Hi everyone! Sorry for the super long wait. I'd like to thank everyone who still follows this story as well as Leigh of Oldstone for being such a great beta! :D
Oh, and by the way! Unless I suddenly change my mind, last chapter will be the last one! :O
Raising his arms high above his head, Sandor swung his war axe heavily down onto the log he had before him. It broke into two pieces, each falling on the snowy ground by the side of the large wooden chopping block. Bending down, the man picked them up and added them to the stack of firewood he kept by the little house he and Sansa had lived in for the last four moons. Once that was done, he grabbed another log from the pile he had just brought from the forest and installed it over his wooden block to repeat the whole process.
The day was cold but Sandor was sweating under his cloak with his effort and so he kept it as opened as he could with the hood down and had removed his scarf some time ago. He still had his gloves on though, for his axe's handle was freezing and the tips of his fingers were cold.
When he had just about finished his work, he heard noises coming from the road. Sandor couldn't see what it was from his place behind the house and thus he cautiously walked to its corner to have a look, his axe still in hand.
"Hello, G… Githa," he heard one of Ingrith's sons say.
Both boys had come out of their house to greet the witch, who had just arrived astride her aging horse. At the sight, Sandor relaxed and took a step forward, not bothering to stay hidden anymore.
Githa usually came to the farm every other week to check on the little bird and make sure all was going well with her and the babe. Yet it had now been longer than that since they had last seen her – almost a moon now - for the woman had gone to White Harbour to visit her daughter. Before she left, she had examined Sansa and told them she was as healthy as any expecting woman could hope to be and thus Sandor was not worried in the least. There was no doubting the child was alive, seeing how fast he was growing. The little bird's stomach was bulging pretty impressively already and still getting bigger every week.
Every now and then, she would complain about it to Sandor and he had to assure her she was just as beautiful as she had always been. He had probably repeated it to her more than a hundred times over the last few moons but it was certainly no lie. As far as he was concerned, Sandor didn't mind the way her body was changing in the least - to the contrary even. He got a thrill out of seeing her like that: heavy with his child. Of course, bedding her had gotten a bit less straightforward than it used to be given that he couldn't just pull her under him and take her without thinking more of it anymore. He didn't want to hurt her or the child but also, her belly now always got in the way. Still, that was no major hindrance and Sandor was nothing if not tenacious.
When she got at about three yards from Ingrith's sons, Githa jumped down from her saddle and smiled at the two halfwits. "Hello to you, Borin and Rowan. How has everything been here?" she asked, readjusting her forest-green cloak over her shoulders.
"All's fine. Need h… help with your horse?" one of the halfwits queried.
"Yes, thank you," she told him, handing him her reins.
Following them with his eyes as they all progressed towards the stables, Sandor set down his war axe against the little house's wall before slowly walking their way. The woman was a few steps behind and she halted to peer in his direction once she got by the stable's entrance, the corners of her lips curving up stiffly.
"Good afternoon, m'lord. I've some wine for you," she informed him, her voice dry.
"Good. I'll go and fetch it myself," Sandor answered, strolling toward her.
Nodding, Githa turned around and they both entered the stables. Ingrith's two sons had already removed the horse's saddle, Sandor saw as he approached the stall the beast had been led in. One of them was brushing him while the other was pouring fresh water in the stall's trough. They were quickly done and scurried away even just as Sandor and Githa arrived by the horse. The wineskins she had brought had been stored in a roughspun sack and the man untied it from the saddlebag and picked it up. He gave Githa a silver stag, which she accepted with a curt nod.
"So? How's the lady?" she asked as she put it in her pouch.
"She's fine. You want to see her I imagine?" Both of them exited the stall and halted just outside of it.
"Of course. That's why I'm here," the woman replied, shutting the stall's door behind her.
"She was going to bed to take a nap the last I've seen her. I'll check on her in a moment if you want," Sandor proposed flatly.
"Alright but don't wake her if she still sleeps. It's still early and I'm in no hurry to get back home. I'll chat with Ingrith in the meantime."
"Good," Sandor rasped. A small smirk unwittingly pulling at his lips, he readjusted the arm he had around his roughspun sack. "It's been a while since you've last been here. The girl's belly has gotten bigger, you'll see. Quite a lot in fact."
"I'm not surprised. It's going to be a big babe, this one. It's easy to tell already," the woman advanced, her mouth pulling in a thin line. "It won't be an easy delivery. I hope you realise that. The poor girl's not out of danger yet."
His smirk morphing into a scowl, Sandor narrowed his eyes at her and grunted. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, m'lord. Don't pretend like you don't know it," Githa scoffed exasperatedly. "Childbirth is a hard and dangerous process for any woman, let alone one as young as the lady."
Sandor exhaled loudly through his nose and averted his eyes from her, hoping she would get his meaning and leave it there but the damned woman continued speaking anyway.
"Lucky for us, she's got good hips for a girl her age," she said. "Still, I'd have felt far more confident had she been a few years older. Now all we can do is keep our fingers crossed the child's growth soon slows down and that her labour runs smoothly. I'll pray for her and I'd do the same if I were you."
Clenching his jaw, Sandor laid his steely stare back on the woman. "I'd rather you don't lose your time praying and do your bloody best when the time comes instead," he snapped at her.
"I always do my best, m'lord, no matter that the woman I care for is a high lady or an unwed farmer's daughter with no more than rags for clothes," Githa retorted testily. "Yet sometime my best's not enough. I need be realistic. I told the lady about it before she took moon tea, that keeping your child was not a good idea given her age and your size. Now that the abortion has failed and that she's no other option but to bear it after all, it wouldn't be very tactful of me to remind it to her, I'm sure you'll agree. And so I'll not share my worries with her anymore. It wouldn't do her any good to be frightened for her life when her time comes. With you though, I don't see any reason I'd lie. You might as well know what to expect and prepare yourself for the worst."
Tilting his head to the side, Sandor took a good, long look at the woman, his eyes burning with wrath. "You're an experienced wise woman, aren't you? You'll make it work," he stated through gritted teeth.
Wincing at his tone, Githa gazed up at him, her concern showing in her eyes for a split second. "I've no greater wish," she started with obvious frustration. "Yet, there are so many things that can go wrong during childbirth and over which a wise woman has no control. I can't perform miracles, m'lord! Only the gods can."
"They'll be no need for miracles, you hear me? I don't want you to ever say otherwise again." Though he had spoken quietly, Sandor's voice was sharp and his stance menacing.
"I do sincerely hope you're right but if you aren't, what will you do then? Threaten to kill us all like you did after the lady took moon tea?" she murmured grimly.
"I'll not just threaten you, believe that," Sandor hissed.
Growing visibly tenser, the woman took a step back and closed her cloak more tightly around herself. Sandor could tell he made her nervous, though she hid it well and still managed to keep that proud bearing of hers. "I don't see how killing us all would change anything if the worst was to happen," she began, glowering at him. "Your threats may give you an illusion that you have control over the situation but in the end, you know just as well as I do how futile they are. You could very well murder the whole damned North in a fit of rage and still, it would not bring back the one person who matters to you if she came to die." She paused for a brief instant then, before resuming, her voice but a whisper. "Because as surprising at it is, I can tell the lady means more to you than keeping your head on your shoulders," she asserted wryly. "A pity it didn't compel you to treat her better when it was still time."
Sandor didn't add anything to that and only glared at her. He didn't like the direction this conversation had taken at all. Thankfully, the woman seemed to have had enough as well and shortly whirled around to pace toward the exit. Yet just as he was finally about to allow himself to relax, Githa halted and turned around to face him again.
"Oh, I was forgetting," she spat. From her tone, it was obvious she was just as loath as him to resume their dialogue. "As I told you I would the last time I saw you, I've just spent a fortnight at White Harbour at my daughter's house. I think you ought to know I've heard some rumours about you and the lady while I was there."
Though he was still furious and had been relieved to be rid of the woman, Sandor's stare instantly darted to her, his attention utterly grasped. "Go on," he prompted.
Githa smiled but her smile was not one of happiness. It was an ugly smile, one that augured nothing good. "People are starting to wonder whatever happened to the King in the North's younger sister. It's been nearly seven moons now since she left King's Landing after all."
"Humph. And what of it?" Sandor demanded, trying to sound indifferent. Rumours were only that: rumours. Of course people were going to wonder what had happened to Sansa after all that time but there were many reasons why she and her escort could have been delayed. He didn't have to worry. Or so he hoped.
"Well, I went to an inn to eat a meal with an old friend while I was there and heard some patrons chat about the lady's disappearance. They came up with a few interesting theories. I think it goes without saying that they all involved you."
Sandor's mouth twitched at that and he gestured for Githa to continue.
"It seems to be common knowledge that you were last sighted at Maidenpool, waiting for a ship. On that, no one differed. Yet, what happened afterwards is subject to much speculation. All agree on one thing though: the Hound made off with his young maidenly charge. They say you were driven mad by her beauty and kindness and decided to keep her for yourself."
"Fuck…" Sandor let out, the pace of his pulse accelerating.
The woman's expression was stern and her eyes cold but he glimpsed a spark of satisfaction pass through them. "From the exchanges I've heard while I was at that inn, it seems like most believe you brought the lady to Essos and forced her to marry you. Some people disagree though and I have to say one of the patrons' version of events amused me very much when I heard it," Githa uttered unhurriedly.
"And what was it?" Sandor demanded impatiently when she didn't continue. He could tell she took pleasure in witnessing his usual stony composure crack and was all too happy to make him beg for her tale.
"Well the man in question thought it more likely that you had stayed in the Riverlands and dragged the lady in the depth of the woods to keep her prisoner in some small cabin. That one was convinced she must be heavy with child by now with no way of escaping from you." At that, Githa's lips curved in a small, sardonic smile and she gazed at Sandor with piercing eyes. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it? The only difference I see from the truth is the location. Oh, and also… the fact that you still intend on bringing her back to her family." She paused then, her smile fading away. "Because you still do, don't you?"
His scowl deepening, Sandor narrowed his eyes at the woman. He wasn't sure what he should answer. It had been a while already since he had resolved he wouldn't bring the girl back to Winterfell. However, he knew better than to admit it to Githa.
"Anyone from the village suspects we're here?" he inquired after a moment, his tone nonchalant in spite of how fast his heart was beating.
"Not as far as I know. I did tell my nearest neighbours Ingrith had a guest, but I had no choice but to find an excuse to why I go so often to her farm."
"A guest?" Sandor repeated, speaking the words like a curse.
"Sleep tight, m'lord. It's nothing special to them. Ingrith has had guests before," Githa told him dismissively.
"What do you mean?"
"Some of the women and girls I help come from prosperous merchant families and even WhiteHarbour's small nobility sometimes. They seek me out when they need moon tea and want to avoid the whole town hearing about it, as they'd risk if they went to one of the local wise women," Githa explained, folding her arms over her chest. "In the past, a few girls expecting out of wedlock have been brought to me by a parent or guardian in search of a place to hide the misbehaving young lady away for a few moons and I've always sent them to Ingrith's farm. As you've found out for yourself, it's the perfect place for such a purpose seeing how it's isolated and has a second house. Also, Ingrith doesn't have that many friends in the village and so she never receives visitors apart from me – which is perfect if one is looking for anonymity, though certainly sad for Ingrith. Been like that ever since she had her sons. People are superstitious around here, you know. They don't want her bad luck to rub off on them. They fear they might end up with simpletons for sons as well if they spend too much time with her." By the derisive tone of her voice, it was clear what she thought of that.
"Humph," Sandor grunted. Ingrith's situation was sad indeed, yet he couldn't have cared less at the moment. "Heard anything about the lady's family? Do you know if they'll do anything about her disappearance?"
"I've no clue. There was no one gossiping about the Starks while I was in town as far as I know. But you can be sure that if these rumours I told you about are so widespread at White Harbour, they'll have reached Lord Manderly's ears as well. Don't know about you, but as for myself if I were him, I'd have sent a raven to Winterfell from the moment I'd first heard them."
Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Sandor shifted in his position and inhaled deeply. For as much as he'd have wished it otherwise, he knew the woman was right. Either the Starks had heard about the rumours or they would very soon. If they had not been worried about Sansa's tardiness before, they would without a bloody doubt after the raven's arrival. They would want to find out for themselves just how true the stories were.
"Well, I'll leave you to digest all I told you in peace now," Githa said after a few seconds of silence. "I'll be with Ingrith. Don't forget to tell me when the lady wakes up." With that, she put her back to him and stepped outside.
Once the woman had shut the door behind herself, Sandor leaned his back against the nearest wall and threw his head back. Readjusting his hold on the wineskin sack, he growled and closed his eyes. Gods, I need a drink of wine and badly at that, he mused. Still, he didn't move to grab one of the skins in his arms. He was far too distraught for that. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
Sandor had always known there would be rumours about he and Sansa. It had been written in the bloody sky with them being gone for so long when their journey north should logically have taken them no more than two or three moons. Yet to hear the actual stories that ran the streets of White Harbour at this very moment and see how close to the truth they were was quite a violent reality check for Sandor. He had been living in a buggering bubble for far too long and it was about time he shook himself out of it. He had been stupid, so very stupid not to see this coming…
Even when they had still been at Maidenpool, chances were more than high that people had already started gossiping about him and the girl. In all likeness, the rumours had even spread from there. Sandor knew he had not been very good at hiding his possessiveness – not good at all in fact – yet it had been stronger than him. He'd watched over Sansa as jealously as a rabid dog over his last bone and not let anyone approach her whenever he could help it. Gods, he'd even lost it over a puny little stable boy once after he'd found him alone in the stables with her. With hindsight, Sandor regretted having overreacted so. There was no way in all of Westeros Sansa would have escaped her room to meet-up with the boy and give him access to her pretty body - it was simply not like her at all. Still at the time, he had been far too incensed that she had left without his consent to see straight and his anger had given him all sorts of ideas. He'd reacted the same as any jealous lover would after catching his woman with another man. If the boy was even slightly perspicacious, he'd have guessed Sandor had been concerned about more than just the little bird's safety and then most likely have shared his impression around town.
To add to that while he and Sansa had stayed at Maidenpool for a whole moon, the number of times Sandor had gone out in town or even to his own inn's common room to drink the night away could be counted on the fingers of a single hand. And he'd never visited a brothel - not even once. For a man of his sort, that was certainly suspicious behaviour.
Yet worst of all, he had become a regular at the most upscale shops in town, purchasing fancy candies wrapped up in silk paper and expensive jewellery, both of which had obviously not been meant for him. Sandor snorted in annoyance at himself at the thought. How reckless he had been to do so! What sort of guard bought such presents to his charge? One that fucks her, he concluded, an ugly sneer stretching his lips. He couldn't be the only one to have surmised as much. You've been a bloody fool, dog. If it hadn't been for your buggering territorial attitude and thirst to mark the girl as yours by covering her with jewellery purchased with your own gold, the rumours might not have been so accurate. It wasn't like him to act so mindlessly, however the little bird had that effect on him. He'd done nothing but take risks where she was concerned ever since they had left the Red Keep together. In that too, the rumours were right. He'd been driven senseless by his bloody charge indeed.
Seven buggering hells. You stupid dog, you've dug your own grave, Sandor berated himself. His irritation over himself suddenly too much to bear, he stormed out of the stables and headed to the little house. By the damned Stranger, how thirsty he was. The sooner he would fill his belly with wine, the better it would be. First though, he needed to drop off his sack inside and see if Sansa was awake. If she was, he would inform Githa about it, go fetch his axe and scarf where he had left them outside and then finally, he would open himself a wineskin and drink it all in only a few gulps. Now that would do him some good, he needed his wine so fucking much right now.
The little bird was sitting on their bed when Sandor entered the house. She had a hand under her shift and was applying some salve over her stomach with it.
"Oh! Sandor! I'm so glad you came back! The baby is moving!" she exclaimed just as soon, beaming at him. "He kept kicking me as I slept and I ended up awaking because of him. Come! I want you to feel it."
"Give me a moment, Sansa," Sandor rasped, wincing at the dryness of his reply.
Putting his back to her, he settled his sack over the table and shut his eyes for a short instant, taking in a deep breath. He needed to rid himself of his tension or else, the little bird would guess something was amiss. He didn't want that. It was best she ignored there were rumours about them for now. I'll need to tell Githa not to say a word about them in her presence, Sandor reflected. Removing his gloves and tucking them under his belt, he turned around and started to walk toward Sansa. He tried to smile at her but knew it must look forced and stiff. She didn't seem to notice though. He could tell she was impatient for him to join her and her excitement was quite fetching to be honest, so much so that by the time he knelt by the side of the bed, Sandor's smile had become genuine.
"I don't like that he wakes you, little bird. Too bad we can't scold him where he's at," he murmured, raising his hand to Sansa's stomach.
Seizing it with both of hers, she brought it under her skirt to guide it where the movement was. "I wouldn't want you to do it even if you could. I love it when he moves. Now touch," she bade him happily.
Her skin was sticky with the salve but Sandor laid his palm over her belly all the same.
"Feel it?" the girl asked just as the babe kicked right into his palm.
That made him chuckle. "Yes. Just did. Does it hurt you?"
"No, not really. I don't mind it at all. As long as he doesn't do it in the middle of the night," she replied with laughter in her voice.
"He kicked again," Sandor rasped. "Gods. We'll need to raise him well once he's out of there because for now, he doesn't behave at all…"
Meeting his stare at once, Sansa looked at him with a confused air about her.
He had forgotten himself, Sandor realised. "Well I mean, Ingrith will have quite a job ahead of her I think," he corrected, averting his eyes from her.
"Yes," the little bird agreed, a bit melancholy.
Removing his hand from under her shift, Sandor stood up. "Githa's here to see you," he announced. "Want me to tell her you're ready to receive her?"
"Oh, she's back now? Yes, of course, tell her to come," she breathed quietly, her gaze lowered.
With that, Sandor nodded and went outside. He strode to Ingrith's house at once, told Githa the little bird wasn't sleeping anymore and warned both women never to mention the rumours in her presence. Once that was done, he headed to where he had left his axe into the snow by the house. His scarf was still hung where he had left it over the firewood stack and he put it back on before sitting down over one of the smaller piles of logs. Sandor stayed there for a moment, gazing unseeingly into the forest, his thirst momentarily forgotten.
It was not the first time the little bird made him touch her belly while the babe moved but for some reason today, it had woken a strange and unpleasant ache in his chest. While he had been irritated and tense as he entered the house he shared with Sansa minutes ago, Sandor had exited it feeling just as glum and spent as if he'd only just suffered a burning defeat in the battlefield. As far as he was concerned, that was no amelioration at all. He'd much rather be filled with rage. He knew better how to deal with ire than despair - could make it useful. Yet in spite of his weariness, Sandor's mind was anything but at rest and kept turning and turning. Hells, enough of that. I need wine now, he mused after a few minutes of sitting outside. Sighing heavily, he brushed a hand over his face before wearily standing from his log and picking up his war axe.
Githa was inspecting Sansa's belly when he entered the little house and they both gazed up at him as he stepped through the doorway.
"He's moving alright," the woman told the little bird just as Sandor removed his cloak and hung it after its hook on the wall. "That's a strong babe, this one, I tell you. There's no doubting he's healthy."
"That's wonderful," Sansa replied, a smile on her lips.
Sandor rubbed off the worst of the snow that still stung after his boots and then sat on a chair by the hearth. As he did, Githa left the little bird's bedside to retrieve her cloak where she had left it over the back of the rocking chair. She set it over her shoulders and walked to the door.
"Goodbye, m'lady. I'll be back in a fortnight," she promised. Then losing her smile, she glanced slyly at Sandor and shut the door behind her.
I can't trust her, the man thought to himself.
That talk he had had with Githa about the stories which were circulating at WhiteHarbour had really gotten to him. He wasn't sure what he should do about it. He felt as if he had just awaken from the most peaceful of sleeps to find out the whole forest had been aflame for hours. There was an urgency to the situation, one that required that he rethink his plan and act very soon.
As the little bird had started to grow big not long after the moon tea had failed, Sandor had finally admitted to himself he couldn't bring her back to her family. She was his woman,was carrying his child. He couldn't give her up, not after everything they'd gone through. Gods, he wasn't sure why he'd ever believed he could forego her at all, even long before she told him she was expecting. Sandor had been delusional to think he'd have the power to do it when the time would come and that, from the very first time he'd taken her. He had tried to be reasonable and convince himself he would fulfill his mission no matter what, yet had ended up being anything but that with his unwillingness to face the truth.
If he'd been smart, he'd have done exactly like the rumours said long before now. Steal her away and marry her. It wouldn't even have been hard. The Travelling Titan's next destination had been Braavos after all and they'd only have had to continue with it instead of disembarking at WhiteHarbour. If Sandor had not mentioned the possibility of moon tea to Sansa and with that, given her the option of ridding herself of his bastard, it would even have made perfect sense that they flee the continent. It would indeed have been easier for them to hide away unnoticed where no one knew them as she waited to give birth.
Yet Sandor had lacked foresight and persisted in believing he would eventually manage to give the girl up. And so they had gotten to this farm they were still at but once he had at last come to his senses and realised he simply couldn't do it, they had already been here for a few weeks and Sandor had thought it best that they stayed where the little bird was warm and safe and had a wise woman at hand besides. He didn't like the idea of her travelling in her state.
Therefore, he had pretended like there was no change to their plan and decided to do so until the babe was born. He was only being strategic. If he was patient enough, Sandor was persuaded he could have Sansa agree to follow him of her own free will to Essos and become his woman for good. He knew how much she had a hard time accepting she would have to abandon their child to Ingrith and had seen her cry many times for that reason. That had been a heartbreaking sight, even for a man as callous as him. She had even asked him to take him for squire when he'd be old enough. Well, there would be no need for that providing Sandor had his way.
The babe was Sansa's soft spot and if the man could only wait until his birth to reveal his intentions, he could definitely make it play in his favour. He'd been around women enough in the years he was Cersei's shield to know that once she'd have held him in her arms and seen his little wrinkled face, the deal would be sealed. The little bird was soft hearted: she'd want to keep him and when Sandor would present her with the possibility to do so – tell her that he would provide and care for them both - she'd not refuse and leave the Seven Kingdoms with him.
While most rumours put them across the Narrow Sea, fleeing to Essos was nevertheless pretty much their only viable option. Sandor had not forgotten his earlier concern that bounty hunters would be on their heels and trying to track them down. Yet by being very careful and travelling as far inland as they could from the moment they'd leave their ship, he now believed he and the little bird should be able to evade their pursuers. The eastern continent was huge: more than twice as large as Westeros. There must be a place among these endless lands where he and Sansa could live in peace, and Sandor would find it or die trying.
"You didn't prepare me my warm milk, Sandor. Why are you so distracted?" Sansa's sweet voice suddenly took the man out of his musing.
"I forgot, little bird. You're hungry?" he asked at once, his mouth twitching.
"Not really, I'm just surprised. You're usually so adamant that I have a cup right after my nap," she replied softly. She had just put on one of the dresses she and Ingrith had sewed together and was walking to the rocking chair, a blanket thrown over her shoulders. "You seem preoccupied. What are you thinking about?" she enquired as she sat down next to him.
"Nothing of importance," he lied. "I'll prepare you your milk now."
Standing from his chair, Sandor got to where they kept a jug of milk in a corner of the house and poured some of it in a small kettle. Then, he installed the kettle into the hearth, as far from the fire as possible. He only wanted to warm the milk and since he had burned some on a couple of occasions, he was now always very careful.
The girl was watching him. Sandor could tell she was curious about his demeanour. Although he had always been good at keeping his moods and thoughts hidden from others, the little bird had gotten surprisingly good at reading him throughout all those moons they had spent together. She could tell something was up.
"Here's your milk, Sansa," Sandor told her once it was warm enough, handing her a cup.
She took it and after she had sipped at it lightly, she rested the cup over her rounded belly just before her breasts. As she did, the man regained his seat by her side. He was promptly lost in his thoughts again and with his absent-mindedness, he only grew aware of how Sansa was gazing at him with her brow furrowed with concern after a couple of minutes.
"You don't give me my nuts and dried fruits now?" she breathed lowly as he met her eyes. From the tone of her voice, it was obvious she didn't know what to make of his lapses.
"Oh, right," Sandor grumbled, briskly standing from his chair.
Although he was irked at himself for being so heedless, his mind was quick to return on the subject that preoccupied him. It was stronger than him. And thus as he filled a bowl with nuts, dried fruits and some cheese, he continued considering his options.
He and Sansa could still do as had been his intention so far and stay at the farm until the babe was born and both mother and child were strong enough. Then, they would head to WhiteHarbour and board a ship to Essos from there. That had seemed like the best of plans until only a couple of hours ago. However with what Githa had told him, Sandor wasn't sure sticking around was such a good idea anymore. Time was not on his side and the more he postponed their departure, the more he risked that they had to flee on a whim very near the girl's due date. If that was to happen and that she was to start labour on the ship… well Sandor didn't even want to begin contemplating how that would go. At least if they were to leave now, the little bird still had more than two moons ahead of her before it was supposed to happen and they should have reached shore by then.
And besides, while Sandor had no clue of how the Starks would react to hearing the rumours about Sansa and him, he was not in the least interested in finding out. One thing certain was that they wouldn't do nothing about it. His guess was that they would send a few trusted men to Maidenpool so that they attempted to retrace his and the little bird's steps from there. If these men managed to do so and catch them before they fled the continent, the best fate he could hope for was to be sent to the Wall and forced to take the black. Yet realistically, he'd be brought to Winterfell and executed. He'd lose his ugly head, severed from his body under the sword of the little bird's own bloody brother.
However, even that would be a buggering mercy. If Sandor had a daughter like Sansa and that a man like him had done even the quarter of what he had to her, he'd probably cut off his cock himself before sending him to the Wall to lead a pitiful existence, chasing ghosts at the far end of the civilised world, half the man he used to be. Now that would be an appropriate punishment and one far worse than death itself. Sandor almost snorted a snigger at the thought, though not from mirth. He had best not let it come to that.
His only comfort was that for the time being, no one was aware of their exact location. Or so Githa pretended. Sandor was far from certain he could trust her not to speak. The woman hated him. Of course, he'd given her every reason to - that was true enough - nevertheless it was a damned given that even had he tried his hardest, he'd never have managed to win so much as an ounce of sympathy from her. Her opinion of him had been set from the moment she'd learned about the little bird's condition.
Ingrith, he trusted more but even then he wasn't so sure. The fact that he'd be at the two women's mercy for as long as he stayed at the farm was undeniable and the notion was none too pleasing. It'd be all too easy for them to keep him in the dark and not tell him if Stark retainers were seen scouting the area. Githa and Ingrith were northerners first and foremost after all and they might see it as their duty to their king to betray him to them. Sandor may pay them every week for their silence and help, but this was no guarantee they wouldn't turn on him - not even one bloody bit. By denouncing him, they would even take advantage of the situation to its fullest and both gain the honour of having helped bring back home their king's sister and keep the gold the Hound had given them. Now, that would be an attractive prospect to anyone, let alone poor commoners living in some puny little village in the North's backcountry.
Fuck, we've really no choice, Sandor concluded. Nodding to himself, he brought the little bird her bowl of dried fruits and nuts. They would leave this place and the sooner they could do it, the better it would be.
Sansa ate her meal in silence, watching the Hound. He was acting strange, had been ever since she had awoken from her nap. She wasn't sure what to make of his attitude. It was not like him to be so distracted and avoid her gaze so much. Whenever she had spoken to him this evening, she had hardly managed to grasp his attention for more than a few seconds and wasn't even sure he truly listened to what she said.
Once they were done eating and that Ingrith had come back to fetch their bowls, cauldron and spoons, Sandor went out again, telling her he needed to check on the horses. It seemed unnecessary seeing how he had already disappeared to the stables earlier for at least an hour, not long after Githa had left. Still, Sansa let him go without uttering a word, for there was no valuable reason she object.
While he was away, she continued working on the swaddling blanket she had started knitting yesterday afternoon. It was very pretty: made from grey, white and yellow wool, all in thin stripes. Although Sansa knew she shouldn't, she couldn't stop herself from using both hers and Sandor's house colours for the baby's clothes. Yet, as neither Ingrith nor him had remarked about it so far, she had gathered it must not be too obvious. The Hound would certainly have reprimanded her for it had he noticed.
For a few hours now, the baby had stopped moving. He was always quiet in the evening. Sleep well, my little baby, Sansa told him lovingly, caressing her belly. She could almost see him in her mind's eyes - curled onto himself inside her womb. He was big already, that was a given, and she was sure he had black hair like his father. It was her father's hair colour as well and the notion that he would have some of the Stark's look was very pleasing to her. For a very short time, Sansa had considered calling him Eddard, or even just Ned, but that would not have been very wise. Thankfully, she had figured it out on her own and never mentioned the idea to Sandor. He'd surely have mocked her if she had.
Whenever she broached the subject of their child's name to him, the Hound always told her he left the choice to her. She was flattered for the honour and yet sometimes, she wished he would get more involved in the matter. It seemed like such an important decision for her to take on her own, and so not to have his input only increased the burden of responsibility she felt.
At first, she had believed the baby would be a 'Snow' given that she was from the North and that he would be her bastard. Yet, when she had said as much to Sandor one evening when they were both sitting by the hearth, the man had corrected her.
"He'll be a Hill, little bird," he had rasped with that gravelly voice of his, the unburned corner of his mouth curling upward as he met her gaze. "I'm from the Westerlands and I'll be the only known parent, remember?"
And indeed he was right. Somehow, the notion had grieved her even more. It was one more broken link between her and her son.
My son, Sansa reflected, laying a hand on her stomach. If only… if only I could keep him…
For the first few weeks she had become aware she was expecting, the very concept that she was carrying in her own flesh a child that was as much the Hound's as hers had been extremely disturbing to Sansa. She may have come to enjoy the feel of his arms around her and to welcome him in her bed at night, that didn't mean she was ready to be so irrevocably bounded to him. While it had taken her some time and that all the implications it brought were still extremely difficult to grasp, she had now gotten so used to the idea enough that she had accepted it completely. Same as of for all the rest.
There was always good to be found in any situation and this one was unquestionably no exception. Seen from her child's perspective, having the Hound for father was certainly far from all bad. The man had many flaws but he had also a lot to be envied. If their son could grow to inherit all of his strengths as well as hers without any of their weaknesses, there was no knowing all the greatness he could achieve in life. He would be a bastard of course and that would not help him in any way but if talented, he could still accomplish so much in spite of it.
A bastard… The word was tainted with prejudice. People always judged those who were born out of wedlock and yet, it was never the child's fault. How cruel the world could be. Sansa had had a great deal of time to reflect on all of this lately and she bitterly regretted having ever turned her nose up at her half-brother, Jon. He had been her lord father's bastard from another woman before her mother and though she had loved him, she had not always treated him fairly. My son will be a lot like him. He'll never get to know his mother and will only ever be his father's…
Although Sansa agonised at the thought that she would have to abandon her child, the knowledge that Sandor was willing to take care of him as much as a man of his sort could comforted her very, very much. And she trusted he would keep his word to her. He would do as he had promised and see that their son learned the art of war and swordsmanship. That was a reassuring thought, for he would be the greatest teacher a boy could hope for. A stern one, but an honest and fair one.
And she knew he would genuinely come to care for their child – he'd be his own blood after all and the man was not as insensitive as he let it appear. Throughout the last seven moons or so they had spent together, Sansa had gotten to truly know him and learnt to see beyond the harsh image he gave off to the outside world. People believed the Hound to be naught but a coarse and brutish killer and while he could indeed do horrible things, he was also capable of patience and kindness. Sansa had experienced first hand both sides of him: the good and the bad. She knew just how complex he really was.
Sometimes she wondered if she would miss him once all of this would be over. Her conclusion was always that yes, she would. He had become such an important part of her life since they had left the Red Keep and while none of it had been her choice, there was no way she would ever forget about him and the child that had ensued from the union of their flesh. How would it be not to share his bed and life and eventually, to become another man's when time that she married came? The prospect was unexpectedly distressing and the realisation of it never failed to wake the dormant guilt that had been hers for many moons now.
Still if she stopped to ponder about it, her attachment to him made perfect sense. Sansa had been raised to believe that she would be faithful to only one man in her lord husband throughout her life. The fact that she would guard her maidenhead for him and bear only his children had always been unquestionable to her. Therefore, now that she had lost her innocence to the Hound and was heavy with his seed, it was only natural that she felt as if they belonged together and was reluctant to part from him. He had forced himself in the role of the husband she had been groomed to welcome and she had naturally accepted him as she was not equipped to react differently.
Her mind busied on all these matters and eyelids growingly heavy, Sansa quickly finished the swaddling blanket she had been working on without even realising it. She added it to all the other garments in the little chest Sandor had built and returned to her seat. While she was tired, she stayed there for a time, rocking herself as she waited for him to return.
It was strange that he had not come back yet. Although she knew it was ridiculous, Sansa was starting to worry for him and she might very well have headed to the stables to make sure nothing was amiss if it had not been for the cold she knew awaited her outside. Despite her concern, she soon fell asleep in her chair. Still, she must not have dozed for very long, for it seemed only moments later when the door opened like a gust of wind, startling her awake.
It was late, probably close to midnight, but Sandor's eyes were wide as he stepped through the doorway and he appeared oddly agitated in spite of the hour. Closing the door behind him, he swiftly swept his gaze over the room, as if he was looking for something.
"Where were you, Sandor? Why did you take so long?" Sansa asked him sleepily, stirring in her chair.
Not bothering to take off his cloak and gloves or rub off the snow from his boots as he usually did, the Hound walked to the shelves where most of their things were stored.
"Sandor?" Sansa called, slightly taken aback to be ignored as thus.
"I went to the stables, as I told you. I had things to prepare," he informed her, his back to her. "You should have gone to bed, little bird. Don't know why you're still awake. At least you'd have slept a little," he reproached sharply. Taking her saddlebag from where it was on the floor, he brought it over the table before returning to the shelves. From there, he started to throw his belongings into his own saddlebag.
"What… what are talking about, Sandor?"
"I've no time to explain it all to you but we need to go. Now."
"Go? But where? And why?" she murmured, too stunned to raise her voice.
"Don't argue, Sansa. Just put on your warmest dress, and perhaps another one over it and pack all your things. Hurry now."
"I… I don't understand, Sandor…"
"No need for you to understand. Now go on," he ordered, not even bothering to gaze her way as he spoke.
Alarm was swiftly building in Sansa and that, added to the frustration she felt at being given no explanation at all made her lose her usual calm. "I'd like nothing more than to do as you say, Sandor, but please, tell me what's happening first! I need to know!" she insisted, her voice high-pitched.
Turning from the shelves at once, the Hound shot her one of his most burning glares. "Hush! Not so loud, Sansa! Be quiet and do as I say," he hissed commandingly.
It had been so long since he had spoken to her so harshly and his tone took her off guard. There was no way she didn't listen. Tears threatening to pearl in her eyes, Sansa scurried to the shelf her dresses where all neatly folded on. For a few heartbeats, she fumbled aimlessly through them but then finally shook herself and put on one of them over the one she wore. The Hound was by her side. Kneeling to the floor, he pushed the last of his clothes in his saddlebag with an amazing lack of care before starting closing its buckles
"Are we going to come back, Sandor? Can I leave a few things here?"
"No, bring everything. We're leaving this farm for good," he stated, standing to his full height.
"Oh but, Sandor! Why? I liked it here!" Sansa complained, gazing up at him pleadingly.
Wincing, Sandor shot her a brief, uneasy glance before quickly averting his gaze from her. "I'll find another place, better than this one for you to give birth. Don't fret," he promised flatly. With that, he gathered most of Sansa's dresses and shifts in his arms and strode to the table to set everything next to her saddlebag.
Her stare fixed on him, Sansa followed him with her eyes as he did, twisting in place to keep him in her sight as he moved about the room. "But where will it be, Sandor? Where are you bringing me now?" she breathed mostly to herself, feeling utterly lost.
To her surprise, the Hound answered this time around. "Essos," he muttered as he returned to her side by the shelves again.
"To Essos?" Sansa let out disbelievingly, the words nearly a gasp. "But why so far, Sandor? Aren't there other places we could go?" Her eyes filling with tears, she clutched at him with a hand on the upper sleeve of his chain mail shirt and another at its front. The mail was greasy to the touch for he had oiled it recently but she didn't care in the least and hooked a few fingers in one of the holes the broken, rusty links had created over his chest for a better grip. "Oh, please, Sandor! I beg you! Just let us stay here instead! I really don't want to take a ship again!" she cried in consternation.
"Shhh! Calm down, Sansa," the Hound rasped in a firm yet not unkind tone. Turning to face her completely, he lifted both his hands to her shoulders to rub them in that rough, soothing way he had. "It won't be so bad this time around. You had gotten used to the sea by the time we reached White Harbour, remember?"
"But what about the baby, Sandor? It won't be good for him that we resume travelling!" Sansa pointed out, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Something akin to guilt passed through Sandor's eyes at that. He hesitated very briefly but then, wiped off Sansa's tears with his thumb and spoke. "The baby will be fine. I swear it, little bird. If he survived the moon tea, he can survive travelling overseas," he told her mildly.
Paradoxically, the Hound's gentleness succeeded in breaking Sansa where his previous aloofness had not. A sob shaking her, she shut her eyes and started to cry for real. "But why do we need to go? Why now? It's so late… I don't understand! You're scaring me, Sandor! Please, tell me what's happening!" she supplicated him even as she whimpered, feeling at the end of her strength.
Her outburst apparently gave the Hound pause. "Alright," he said. "Alright, little bird. Stop crying now."
Swallowing hard, Sansa opened her eyes again and she was instantly struck by how preoccupied he looked.
"I've heard a few things from Githa when she came this afternoon," Sandor whispered gravely, speaking as lowly as if he feared he might be overheard. "And now, I'm afraid that if we stay here, we might end up being located by some of your brother's men before you've a chance to give birth."
Sansa's eyes grew wide at that and her pulse hastened. "What happened?" she asked in sudden panic.
With one of his hands, the Hound started caressing her cheek and hair. "Nothing so far, little bird, don't worry. I'm just being careful," he assured her, his hoarse voice as soft as it could be. There was an underlying tension in it though and the awareness did nothing to quell the girl's dread. "Still, it's best that we go and Essos is where we need to be. There, we'll be able to hide more effectively. We'll find you another wise woman and a foster family for the babe and resume our journey to Winterfell later on. I just don't want to risk your family seeing you like this: heavy with my child. You don't want this either, little bird, don't you?"
"No… no of course not..." Sansa agreed almost reluctantly, her voice as small as a child's. Though he was right and that being found by her family in her present condition was pretty much her worst nightmare, the prospect of heading away from Winterfell now that they had gotten so near was heart wrenching. She had been so glad to be back in her native North again.
"Then we need to leave. Tonight," the Hound asserted with finality.
Closing her fists tightly around the chain mail of his shirt, Sansa leaned more of her weight onto him. Her knees were weak under her and she feared she might lose balance any instant. "But couldn't we wait until tomorrow at least?" she begged him wearily. Sniffing, she craned her neck to look up at him. "It would be nice to sleep a little before we depart. Besides, I hate the idea of not saying goodbye to Ingrith and thanking her for everything she did for me. It would be very rude of us not to tell her we're going."
"No, Sansa, it's not possible. Now's the best time for us. I'll leave her a few gold dragons on the table. She won't have anything to complain about. Yet, it's best we're far from here by the time she realises we left. Understood?"
"Alright… alright then…" Sansa conceded feebly. Withdrawing the hold she had on his shirt, she wiped the tears which soaked her cheeks with her sleeve. She still wasn't sure she understood but she was too tired to keep arguing any longer. And anyhow when the Hound had his mind set on something, Sansa knew very well there was never any point in trying to dissuade him. He liked having his way, always.
"Now go on and pack you things. We need hurry now," he prompted her, gently pushing her toward the table.
Sansa did as he bade her and the Hound hastily brought her the remnant of her clothes and jewellery. She was finishing storing everything when the man settled the baby's chest on the table right next to her.
"Don't forget the babe's clothes," he reminded her. "Pack them in your saddlebag now."
"Couldn't we just bring the whole chest you made?" Sansa suggested, gazing up at him. He was busy rolling all of their blankets and furs tightly together by the bed's side.
"No, it's far too bulky. We've no space for that," he grunted, his stare glued to his task.
"Oh! But Sandor! You've spent so many hours building it!" she complained at once, her voice breaking pitifully.
"I'll get you another much nicer one, you'll see," the Hound promised, tying a long rope around the bundle of blankets and furs. "It's not like this one's very impressive to begin with anyway."
Her bottom lips quavering, Sansa opened the chest's lid. Inside, the little clothes were all piled up tidily and the sight of them increased her anguish even more. Soon, she could almost see nothing through the fresh tears that welled in her eyes. A sob escaping her lips, she clumsily started pushing the baby's garbs in her saddlebag.
"I… I don't have enough space," she announced desperately after a moment. The whole situation was making her so very anxious that even the smallest obstacle was like a mountain for her.
"I do. Give me what you can't fit in," Sandor urged, walking to her.
Sansa handed him the last of the clothes and he returned to his saddlebag. Once everything was packed and all the bag's straps closed, the man left a few coins on the table for Ingrith as he had said he would
"Put on your cloak, mittens and scarf now. It's cold outside," Sandor informed her, taking down her cloak from its hook on the wall and installing it over her shoulders.
With trembling fingers, Sansa fastened the silver brooch that kept it closed and fetched her mittens and scarf where they were on one the now empty selves. She had already worn her boots since the house's floor was cold and so she was quickly ready to go, though not mentally. She barely understood what was going on, was so tired and totally distraught at the thought of having to leave so abruptly… She had enjoyed the few peaceful moons she and Sandor had spent here and had felt more at home than she had since Winterfell, no matter how spartan the place had seemed to her at first. Looking around herself, Sansa took a deep, shivering breath, her heart aching and in her throat at once. I need stop crying or else, my tears will freeze and burn my skin, she reasoned, struggling to keep her emotions in check. Finding a handkerchief in the inside pocket of her cloak, she dried her face and blew her nose.
"Here, little bird. Take this," Sandor murmured, holding out the bundle he had made with the blankets and furs to her. "It's big but it's not heavy."
Once she had closed her arms around it, the Hound took both his and Sansa's saddlebags under his arms. "Come now," he whispered. "Don't make any noise or speak. I don't want to alert Ingrith and her sons."
Sansa nodded faintly and the man shouldered the door open. As soon as he did, a cold wind blew into the house and she shivered as it froze her to the bone. In spite of it, she followed Sandor outside and they both headed to the stables in silence. All around them, the forest was filled with sinister noises. The howling of the wind - low an instant and high-pitched the next – was overwhelming in its intensity. As its strength varied, the dry branches of the canopy high above sporadically hit one another. To Sansa, it sounded exactly as she imagined an old skeleton would if it was to suddenly fall to pieces.
Before her, she could barely discern anything but the tall shape of the Hound, outlined against the overcast nightly sky. She walked a few yards behind him, the cold-hardened snow crushing softly under her boots with each of her steps.
Sansa entered the stables in a haze. Inside, the darkness was so complete that she might as well have been blind and it would have made no real difference. Sandor led her to a stall and after having freed her of the bundle of blankets she had held, he bade her to wait by its side as he prepared their mounts. For several long minutes, she stood in place, her mind empty of any thought and limbs shaking as much from the cold as from the uncertainty of her circumstances.
"Come," Sansa heard the Hound's low rasp.
His large hands found her and she jumped from the unexpected touch but Sandor steadied her. With great care not to press too hard on her belly, he lifted her onto her mare. Once she was seated, he walked to the door on foot, the reins of both Stranger and the little mare in hands.
"Be very quiet now," the Hound breathed as they progressed toward Ingrith's house. He glanced at her severely and she nodded to show she had understood.
The old woman and her sons were sleeping, judging by the small amount of light which passed through the hide windows and the sight sent a pang through Sansa's heart. She would most likely never see them again.
When they arrived to the road, Sandor swung himself over his stallion and gazed at Sansa, the dim moonlight's glow catching very briefly in his eyes. "Let's go now. Slowly at first, but we'll hasten our pace in a few minutes."
A very light snow was falling from the sky, Sansa noticed, and the lane before them was dark and foreboding. She wanted naught less than to venture over it, was so exhausted and confused. This cannot be truly happening, it must be a nightmare, she mused.
Sadly though, Sansa knew very well just how wrong this was, for the cold she felt was far too real for that. Gathering her courage, she nodded at Sandor and they both headed away into the night.
ETA (made on July 11th 2016) : To anyone rereading this story or reading it for the first time, I've decided to cut chapter 15 in two in order to be able to post earlier. Therefore, they'll be 16 chapters to this story and not 15 as planned. :)