A/N at the end-see you there ;)
Sandor burned with fever the first week after the battle but his wounds are healing properly thanks to Erik's constant care. Exhausted from the stresses they have endured, Sans submitted to the healer's treatments and slept most of the way, catching up on much-needed rest after her illness.
Since Braden and Erik found them, the days bleed together for her, a hazy blend of sleeping, eating and tending to Sandor's wounds. He has been restless as a result of his thigh burning painfully as it heals; Erik has tried his best but Sandor seems comforted most by the sound of Sansa softly singing to him. Though she believes in her dreams, she is unsure how well her husband will actually recover for he is not healing as well as before. Taking comfort in Sandor's arms she spends her waking hours in silent prayer, begging the gods for the full recovery she dreams for him.
The light of dawn peeks through the canvas lacing of the wagon, awakening Sandor. During the last few weeks their world has been confined to the inside the makeshift shelter-eating, sleeping and holding each other close, each calmed by the nearness of the other. Sandor has been surprisingly contented, resting in spite of the gnawing pain in his leg. For a man who has spent his life up with the sunrise he finds staying in bed much more enjoyable with his little bird nestled beside him under the furs.
Peering at his beloved wife dreaming in his arms, he sees a healthful glow return to her cheeks, her curves filled out, leaving Sandor more in love with her than ever. When she is sure no one will enter the wagon, she loosens her dress, allowing their bare skin to touch in the most enticing and soothing way. Part of him wishes they could stay this way forever and never have to face the troubles that lie outside. Warm and relaxed, it is not long before Sandor falls fast asleep once again.
Later in the morning the wagon shudders to a halt and the faint smell of burned wood rouses the couple from slumber. Rubbing her hands over his chest tenderly, she awakens her husband. "Little bird, where are we?" Sandor grumbles, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I do not know. Braden has not told me but we've travelled non-stop most of the way." Grumbling Sandor struggles to sit up and Sansa moves to prop him up. "Why in Seven Hells hasn't he kept you informed?"
"He just wanted me to rest and not to worry. They are taking us far away to a healer of the Seven that Erik knows about through the clans. Maybe the men want to see if we can stay first." Snorting, Sandor gives her a sideways glance. "A healer of the Seven, bugger that," he mutters, fumbling to wrap the blanket around his waist. "Braden! Braden!"
Sandor peeks around and calls out again before Braden rides up alongside of them. "Sandor! Good,you're awake. Keep on shouting and the whole damned Quiet Isle will know you're coming." Frowning, Sandor looks out at the barren landscape surrounding them. "The Quiet Isle? Why are you taking us there? We need to go north, to the Wall."
Surprised, Sansa quickly looks at her husband. When did he start wanting to go to the Wall? "It is the safest spot for the both of you right now. The Riverlands are swarming with Lannister soldiers since you killed Tywin's favorite pet-he recognized the way you executed your brother as a northern tradition and takes it to mean Sansa is with you." Chuckling, Sandor brushes his hair out of his face. "Not much gets past that old lion, that's how he's lived so long. He'd damn well better know by now I don't need instruction in killing though-I did my share for Robert long before I met Sansa."
"Aye, true enough. Even as a squire you were as deadly as any viper. His evil brat of a grandson marries on the morrow to the Tyrell girl. I mean to get you across the Saltpans while they are busy with their own affairs. Poor Margery, Sansa thinks with a shiver; noticing her reaction Sandor wraps his arms around her.
"Elder Brother has agreed to give you refuge in the sept there." Sandor interrupts with a derisive snort. "Sandor listen to me damn it! He's a skilled healer and you need his help so you will get the use of that leg back. None of the Lannister or Baratheon soldiers have enough experience to cross the Saltpans alive; it is your best chance to keep your wife safe. I know a sept is the last place you want to go but do it for her. Sansa's reputation as a devoted young woman gained the favor of the brothers, after all."
Sansa wraps her arms around Sandor's bicep and squeezes excitedly. "Oh Sandor please just think on it now…we have been granted refuge and you will have a healer to help you get well there! It will be good for us, I just know it!" Turning to Braden, she looks up at the man, beaming with happiness. "Thank you Braden-we will never be able to repay all of your kindness! You have been too good to us."
Grinning at the excited girl, Braden cannot help but be charmed by her enthusiasm for his plan. "You're welcome, lass. Freeing you from the Lannisters is thanks enough I assure you. You both just get well and get on with living." Sighing, Sandor pats Sansa's legs in assent. "Aye we'll go then Sansa; damn me if I can deny you anything, love. How will we cross to the Trident?"
"You both will have to follow us on horseback through the Saltpans-or whatever is left of it. I've got Stranger and Maiden tied to the front of the wagon. We'll have to leave it here and pick it up on the way back. I think you both should ride Stranger since he's more sure-footed and Maiden follows in his steps. Then we'll take the ferry across to the Quiet Isle." After thinking on it, Sandor agrees, though he does not care for the idea of straddling his horse and has no notion how he will make it into the saddle. "Alright then, let's get on with it. How far is it?" He keeps the treacherous terrain and sandy mud traps to himself, not wanting to worry Sansa unnecessarily.
"Maybe a day's ride in your condition." Erik rides up to them, leaning over to hand Sandor a small vial. "That's milk of the poppy. Drink it now and it will help get you through the pain." Shaking his head, he hands it to Sansa. "Bugger that. I'll need my wits about me if we're to cross in one piece and especially if we run into any trouble. Little bird, keep that close, just in case." Sansa knowingly smiles and begins helping him put on his tunic. "Let just do this and get it over with men."
"We'll saddle up Stranger for you. Your stable man came with us on this trip thank the gods or that beast would've killed us all by now," Braden laughs loud and rough as he closes the flap. Rubbing his shoulders, Sansa kisses his cheek and says softly. "Sandor, are you sure you will not drink just a little of it? Maester Luwin would tell us that staying in terrible pain slows healing." She rises up to tie her dress closed and Sandor pulls her close, inhaling her scent and kissing in between her breasts.
"No lass, though I appreciate the buttering up," he barks low, pulling her closer still. "We need all the experience we can get to cross. Start saying your prayers; the gods tend to listen to you wife." Caressing his face, she smiles, "I already have, my love. Just imagine, a new life is ahead of us! No longer on the run all the time; how wonderful!"
"Aye, it may turn out a good thing yet. Let's not get ahead of ourselves now. This Quiet Isle needs to meet my requirements before I agree to stay. I must be certain it is secure enough for you or we will leave, understand?" Snuggling closer to him, she whispers, "I know love, I would expect no less from you. You have always kept me safe."
The young Riverland stable hand leads Stranger snorting and rearing over to the wagon, placing the horse as level as possible, allowing Sandor only to lift his leg to climb on. As if knowing his master is in pain, Stranger nuzzles Sandor's hand and becomes uncharacteristically calm until both Sandor and Sansa are secure in the saddle.
The journey is slow and arduous, with Sandor gritting his teeth and downing wine for the pain. Sansa spends the time leaning forward in the saddle, trying to keep from moving and hurting him. She prays to the old gods and the new they will have safe passage and Sandor will experience as little pain as possible.
When they reach the Saltpans, Sandor gently turns her head into his chest, shielding her from the scene before them as they ride through the smoldering rubble. "Close your eyes love, you don't need to see this." The former bustling town is little more than a burned out shell of its former self, the homes abandoned and the former occupants having fled the fighting. Everywhere there are signs of battle-looted goods litter the streets along with the decaying remains of dead horses and men, women and children alike. With no one to bury them the poor souls have returned to the ground and little remains but their bones, clothing and armor-all having reached a morbid equality at the hands of the Stranger.
The Riverland men pick through the debris and inspect the corpses for anything of value but find most has already been taken by those who came before them. The burning smell chokes their breathing and Sandor feels Sansa tense up, gripping his bicep and burying her face further into his chest.
"Can we quit fucking around and get through this place?" Sandor barks menacingly. "I don't want my wife to endure all this any longer than necessary just for a few shit pieces of coin. You best believe if men like us are here gods only know who else might be lurking around this place."
"Clegane is right," Braden calls out to the others. "You men, come with us now or get left." Carrying the few baubles the men mount up and join the rest of the small party. "Did you see anything?" Braden leans in and asks Erik low, out of Sansa's earshot. "No nothing, only death." Sighing, Braden nods and waves the men to follow. Once they are on the outskirts of the town, Sandor halts Stranger. "Little bird you can look now, there's nothing to see out here. Cover your hair now with a scarf for me, no one need see your pretty red head," he whispers into her ear soothingly. Quickly Sansa plates her hair and wraps her scarf securely, tucking in any stray strands underneath and huddles back in his arms.
A light rain descends as they near the Trident. A lone rickety wooden ferry sits docked along the sloping banks while the old captain and another man pull heavily into their wineskins as they wait for business. The younger man takes no note but the older watches their approach wearily. "We're seeking passage to the Quiet Isle," Sandor rasps low, glaring hard at the men. "You one of those Burned Men from the Vale?" the young man asks, revealing a mouth full of rotting teeth. "No, never been into the Vale. I'm from the Seven hells and fought the Stranger himself so watch yourself. Will you take us across or not?" Chuckling, the older man nods. "Aye, you got coin? I keep telling him asking folks questions is hazardous to his health."
Grunting, Sandor reaches in his pouch and hands him a gold dragon. "For our passage-and your silence, both of you." Leaning out of the saddle, Sandor fixes his eyes on them, gripping the hilt of his sword. "You'll tell no one you saw my burned face or I'll come back and kill you and your kin and burn your damn house down, understand?" Smirking the old man nods, clearly unsettled. "I believe you would at that son. I'll take your party straight away."
"This is where we part ways," Braden says, leaning over to shake Sandor's hand. "The old gods go with the two of you now." Sandor nods and says, "Thank you for everything-one day I hope to repay you in kind."
"None of that. Just get your wife to safety and live a simple life. One day I may turn up for a visit and surprise you." Braden says, leaning over to kiss Sansa's hand. "Thank you men for everything. You saved our lives and given us so much, we can never repay your kindness. Please know that you will always have a place with us in our home and at our table, wherever that turns out to be." Erik smiles at her and kisses her hand before shaking Sandor's hand heartily. "May the old gods and the new go with you men," Sansa waves, tears glistening in her eyes.
The passage across the Trident is relatively smooth, though Stranger takes a distinct dislike to the ferry, neighing and kicking nearly the entire time in indignation despite Sansa's efforts to calm him. Sandor sits on an old wine cask, cursing under his breath at the shooting pain in his thigh. Once they reach the shore of the Quiet Isle, Sandor hands the man another dragon. "For your trouble with my horse-and remember what I said now." Sansa averts her eyes and does not speak and neither of the men have the nerve to look at her in the face. "Aye, we'll remember," the old man says, whistling at the sight of the coin.
The brothers of the Seven approach the couple as they walk ashore. "You must be the couple Erik told us about." A young septon calls, holding out his hand. Sandor eyes the men warily while balancing a piece of driftwood under his arm as a crutch. "Aye, we are the ones. Who are you?" Smiling he shakes hands with the couple amiably. "I am Septon McCann, I am Elder Brother's assistant. He is eager to meet you both but is performing a burial just now. If you would follow me we have quarters made ready for you both." Sizing up the man, Sandor is not sure if he trusts the septon or not.
"Your name is McCann, meaning the wolf cub?" Sansa asks excitedly. "Yes madam how kind of you to recall the meaning. My family is of the north; it is our surname." Sandor squeezes her arm to silence her. "Oh how wonderful! We are from the north as well. It is always good to see our own people. The Seven are too good to us, giving us such as sign," Sansa beams at Sandor, who sighs and grunts in response.
Pleased, the young septon leads them to their cabin. Sansa looks around the dwelling excitedly. A river rock fireplace and a feather bed stand in one corner of the small log home; on the other side is a small wood stove for cooking and a table. A large bathtub and basin sit in the far corner and a small window overlooks the water. Though sparsely decorated the home is clean and warm; delighted, Sansa shakes the young man's hand warmly. "Please make yourself comfortable and when Elder Brother finishes with his duties he will personally come to see you."
As he turns to leave, he hesitates, and then asks, "Might I ask how you were wedded, since you are of the north?" Confused, Sansa looks at Sandor questioningly, who is now frowning ominously. "Bugger your nonsense. I know what you're getting at. You want to know if we were married by a septon," Sandor growls. "Just say what you mean holy man." Looking to the young septon, Sansa asks, "Really…is that what it is? Why should it matter where we've taken our vows? We were married before the gods, is that not the only requirement for us?"
"For propriety's sake, if you take your vows in front of the Seven, some of the brothers here may be more comfortable with your living arrangements," Brother McCann stammers out as Sandor leans down, glaring at him. "Our living arrangements? Now look here you little-" Sansa interrupts, pulling Sandor gently away. "I don't see why that would be a problem Brother McCann. We shall talk this over and speak with Elder Brother about it." Bowing, he smiles nervously and walks hurriedly back to the sept. "You must calm yourself. Forgive me for interrupting my love but I do not see why this should bother you. We already said our vows, why not say them a second time if it will ease our way here?" Gently she helps him on the bed and begins removing his boots.
"That's my point exactly-why even do it a second time? Bugger them and their ridiculous rituals-they just want my coin to perform the ceremony is all." Sandor mutters, slamming his hand on the small table beside the bed. "Yes, that is true. But we have plenty, you said so yourself. And they are putting themselves at great risk giving us sanctuary here after all-it is a small thing to ask, don't you think?" She says, massaging the muscles in his injured leg.
"Aye I suppose. I just…" he pauses, struggling for words. "I cannot stand these buggering holy men Sansa, you know why," he grumbles, somewhat pacified by her ministrations. "I understand Sandor. Maybe just try approaching Elder Brother as you would any other man instead of seeing him for just his occupation. There is much more to you than Joffrey's sworn shield, after all," she whispers, rising up to kiss him. Sandor only grunts and deepens the kiss, pulling her on his lap. "Gods but I've wanted you woman," he whispers in her ear as he trails kisses along her jaw line. "A second wedding night would suit me fine right about now."
A soft tapping comes from the door just then, interrupting the couple. Groaning, Sandor helps Sansa straighten her dress before she opens the door. "You must be Elder Brother," Sansa beams and holds her hand out to the older man. "Yes my dear I am happy to welcome you and your husband here to the Quiet Isle."
"Oh thank you. We are so very grateful for sanctuary here. Stepping inside the cabin, he closes the door and moves to shake Sandor's hand. "You are Sansa Stark, are you not? There are descriptions of you circulating all over the Riverlands my dear." Disconcerted, Sansa looks at her hands; Sandor interrupts her. "Wait little bird. Why would you ask?" Sandor glares at him threateningly, his hand on his fighting knife. "My love, please," she beseeches him. "It's alright-your husband asks an important question. I too was once a man of battle too-I served as a knight many years ago." Interrupting, Sandor begins, "I'm no bloody knight."
"Yes I can see that you are not. However if she is Sansa then you must be the Hound. Never fret, I have no intention of revealing your identities. I have offered you shelter here and I will give my life to see you are safe. It is my vow to the Seven, you have my word."
"What is the word of a septon that it should mean more than my own?" Sandor growls, sitting upright. "I said we were married before the gods but apparently my word is not enough." Sighing, Elder Brother shakes his head. "Indeed, it is worth no more than whatever value you place on it. But rest assured you may trust me; you'll come to see it in time." Glancing nervously between the two men Sansa stammers, "Forgive me Elder brother, we are not accustomed to trusting anyone but each other in King's Landing."
Shaking his head, he waves his hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it my dear. I was once a man very much like the Hound here. I asked those same questions myself when I arrived here and I would be the same for the safety of my wife. Much had happened to me and I did not understand why my loved ones should have died while I remained alive. I felt if the gods were merciful they would have let me join my love and my son in the afterlife."
"Oh I am so sorry. You were-married?" Laughing, he nods. "Well in our eyes we were, though our vows were taken in the heart not in a sept. I lost them when she bore our first and only child. I only see them in my dreams now." Sansa takes his hand. "Vows of the heart are the most important kind I've found. Many can repeat words but without the heart there is no meaning for them." Taken aback, Sandor softens his demeanor. "Will you have us marry again here in front of the Seven?" he offers, taking Sansa by surprise. "It is not necessary but if you should wish to do so I would be happy to join you again."
"Aye, we'll marry again." Sandor assents, winking at Sansa, whose mouth is agape with disbelief. "Alright then how about tomorrow-what say you? You've had a long journey and I believe I should have a look at that leg before we sup. Does that suit?"
Smiling broadly, Sansa moves next to Sandor and takes his hand, a soft look filling her eyes as she looks at him. "Yes that suits me fine. What do you think Sandor?" Grunting, he pats her hand. "Aye it suits me as well. Go on and have your look now, I'm ready to eat." Sandor slowly extends his hand to Elder Brother. Laughing heartily, Elder Brother accepts his hand and shakes it warmly. "Alright then, let's get to it and then we all can eat."
After carefully unwinding the bandages, he smells the wrapping and closely inspects Sandor's wound while Sansa holds a candle over the area. Pulling at the knitting skin, he frowns as he moves his leg in various positions to test his range of movement. When he is finished, he washes his hands. "Though the wound is not terribly deep, it did cut into your muscle. I believe it will require a lot of exercise to get it moving and strong again and quite honestly it may never be the same. We will help you with your recovery here and see you get all the help you need. I will have one of the brothers make you a cane in the meantime. You must walk around as much as possible, no more lying around all day."
"Thank you Elder brother-is there anything else we can do for him?" Sansa asks nervously. "Sandor you will need to take salt baths twice a day for the swelling, it will aid in healing as well. I will have some goldenseal tea made available for you; drink it three times a day and it will speed the healing process." Clearing his throat, Sandor tries to absorb his words. "Thank you Elder Brother," he says quietly. "I…I want to be of use here. I don't want us to just live off the sept. I can contribute something for me and my wife's food and board."
"Of course, Sandor. No need to worry over such now, we have lots of time to work the details out. Get dressed and I will meet you outside for supper, alright?" Smiling, Sansa thanks him again and closes the door. While rewrapping his bandages she says softly, "What do you think of him Sandor? Do you like him?" Chuckling, he grins wickedly at her. "Let's say for now that I don't dislike him, is that enough for you wife?" Laughing, she helps him to his feet. "Indeed it is husband-it is more than enough." Smiling happily together, the couple walk toward the shore and meet Elder Brother for supper.
Yeah I know it's a little goofy that I named the young septon McCann but I had to go there! The muse needed to work in the history behind Rory McCann's surname-hit me with a wet noodle ;)
