when he woke up to find her so close and decided that she would wake up early and move her bedding back to her original spot before he realised what she'd done.

Satisfied that she could sleep now, despite her body wanting to answer the call of nature, she closed her eyes and drifted off, not even realising that she had wriggled even closer to Sandor.

The twittering of birds roused Sansa this time but it was daylight and she felt absurdly comfortable and warm, considering she was sleeping on the ground, out in the wild.

She was drifting back to sleep when she felt a puff of warm air against the back of her neck. At that same instant, she became conscious of a heavy weight lying across her waist.

Her eyes sprang open and she looked down, confirming the presence of a large, hairy arm and hand gripping the material of her sleeping bag.

Sandor!

Somehow, during the night, he had rolled over and unconsciously snuggled into her.

Gods, this was so awkward!

Lying still, barely daring to breathe, Sansa tried to ascertain if he was awake. Surely, he would have removed his arm if he was? She listened intently to his breathing, noting the even cadence. She couldn't help the small shiver that passed through her as she felt his warm breath on her nape. If he was awake, he wasn't letting on.

She became aware of the presence of his body lying flush alongside hers. Even with two sleeping bags, plus their clothing, she could swear she could feel the heat of him.

Sansa could feel the slight chill in the air on her exposed face, but the rest of her was toasty warm, and for a moment let herself enjoy the feeling before she came to her senses.

Sandor was literally spooning her!

She had to get out of her sleeping bag without waking him. Which was going to be easier said than done.

Inch by agonising inch, she unzipped her bag slowly, as far as his hand was. Now she had to somehow wriggle her way out, as if emerging from a cocoon.

Unfortunately, her first movement caused Sandor to stir and his arm tightened around her even further.

Damn!

To compound her problem, her body was now reminding her that she hadn't answered the call of nature earlier and if she didn't do something about it rather urgently, she would be sorry.

Using one hand to hold up his arm from inside the sleeping bag, Sansa began shimmying her way out. Despite it only being his arm, it was still outrageously heavy and she'd only gotten a short way out when she dropped it causing it to fall onto her hip with a thud.

A loud snort from behind and that arm suddenly reaching for her neck, signalled that her tactics had failed.

Sandor's hand covered her mouth and jaw as she let out a squeak of terror.

"What the fu…?"

The hand was withdrawn at the same time as he hastily sat up, groaning.

Sansa took the opportunity to scramble out of the sleeping bag, heart pounding.

Sandor looked at her, realising what had happened. "Shit! Sorry, Little Bird. I didn't mean to scare you. Reflex action."

"Y-yes, I know," she replied. "I, um, I need to…you know," she mumbled as she gestured to the trees.

"Sure, sure," he muttered, looking away.

When she returned, she noticed that Sandor had rolled up the bags and had stoked the fire for breakfast.

Sandor looked at her neck before looking hastily away. "Did I…did I hurt you?"

"No. It's okay. I should have just woken you."

"What were you doing there? Your bag was over there when you went to sleep," he asked, puzzled, pointing to her original sleeping spot.

Sansa couldn't hide the blush that suffused her face. "I…I heard…things…in the night. I got scared."

She could see him trying to suppress the smirk. "So you decided to snuggle up to me?"

"No! I just thought it would be safer if we…if we were…closer. Just in case. You're the one who was snuggling into me!"

Sandor couldn't stop the burst of laughter that erupted. "You're welcome to snuggle with me anytime you want, Little Bird."

"Oh! You're impossible!"

That set him off again. Sansa just huffed and decided to ignore him.

He finally stopped laughing, just the odd chuckle emerging. "Seriously, though, it probably is a good idea to sleep closer, 'just in case'." He grinned at her dark look before getting serious again. "I am sorry about this morning. I've spent so many years having to be on guard, that it's just instinctual now. I didn't expect you to be there."

Sansa looked at him, a touch of sympathy in her eyes. "I realised that as soon as it happened."

Sandor suddenly looked uncomfortable with the conversation and abruptly switched topics. "Let's have some breakfast and get going?"

For the first time since they'd met, Sansa found herself curious about Sandor, the man. There was obviously much more to him than just a mercenary soldier.

Maybe she would find the courage to seek some answers before they went their own ways again.

"Good idea," she replied, wondering what today would bring.