A/N: Well this is the end! Thanks to everyone for your comments, concrit and enthusiasm; it made this story so much fun to write. I've decided to write a sequel to this and should start posting it at the beginning of the year. There are a few hints as to where this story will go in this final chapter, so let's see if you pick up on it!

Chapter 21 Goodbye

Despite no visual signs of danger, Sandor's body remained as tense as a bowstring, his sword drawn and ready for action. Sansa felt his shield arm periodically tighten around her waist protectively, pulling her gently against his chest. Leaning into him, she whispered low, "We will make it out safe, husband. I know you have no faith in the gods but you will see."

He stiffened a moment but said nothing.

Sansa patted his arm lightly. "Trust me, do you?"

The burned side of his mouth twitched into a small grin, the man amused at hearing her repeat his words to him. "Aye lass."

"Good man," she teased mildly, earning a low chuckle from her husband.

Ahead of them she noticed Ser Barristan and her father in deep conversation, but Sansa could not hear what they were saying.

"Try to get some rest, little bird," Sandor whispered in her ear. Dutifully she closed her eyes, though she did not expect sleep to come to her.

"My Lord, forgive me, but are you certain this is wise?" Ser Barristan muttered low, resting his hand on Lord Eddard's shoulder. "Clegane means well, but we needs rendezvous with your son's bannermen as soon as may be."

Ned gripped his arm reassuringly. "Sandor means to take Sansa out of harm's way; we have already discussed his plan. He's chartered a vessel headed for White Harbor. Once we see them off, he is leaving us on our own."

"He's taking her to White Harbor," Ser Barristan raised his brow. "Lady Sansa agreed to this?"

"No," Ned sighed. "She does not know, and I have commanded my goodson not to tell her until it is time to board the ship. It breaks my heart to hear her tell me that we will be able to go home, poor lass."

"What news of Winterfell?"

"Theon Greyjoy holds Winterfell, so they cannot go there and neither can I without an army. I have ordered Clegane to keep her hidden until the war is over. I cannot bear to lose any more children, Ser Barristan, I just cannot. I must find Arya, Bran and Rickon, and somehow find a way to get Robb to see sense in this war."

"Lady Sansa knows about Theon, but that does not prevent her from holding on to hope. She's a lot like you, if you don't mind my saying so." Barristan's mouth curled into a small smile.

"Aye, she has the look of her mother but in many ways she and I think alike. She'll understand this is the only way to proceed, though she may not like it at first." Ned shook his head, despite his pleased expression. "Robb cannot hope that the Seven kingdoms will submit to his rulership; I must make him accept that. Someone would always rise up to challenge his claim. Daenerys Targaryen will return to Westeros one day soon, and if the rumors are to be believed, she will bring dragons with her-fire and blood. She has enough reason to dislike me; I don't want Robb giving her another by claiming right to the Iron throne."

Ser Barristan scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "Aye, the Spider has it on good authority, my lord, that she is on her way to reclaim it as we speak."

"I know," Ned sighed wearily. "When I return to the family, Robb will defer to me; he is dutiful and knows his place. I have no desire to play the game of thrones any longer, and I will not seek kingship of the north. As of now, Stannis is the rightful heir to the Iron throne. I intend on treating with him; we have known each other for some time and hopefully he will accept our surrender and allow us to return home in peace. It is the only logical course of action."

"What of the Targaryen girl's claim?"

"Once I am reunited with my family, I am sending you to find her. Perhaps she will listen to reason where her father and brother would not and find a way to resolve this issue with minimal bloodshed."

"Imagine how different our lives would have been if just one king we served did such a thing?" the old knight shrugged. "Perhaps a queen is just what the seven kingdoms need. You know what they say about the Targaryens, though, the whole lot of them have always danced too close to madness. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land."

"As we do now," Ned finished. "She is said to have a gentle heart."

"Then she is no Targaryen," Ser Barristan commented darkly. "Plain and simple."

Shrugging, Ned stared out into the night. "A true Targaryen is capable of both ferocity and tenderness, though in my experience, not in equal measure."

Sandor gestured toward them and the two men fell silent as they moved to his side.

Positioning Stranger beside them, Sandor rasped, "The Iron Gate is just ahead. Ready yourselves."

After exchanging glances, Ser Barristan and Ned nodded.

"Little bird; come on, wake up lass," he whispered into her ear. "I needs move you in case I need to fight. Come on, wife." With
a gentleness that belied his fearsome appearance, Sandor settled her behind him. "Hold onto my waist as tight as you can. I'm going to keep you hidden under my cloak."

Meekly Sansa agreed, lifting his cloak over her and grasping him tightly.

Ned leaned over to Ser Barristan. "Does Janos Slynt still command this gate?"

"No, Lord Tyrion exiled him to the Wall right after the king stripped me of my position with the Kingsguard. He figured if Slynt would betray you and work with Baelish, then no one was safe with him around."

"Quite right," Ned agreed.

"I mean to kill the bastard for betraying you, he and Baelish both," Sandor snarled low, drawing his blade. "I'll get my chance one day, believe that."

"Take care of my daughter, Sandor," Ned nodded at him. "That is enough for me."

Upon approaching the Iron Gate, the men saw only a small contingency of gold cloaks standing guard, drinking away their fear.

"Open the bloody gate," Sandor growled out. "We haven't got all night."

"Who goes there?" A voice called down from the barbican. "That you, Hound?"

"Aye, it is. Know anyone else who wears this helm, you buggering bastard?!"

"No, and no one with so sharp a tongue, Hound," one of the men chuckled nervously.

"If I were my brother, I would slaughter the lot of you just for annoying me."

At the mere mention of Gregor, the men became visibly uneasy. One man finally asked, "Where are you going?"

"To secure the Neck," Sandor shouted back, his voice strained with the effort of controlling his temper. "Quit buggering around and open up."

The leering gaze of the men weighed heavily on Shae, though Sansa took notice that she hardly seemed affected by it.

"Sandor, please, no matter her past, you must not allow them-"

"Shh, I won't," he rasped quietly. "Be still for me now."

The nearest man gestured toward Shae. "That your whore, Barristan?"

"No, she's Lady Clegane's handmaiden. Enough talk. Do as you're bid or I'll cut through all of you myself."

When the men paused, Sandor shouted, "Open the portcullis, gods be damned, now! I won't tell you again!"

Sansa quietly whispered her prayers against the cold metal of Sandor's armor. After some quiet discussion among the gold cloaks, the grinding gate creaked open for them.

"Many thanks," Sandor raised his hand in an obscene gesture to them as they rode through. Sansa gasped nervously and glanced at her father, who merely smiled reassuringly and took his position beside her. To her surprise, the gold cloaks did not seem offended, for his action brought an eruption of anxious laughter among the soldiers, the sound echoing loudly against the massive walls of the gate.

With that final obstacle overcome, the group fled King's Landing with no resistance and headed north, just as Sansa dreamed they would.

They rode day and night for three nights, only stopping briefly to take care of necessities and eat. Ned instructed them to remain silent as they rode, and even when they stopped to eat, they merely whispered the barest of conversation.

"How long will it take Joffrey to realize we are not obeying him?" Sansa whispered to her father one night as they mounted their horses.

"It will take at least two moons," he answered. "Possibly three, as arrogant as he is; no doubt the king will be gloating over his victory for a while yet."

"More like Lord Tywin will notice first," Ser Barristan added. "Not much slips past that one."

"Even if Tywin doesn't, Baelish will see to it that it is brought to his attention; the damned mockingbird never misses his chance to sing into the ear of the lions," Sandor agreed. "I should have gutted him when I had the chance, damn me. I regret letting that one live-we may all very well live to regret it."

A sudden chill swept over her in the form of a deep abiding fear, leading Sansa to seek the warmth of Sandor's skin against her own. Burrowing her face in his neck, Sansa whispered, "I fear it, too, husband, but you could not risk killing him at the time. Whatever the consequences, it was for the best. If the gods see fit, you will get your opportunity."

"Or else someone else will kill him," Shae offered. "He has many enemies, and in his line of work, he deals with many dangerous people."

"The Stranger comes for all of us, my lady," Ser Barristan shrugged. "Over the years, I've seen many a man die in battle. Just as often, though, I've seen men like him die of the ague, trip over a cat and break their neck, or live well into old age and die in their sleep. He'll get what the gods have coming for him, don't fret on that. None of us can escape it."

"Bugger that," Sandor snarled, pulling Sansa closer to him. "I don't plan on waiting for him to get killed because of some damned cat. I want to see Baelish squirm; I want to look into his weasel face when I put the steel to him."

"I overheard Lord Varys say that Lord Baelish was ordered to Harrenhal to meet with your brother," Sansa whispered with a shiver. Since the day of the tourney of the Hand, she avoided using Gregor Clegane's name; the young woman reasoning a man who would treat his own brother (and her husband, no less) so cruelly did not deserve to have his name spoken on her lips. "I fear those men working together. Only the greatest of suffering will result in it, of that I am certain, Sandor."

"Gregor? Work with Littlefucker?" Sandor laughed long and hard. "He'll skin that runt the first chance he gets, believe that, wife."

Her brows knit together anxiously but Sansa remained quiet and buried herself further in his arms.

"Never mind that now," Ned frowned, the man clearly put off by the morbidity of the conversation. "You men are upsetting my daughter with this bleak discussion. We must make haste if we are to reach our destination in time."

"Sandor, where are we going?" Sansa asked quietly as they traveled closer to the coast, the tall white sails of the ships dotting the pink dawn sky.

"You, Shae and I are boarding a ship for White Harbor," Sandor rasped softly in her ear.

Turning sharply, she looked up at him questioningly. "What of Father and Ser Barristan?"

Groaning, Sandor's eyes shifted uneasily toward Ned. "They are headed another way, wife."

"What? Where are they going? Please, tell me at once!" Sansa demanded, her voice rising in panic.

"Sansa child, please," Shae chastened her. "You must trust your father and husband know what is best."

"Does everyone know but me?" Sansa impatiently hissed, and then suddenly jumped from the saddle.

"Sansa! Bloody hells; get back over here this instant!" Sandor growled, following after her on foot.

"No, not until you tell me what is going on!" Sansa hurried away from him, calling out, "Father! Father please tell me where you are going!"

Sighing, Ned swung down off his horse. "Sansa, stop this at once."

"Father, I must know-I cannot bear the way you men always keep me in the dark! Why do you not trust me? I am no longer a child!"

"Forgive me, but I insisted Sandor not tell you so as not to upset you," Ned glanced up at Sandor. "I can see that was a mistake."

Tears welled in Sansa's eyes. "Why are you not coming with us?"

"I needs find your sister and brothers, lass, and speak to Robb about the war. Ser Barristan and I will make for the Riverlands, as your Mother and brother are said to be there. Sandor will keep you and Shae in hiding until the war is over." When Sansa started to protest, Ned gently placed his finger over her lips. "Listen to me, child; winter is coming for us all. Promise me you will stay with Sandor and follow his lead, not because he is your husband, but because his battle experience will serve you well during the troubled times ahead."

Sighing deeply, Sansa took his hands in her own. "I will do as you ask, Father, I swear it on the old gods and the new."

Turning to Sandor, she reached up and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Sandor, more than I ever thought possible." He looked away, a small smile twitching on his mouth. "Look at me," she lifted his chin to meet her gaze. "I trust you will take care of me just as you always have but that is not why I will go with you, you must believe that. I will go with you, not only because Father asks it of me, but because you are my beloved husband and I do not wish to ever be parted from you."

He brought his hand up to her face and slowly caressed her chin. "As I love you, lass. Trust me, do you?"

"I do, my love."

"Then say goodbye to your father so we can make the ship."

"Sansa, you must follow your dreams, child, it is the way the old gods speak to you. Never doubt their guidance."

"I will do as you say, Father. I love you so very much," Sansa kissed him on both cheeks. "We will be together soon."

After a long, tearful goodbye with her Father, Sansa followed Sandor and Shae aboard the Storm Dancer. Ned waved to her from the shore until the ship left dock, praying to the old gods that one day soon the Starks would be reunited as a family in Winterfell.