I do not own ASOIAF. I do not profit from this story, nor would I ever seek to do so. All credit for characters and setting to the wonder GRRM.

First ASOIAF fanfiction.

A BIG THANK YOU TO ALL READERS AND REVIEWERS. I appreciate all the feedback.

The sun was peeking over the eastern horizon on the second day of their flight from the Inn. Not a word had passed between them since they left.

Sansa sighed, staring between the ears of the large black stallion. She touched his wrists, rubbing them to comfort herself. She leaned back against him. She wished that they would get to his safe place soon and without any more difficulties, despite nothing being easy. She rubbed his thumb, trying to shove away the look she had seen in him when she was standing in the tub. She had been stared at by men before; Petyr had come in on her bathing before. She shifted, listening to the sounds of the forest.

The snow crunched under the hooves of the horses. Sandor told her that they were making their way toward the border of the Crownlands. They might already be there. She hugged his arm. The snow their first night of travel would cover the route they had taken with any luck, assuming everyone had been asleep and their departure was not discovered until the morning.

She fought not to glance back at him. She shifted a little. She pressed back, remembering how she had come back to the room they were sharing at the Inn and seen him standing by the window without his shirt on. He had scars on his back. He looked so powerful, and she knew that he was protecting her. She had called him, and he came to her that night Shadrich tried to take her back to the queen. He saved her just like a knight always did in the stories.

Sansa held tightly to Sandor's arm. She was exhausted and too wound up to sleep at the moment. She wished he would have held her while she rested at the end. They were closer than she had been in far too many months to Kings Landing. They had traveled almost non stop at a brisk trot. It was the most efficient pace of speed for covering ground without being overly taxing to the horses and being relatively quiet.

She could not help thinking about how he stood, just staring at her while she was naked in the tub with water dripping off her body. His eyes had been dark and intense. She had seen Petyr look at her that way sometimes, oft times before he would take kisses. She shivered in disgust, remembering some of them. She wrapped her arms around Sandor's arm, resting her cheek on it with a deep sigh. He was brave and strong and kind, everything her father had wanted for her.

What did Sandor want? No one did something for nothing. Petyr was right about that, she was certain. Joffrey always said she was pretty, but stupid. The Queen said a woman had a weapon between her legs to use. If the way Sandor had stared at her was any indicator, the Queen had been right. She shifted, leaning back on his chest more firmly. She turned her head and pressed her ear where she could hear the steady beat of his heart.

She would think about this another time. She did not want to use Sandor. She was not like Cersei and did not want to be ever. She should back off him. He saved her. He always saved her, but she could not be his, if he wanted her. She was still married to Tyrion, assuming no one had killed him at the Queen's request. It would be wrong to be with Sandor that way—regardless of how much time she spent thinking of him and his kiss. She could not be cruel to him, assuming that he wanted her, which certainly did not seem like much of a hypothesis.

They were always running or hiding. Who had time to think when you were trying to avoid being assaulted or had to be running from people who wanted to hurt them or use them? She would be able to puzzle everything out once she had a moment to breathe.

He had not looked away. He had enjoyed looking. He would not look so long or so intensely if he did not find something worth his—worth his attention. Something he found beautiful. People liked to look at pretty things and ignore ugly ones. She had ignored Sandor at first, because she thought that staring would make him angry. She blinked back tears, remembering how horrible she used to be to him. He may not talk like a knight and drink too much, but he was not vicious like others.

"Little Bird—"

Sansa shifted so she could look into his face, but it was covered by his cowl. It made him less recognizable. Every one knew the Hound's distinctive burn-scarred face, with no need to see his helm. Only his gray eyes could be seen. Once those eyes had frightened her more than anything. Now, they were a comfort. She wished she could sag back against him more than she already was. She was safe as long as she was with him. She was away from all the people who used her. He took her away from them and would not let them hurt her anymore. Songs were never like this, but this was truth. She put a hand over his, remembering his response when she had come back from dinner with a bowl of porridge for him.

"What is it?"

He'd nodded quietly and ate, only grunting at her attempt to converse with him and adding a log to the fire. She had hoped to find a way to bring the conversation around to the night he had left Kings Landing. She could then perhaps find a way to get to the kiss. But he had refused her the opportunity with his stubborn grunts, and then telling her that she might want to get a little sleep. She had asked him to sleep as well. He said he would rest against the door.

"People have been through here recently." He said, pulling the horse to a stop.

Sansa shifted.

"There is a castle there," he pointed through the edge of the small forest.

Sansa squinted through the bare branches. She could see two banners blowing softly. The higher of the two was smoky gray with something green crossing it at a slight angle. She had seen it before, though she could not place it. The lower looked like a sheep and a jeweled chalice on a field of green. House Stokeworth. Lady Tanda, Falyse, and Lollys. She shivered as she remembered their House words: Proud to be Faithful. They could not go there.

"Castle Stokeworth," she said, remembering fat, soft Lollys Stokeworth who was raped during the riot and Lady Tanda telling her how good she was to weep for Joffrey's death after he cast her aside. "What do we do now?"

"Stop in for a visit with the new Lord, Lady Lannister."

Fifteen men emerged, forming in a circle around them. Half were seated on large horses and the other half were on the ground, holding crossbows.

Sansa felt a thrum of fear course through her. Sandor could not hope to fight so many men off at once. He would be shot and killed. She clutched him. She would not let him be hurt. She remembered where she had seen the higher of the two banners now.

The most finely dressed man moved forward on a large bay destrier. He wore a cloak made of black bear skin, fastened with a chain of green tinted metal. His hair was dark, and his face long and lean. Dark eyes with a look that was borderline playful and borderline wolfish observed them.

She knew him. He was the man who threatened Ser Meryn and Ser Boros when the Hand stopped the king from beating her after her brother defeated the Lannisters.

"It's been a while. Come have a nice hot meal."

She stared at the man who was the most finely dressed. She reached up and lowered her hood. She rested a hand on Sandor's wrist. She could feel his irritation and anger, but this was not a situation for swords.