Author's Notes: Unfortunately there may be a slight delay before the next update, as I will be moving house – and we all know how easy and stress-free that is (not!). I do try to write as well, as we all need breaks, but I can't guarantee how that will go... In my plans there are still tree more chapters after this, but again, we'll see.

So please bear with me… and thank you for following this far, and my apologies for leaving you in this very spot!

Sandor & Arya

"What did I tell you?!"

"-"

"What did she do? I saw her, she didn't even stop to think about it but went straight to the roll next to you, you 'she-knows-better-than-to-lie-next-to-a-grown-man'!"

"She thought I would be able to protect her better than you. And she is right. Nothing else to it."

"Aaarrghhh! What else do you need to make you believe? If you only had heard how she talked about you last night and how she asked about you, you'd see it for yourself."

"I give up! Very well; you clearly want me to ask what she said. Come on then. What was it?"

"She…I mean I…Well, you know, she wanted to know what do you do, in your spare time. Yes, that's it. That's what she asked."

"In my spare time?"

"Yes, but then she was really tired and went to sleep and we didn't get to talk more. But still. Isn't that clear that she likes you?"

"Aye, as clear as mud in this stream. Go on, walk a bit further upstream to fill these water bottles."

"How about a kiss? You should kiss her and if she likes it you can't shrug it away any more. Sansa is a lady, she wouldn't kiss anyone unless she really wanted to."

"A kiss?! To make her scream rape and think I am just like one of those bloody thugs they call knights. Are you fucking out of your mind?!"

"I didn't say you have to fuck her, just kiss!"

"Bloody hells, girl, watch your mouth! Hear that? That low rumble – don't you feel anything?"

"What? What is it, what am I supposed to hear? Is somebody coming, should we hide?!"

"NO. That was just the earth moving as your poor septa is turning in her grave, or in whatever ditch she was thrown at. You are still supposed to be a lady – or to become one someday. I say fuck, you don't. Is that clear?"

"Hmph! I am not a lady and never will be."

"Mayhap so, but I don't want to be blamed by your mother that I have turned you feral – any more than you already are."

"I will not let them blame you for anything! But very well, I will be careful with them and don't say fuck again."

"Better not talk about kisses either."

Sansa

Sansa woke up just before sunrise and for a fleeting moment wondered where she was. Then the clear sky above her head, the uneven ground under her and the rising crescendo of birds waking up to their day told it to her. And when she turned her head to her right, the sight of Sandor Clegane on his back, sleeping peacefully.

She took a moment to watch him, for once being free to study his face without his scrutiny making it difficult. He looked more peaceful, more serene. She tried to remember if she had actually ever seen him genuinely happy, and for true she couldn't. A few times a corner of his mouth had ticked almost as in a smile – but when he was relaxed as he was now, Sansa found it surprisingly easy to imagine that expression on his face. She concluded that he would look much nicer if he smiled and decided to do her best to coax one out of him. Now that they had escaped the oppressive atmosphere of the court, maybe she could?

And then he stirred and started to flex his body and Sansa quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be sleeping.

She had been nervous when she had been awakened from her sleep by his arrival the previous evening, his heavy weight landing next to her with an audible thud. It had been much after Arya had already fallen asleep, judged by the soft snoring sounds from her bedroll. Sansa had stayed still, not wanting to Sandor know that she was awake. He had fumbled with his bedding before laying his heavy bulk down, and soon after Sansa had felt a weight of his blanket gently lowered to cover her.

There had been a respectable distance of at least two hand widths between them, but it had been the first time she had ever slept next to a man. That they both had been fully clad and accompanied by her little sister, as well as being out in the open, hadn't quelled the butterflies in her stomach, and it had taken a long while before she had finally fallen asleep again.

The day was uneventful, monotony of riding only interrupted by a few breaks to rest their mounts, to have a bite to eat and to take care of their natural needs. Sansa tried to start discussion with Sandor a few times but after receiving only monosyllable grunts as replies she eventually gave up and concentrated on admiring the landscape - and the sensation of him so close to her. As much as she had tried to push away what Arya had told her about the other girl – about the other women - she couldn't help imagining those strong arms that surrounded her holding another, and it hurt.

Sansa had to close her eyes when the shame of thinking such things became too much. She could feel the heat on her cheeks and the most extraordinary tingling at the bottom of her belly. Her hands that were resting at the pommel of the saddle itched to touch him as she had done that one time in her room, when he had held her and she had felt his muscles tense under her hands.

She had a vague idea of what took place between men and women in private, but all descriptions she had heard had made it sound as something dirty and undesirable; something that men wanted and women had to endure. Yet being so close to the man who had loomed so large in her mind lately made her body react as it had never done before, and her heart leap of excitement - but it also made her apprehensive and unsure.

On a midday break Sansa approached Arya again, determined to learn more about their surly saviour. Arya had been his friend for a long time and might be able to tell her what she needed to hear. Did Sandor truly care about her, what had he said, what were his plans after this – she wanted to know everything. Sansa had thought it to be easier to converse with the man himself away from King's Landing, but almost the opposite had proven true. He had not responded to her queries and had completely ignored her questions about the future.

"Arya, why did you ask me if like Sandor – the Hound? What does it matter to you?"

Her sister threw a quick look at the man in question and seeing that he was bent down to examine hooves of their horses at the other side of the small clearing, she shrugged.

"He is a good man. He fights better than anyone and knows a lot about everything. He is not greedy or false and in every respect much better than Joffrey or anyone I met in King's Landing."

"Yes, he is a good man where it counts. And I do care about him, I really do."

"And he is not going to tell you himself that he wants you and if you don't know it and if he doesn't ask Robb, then he is going to leave and we will never see him again."

Sansa's heart started to pump loudly at Arya's words but still she couldn't reconcile her words with Sandor's behaviour. If anything, since their escape he had seemed even colder and more closed than before.

"What do you mean, 'wants me'? Maybe he likes me in his own rough way, but he most certainly is not showing it. And what does Robb has to do with any of this?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "I might have told him he could ask Robb for your hand. They will marry you again - even I know it - and I'd rather it be him than some stupid lord."

Besides the mention of a marriage, which alone was enough to shock Sansa, the matter-of-fact way Arya talked about it as a necessity for a highborn maiden chilled her. Her wild sister might buck against the teachings and expectations of her position, but she knew them just the same. But…Sandor asking her hand?

"What did he say to that?" Her voice trembled and she didn't care if Arya noticed it.

Again Arya shrugged. "He almost bit my head off for even suggesting. Said that you are a princess and that lords and kings don't give their sisters away to dogs." She stopped eating then, put the piece of bread she held in her hand on her lap and turned fully to face Sansa. Although it had been only a few months since they had been separated, suddenly she appeared much older and more thoughtful than Sansa had ever seen her. Her face had lost some of its previous roundness and her short-cropped hair gave her an air of solemnity, and quite unexpectedly Sansa found herself paying serious attention to what her little sister was about to say.

"He doesn't think he is good enough. For you or for Robb or for anyone. He thinks you only like him because he is helping us, and he said that you'd likely drop him like an old boot when we reach Riverrun. But you wouldn't do that, would you?"

Sansa was so flustered that for a moment she didn't answer. Marry? Him? The whole notion was unthinkable. Sandor had been quite right in his insistence that kings didn't give their sisters – the valuable pawns in the game of alliances – to just about anyone who asked for their hand. Especially not to a second son of a minor house who was famous for his allegiance to their bitter enemies. No, Robb wouldn't view such proposal favourable. And then…then… he would leave.

"Was that… all that he said?"

"He told me I talked stupidly. But it was not what he said, but the way he said it! He became much more furious than he needed to. He could have just told me to mind my own business and ignore my suggestion, but he shouted at me. And walked away. And seethed for a long time afterward, and I know he was not cross with me, not really. I think he was just angry because he thought it couldn't happen. Now tell me, would he have behaved like that if he really didn't care one way or another?"

"Oh Arya," Sansa whispered. "It is not that easy. We have duties, you and me, to our family and to our house."

Now it was Arya's turn to become angry. Her face contorted as she spitted out her frustration.

"It is easy! If you want it to be! Robb wouldn't even have you or me back if it wasn't for the Hound. You'd be married to that monster Joffrey – would that be better? 'A powerful alliance' as they say. That would be the reality if he wouldn't have taken us away!"

She stood up abruptly and stormed away, muttering about how some people could be so blind and stupid.

Sansa stared at her retreating form and let her shoulders slump. Everything Sandor had said was true – but so was everything Arya had voiced. Their life had been turned upside down and even she didn't see things quite as clearly she had seen them before.

Her eager anticipation of being reunited with her family was suddenly shadowed by the realisation that it wouldn't be long before she would be betrothed again. Not immediately, not for a while – but she was a noble maiden of marriageable age and her brother the king was waging a war. He needed all the allies he could get. Sansa had always been expected to marry according to her family's wishes to strengthen a bond between two powerful houses or to seal an agreement. She had been raised to always honour and obey her elders. Family, duty, honour, the words of House Tully, according to which she was expected to lead her life. And yet… The winter is coming. She also had to be prepared for when the times were hard. She had to be strong.

Sansa closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Since the discovery of her feelings towards Sandor was still so fresh, she hadn't really had a chance to consider what it would mean or where it could lead. I have to think about all this.

And do she did, for the rest of the day, while they traversed through the woods and an occasional meadow or a field at steady pace. The landscape was still fertile and green and the absence of human presence made it feel like they had gone back in time and were wrapped in an existence consisting only of them and their mounts. Every now and then Sandor halted, examined their surroundings, sometimes even dismounted and studied the ground for signs or tracks, only to climb up again and lead the way even deeper into the forest.

This time Sansa was relieved that he didn't demand conversation and let her brood in silence. His physical presence was as distracting as it had been before and succeeded only to muddle her thoughts, but she forced any distractions away and concentrated on trying to analyse the situation as rationally as she could.

So; she had feelings for the Hound, maybe even serious feelings. He seemed to care for her as well, but whether it was just protectiveness or something else, a wholly less noble motivation that drove him, she still couldn't be sure of. He had balked at the suggestion of asking her for his lady wife – it couldn't be because of his Kingsguard vows as they were already forfeited forever. Was it because he didn't want to – or because he didn't dare to?

Sansa turned her head and studied his stern face from the corner of her eye. I have to find out. One way or another.

And so arrived another evening, another camp fire, another meal. This time it was a hare, trapped with snares Sandor had set the previous evening and checked in the morning. Sansa had felt sorry for the little furry body that had hung from Arya's saddle the whole day, but she couldn't deny how good it tasted, slightly charred and still succulent.

Arya retired to her bedroll claiming to be too tired to stay up any longer, even if it was not that late. Suspecting it was a ruse Sansa nonetheless welcomed the opportunity to speak alone with Sandor. After the remains of their simply meal had been cleared away and the food scraps thrown into the forest floor to be consumed by its many scavengers, finally there they were, Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane, sitting on a half-rotten tree trunk and staring into the burning embers at their feet. The nights were chilly but manageable with their bedrolls and thick blankets, so there was no need to keep the fire burning throughout the night. Especially if he covers me with his bedding again, Sansa thought.

She coughed nervously, searching for an opening for the discussion they had to have.

"So…what happens next? When we reach Riverrun?"

Sandor's voice was low and level when he replied, after a moment's consideration. "That depends. The last news in the court told that your kingly brother was waiting there for the next move in this pathetic war. Mayhap he will continue and seek revenge for your father, mayhap he is content to leave the South to its own mess. Lannisters have no leverage over him anymore, whereas he holds the Kingslayer, so if he is wise, he will use that to his advantage."

"He could have exchanged him for me. I heard Cersei talking about it. She didn't want to let me go, but she cares for her brother a lot." Sansa tried to prevent the bitterness she felt to seep through to her voice.

Sandor let out a dry rasping laugh startling her. "Aye, that she does. I have no doubt that had your brother made the offer, she would have talked the little shit to agree to it."

"And yet he didn't." Sansa had dreamed of it sometimes, but she had also resigned to accept the fact that when kingdoms were at war there was more at stake than a fate of a mere girl – as sour the realisation had been.

Sandor shrug his broad shoulders. "A strong king has to consider all things, not only his own family or grievances. I hope he'll be more sensible than to throw everything away uselessly. Not to behave as Joffrey when he chopped Lord Eddard's head. That was a stupid move. Yet - your family seems to care for its members." He looked into the distance and Sansa wondered whether he was thinking of his own family, of the brother he wanted to kill.

"Well, in any case there is no point to think about that now, as there is no need. You saw into that. You saved us and will take us to him."

"We are not there yet."

"What will you do next? Arya said you are considering leaving across the sea. Surely that is not true?"

Again he shrugged, poking some charred twigs that had fallen out of the fire pit back into the embers with a stick. Sansa sat on his good side, but she couldn't see his expression through the dark curtain of his hair that had fallen down his side.

"I have no lands, no family to speak of, no masters or a lord of any kind. All I know is how to fight. What else is there for me? To become a bloody farmer or a merchant?"

"You could stay with us. Become a bannerman of House Stark."

"You fancy yourself my master now? Wish yourself a dog to command since you lost your wolf?" Sandor growled but his tone was not as angry as his words might have suggested. If anything, he sounded defeated.

"You know it is not that. You would stay of your own free will, and only if you want."

"I to become a Stark man? I don't think your lot would take kindly on me. I was there on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor, I was the Lannister dog." He shifted and the tone of his voice changed, becoming bitter as if he had to spit words out. "And I stood there and did nothing when that whoreson Joffrey had you beaten. Nothing! How well will that sit with your kingly brother, what do you think?"

Sansa hated his self-depreciating tone. Did he really think he could have done things differently? Stand up for her and get them both in even greater trouble because of that?

"You might have done those things and been that man, but not anymore. And you did something – you rescued me. And Arya. I will tell Robb that and he too will see that you are so much more than a dog. I know he will."

He didn't reply and for a long time they both sat motionless, still staring at the dying embers. Finally Sansa spoke. She had to know.

"Why do you help us? You didn't have to do any of this." As Sandor started to shift she hastened to add, "Please, don't think that I am talking about a reward! I apologise my clumsy words earlier; I was reverting back to saying what I thought would be a proper thing to say, like the stupid little bird you told me I was. But I am not that brainless bird anymore. And yet I want to know, and understand - so I have to ask. You say you hate lying so I trust you to tell it to me true."

She tried to capture his attention but he refused to meet her eyes, preferring to stare at the ground. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"What does it matter? I told you once that my reasons are my own. Better leave it at that."

"Please don't leave us. Please don't leave me. What do you want? There must be something that will make you stay. I... if it is in my power, I will give it to you." Sansa held her breath. If what Arya had said was true, this was his chance to let her know.

Sandor finally lifted his head and turned it towards her. It appeared as if he was taking her measure, so intently he studied her in the flickering light of the dying flames. Dark shadows danced across the deep grooves and stretched skin on his face and it would have been easy to see him as one of the hellish creatures emerging from nightmares – but Sansa was not afraid. She had seen through him and knew that he was not what others thought him to be. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, returning his gaze. She wasn't sure what she expected to hear. What she hoped to hear.

Yet no words left his mouth. He only stared, and the intensity of it made Sansa squirm on her seat. Suddenly she was afraid that maybe he would never tell her his heart – if he even had any feelings for her. She wasn't sure which prospect worried her more; that he truly didn't care – or that he did, but would forever refuse to reveal it because of some reasons unbeknownst to her. Oh, she had to know, she couldn't stand another moment this uncertainty!

Sansa leaned forward and despite her unease of being so bold – a real lady would never behave this way – she tilted her face, all the while staring into the abyss of those grey eyes. Did she imagine it or did he move as well? Did he come closer?

Sansa couldn't breathe as she waited for Sandor's next move – which he eventually made, slowly dropping his head to be at level with hers. There was hardly any distance between them anymore - she could feel his breath on her cheek. She had an impulse to close her eyes, but she feared that he would take it as a sign of rejection and so forced herself to keep them open.

Whether in the end it was she or him who made the final move she couldn't say - but when his scarred lips met hers Sansa knew she had received the answer to her question.