CHAPTER 2

SANDOR

The meeting with Littlefinger went better than expected. He read the letter Sandor brought from Mormont, looked to the man who delivered it and said, "Dragons? You expect me to believe this?"

Sandor threw the skull on the table. He'd brought it all the way from Gulltown, wrapped in a muslin cloth. After that, it was just a matter of negotiating what the price of such a delivery was worth. Littlefinger paid him enough that he could travel away from here comfortably, with a little extra to insure his silence.

But the real prize was seeing Sansa Stark. It had been a few years since he saw her last; she had grown a fair bit and was in disguise, but there was no mistaking the fledgling beauty of the little bird. Now their circumstances were so different that their first meeting felt like another life. He had been a prince's sworn shield; the girl his master's betrothed. Now that she was Littlefinger's bastard daughter, they could have made a match at court—if he hadn't fallen equally far in his station.

Sandor shook the thought from his head. There were other barriers to them pairing up and their class difference was just the most obvious one. The state of his face was another. It was absurd to consider her as a potential mate, though with her full breasts and slim figure he couldn't help but think of her as a woman.

Still, he kept an eye out for Sansa, and she popped up some time after lunch, when most people had eaten and the common room was mostly empty. She glided onto the same bench as him, far enough away that she might have chosen the table just for the leftover turkey sandwiches, but the glance she stole in his direction that let him know she wasn't.

He waited until she'd filled her plate to tease her. "I see a little bird's come to the table."

She turned to him, gaping, her first bite of food resting on her tongue. Her head snapped around to see if anyone else had heard him, but the few others in the room were out of hearing distance, and most were dozing. Not that they would catch the joke between him and the girl, anyway.

She forgets herself so easily. "Your shirt," he pointed out.

Sansa looked down at the mockingbird sewn onto her breast. "Oh! Hahahahaha!" She covered her mouth when she laughed. "My father's sigil. Do you like it?"

Sandor had a pint of ale with him, and he swished some around in his mouth before answering. "No."

Sansa's smile dropped off.

"Something tells me you'd look better with a wolf in its place."

A stillness came over her so profound her unblinking eyes reminded him of the dead. It was a long time before she turned back to her plate and spoke. "Something tells me you're right.

She picked at her food more than she ate after that. He felt oddly guilty from seeing her pain, but it wasn't his fault she was holed up in the Eyrie. Say something to her, he pressed himself. But it was Sansa who spoke first.

"I should be in Winterfell."

"Winterfell's burned to the ground."

She turned on him, her blue eyes flashing. "You don't know that. Have you been there?"

"No," he admitted. The serving girl came by and he pressed her for more ale, and Sansa ate in silence until she passed. For anyone to overhear their conversation would be dangerous for both of them.

"My father said that there should always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"Why would Petyr Baelish say something like that?"

"Sandor . . . why are we pretending? I know you know . . ." She edged closer to him before whispering, "I'm Sansa."

"Sounds like you aren't anymore." He peered into his mug. Empty. Damn.

"You know I am."

"Do you?"

She gave him an indignant look, but also hurt, before taking a healthy bite of her sandwich. "If I really were a bird, I would fly there right now."

The girl came by with his drink. As soon as she was gone, Sansa sidled up next to him with a mischievous look. "You should take me," she said.

Would that you'd let me, he thought, but he knew what she really meant, and it made him blow the foam off the top of his beer with a laugh. "What makes you think I'd take you anywhere? I never swore an oath to you."

"You did not," she conceded. At the same time she reached her hand out and placed two fingers over his heart, and Sandor knew he was lying.

That was when Lothor Brune came in. Sansa dropped her hand and Brune did not seem to notice her, though he eyed Sandor as he passed. He remembered him from the tournament where he'd been champion. Back then Lothor Brune had been a freerider, but now he was the freerider and Brune guarded Petyr's keep like a loyal dog.

"You'd be a fool to trust me." Sandor whispered to her. Seeing Brune with Sansa seated so close to him had put him on edge. "You have a price of a thousand gold dragons on your head. What makes you think I wouldn't turn you in?"

"I don't know. Nothing. I am completely at your mercy, Sandor Clegane."

He felt his face grow hot at her words. It didn't seem right. How could he have such power over her, when she was so high above him?

"Even if I couldn't go to Winterfell, I'd still like to go North," she went on. "My brother Jon is Lord Commander on the Wall now. He would help me—well, maybe." Even Sansa was ready to admit that was wishful thinking, and Sandor shook his head.

"You sound too much like your sister."

She'd done a good job of carrying on their conversation subtly until that moment, but now she stared at him openly. "My sister? You mean Arya? How?"

"Yeah. She said the same thing, but I wouldn't take her."

Sansa followed him with a bit of a delay. "You met my sister? I mean, obviously, you met her. But you met her since she disappeared?"

He nodded. "I found her in the Riverlands, but your mother and the Tully's left their castle, so I took her to The Twins to ransom to your brother."

Sansa looked near fainting. "You took my sister to The Twins?"

"The fighting broke out when we got there. Your brother was already dead. She wanted to go in and rescue your mother, but I wouldn't let her. Too dangerous." He hoped she wouldn't blame him for that, the way her little sister had. "She would have ran in herself if I hadn't stopped her." Thinking of stubborn Arya and how she held it against him that he wouldn't let her get herself killed still made him sneer.

"If you didn't leave her at Riverrun or The Twins, what did you do with her?"

"Thought about coming here, actually. To your aunt." He hesitated, unsure of how to continue. "We didn't make it."

"Why not? What happened?"

"We got in a fight with my brother's men. I was wounded, and she left."

"Was she all right? Where did she go?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure she can take care of herself." He didn't add that he saw her kill a man. Sansa absorbed the information in silence. "I'm sorry about your mother. I didn't think we'd make it if we went for her. I'm sorry about your brother, too." You better stop there, before you list her whole goddamn family, he told himself, but there was one still nagging at him. "And I'm sorry about your father."

"But my sister. My sister is alive."

"Last time I saw her."

"Oh, thank you!" She really did forget herself then, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He worried someone would see, but the room had cleared out. "I've wondered for years what happened to my sister—if she made it out of King's Landing or not, if she was alive or dead. Now I know she made it out alive and was safe for a little while, at least. Thank you, thank you so much!"

He put his arms around her. She fit right against him. That made his heart beat faster. "You're welcome," he said in a low voice. She pulled away from him, grinning.

"I must excuse myself, Sandor. You're not leaving yet, are you? You'll be at the feast tomorrow?"

"The weather's too bad for me to ride out."

"Good, then I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, but you won't tell anyone about this . . . about me, will you?"

"I'll keep your secret, Sansa."

"Thank you," she said again, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. It was the left side of his face that was closest to her, the burned side. Sansa didn't seem to notice, and kissed him there before she took her leave.