1. The Intruder
Sansa nearly leapt out of her skin.
"What are you doing in my room?" she asked, her heart thudding like the drums of war.
The twisted form of Sandor Clegane, ragged, covered in blood and shadows and holding no weapon but a flask of wine did not answer at once. While Sansa had time to regain her pulse, the Hound took a long swig and then growled, "not here for long."
"I thought you were fighting in the battle," Sansa said weakly, wishing with all her heart that she was dreaming in this moment.
"Stupid girl, the battle is lost. What use is there in fighting?" The Hound's words were distant and callous.
Sansa stared. He was practically cowering where he sat. Was he afraid?
"But the King-" Sansa began.
"Fuck the King. He can die just fine on his own. Fuck the battle. Fuck this city. I'm done. I'm leaving this place to the flame."
Sansa was aghast. "But how? All the gates are watched. They'll stop you."
"Let them try," he snapped, fingering the hilt of his monstrous great sword. "You'd do well to leave this place too. Stannis has no great love for wolves."
He had a point there. "But why are you here?" Sansa returned again, her voice quivering.
The Hound didn't seem to know himself. For a moment he simply drank more wine. Then abruptly he rasped, "I never had that song. You promised to sing for me."
Sansa blinked. Of all the responses she had been dreading, that was the last one she had expected, not least because she couldn't recall ever having made such a promise.
"I don't-" she began but the Hound rose ominously in her direction and her denial died in her throat as she saw him reach for his knife.
"I want to hear the Little Bird sing. Go on, sing a sweet song. As if nothing bad was happening."
Sansa's pulse jumped again. She stood nervously and clutched at the hem of her dress. She had never been particularly gifted at singing, though she knew many of the holy songs. Not one could she seem to recall in that moment however. She panicked for several long and terrifying moments as the Hound leered over her before a wisp of a song emerged in her mind. She jumped on it before thinking. Her voice came out meek and wavering at first as the words stumbled in her mouth. But then as she began to sing about the Warrior, her courage rallied and her voice came out stronger and truer. She sang of the Warrior, the Mother, and the Crone. When she had finished, the silence seemed to encapsulate the room but for the distant sounds of the battle below.
"Little Bird…" the Hound's voice was soft and trembled as he spoke the words. Sansa was shocked to see his face twist in what might have been emotion. She forced herself to look at his hideously scarred face and some strange instinct made her reach out and touch the unburnt side. His stubble was rough and his skin felt as hot as fire. The motion lasted for only a second and barely seemed to register with the Hound. As Sansa backed away a step and resumed her seat, his face sank back into shadow.
"I'd take you with me," he said at last, looking up at her properly for the first time. His dark bottomless eyes betrayed a strange uncertainty as they gazed into her own blue ones. "I'd take you to your home and keep you safe along the way."
A curious explosion seemed to rattle off in Sansa's mind. Her, go with the Hound? The Hound take her home to Winterfell? The Hound, who had just threatened her life for a song? This beast that could have her at his mercy in a matter of seconds once they were alone. And yet, he hadn't had his way with her so far. He had never beaten her, or groped her, or betrayed her. He had a queer sort of honor in that way, or so she hoped. Ser Dantos had offered to take her home to safety, but what could a drunken fool truly manage to do? He had not made good with his promise yet, and in her heart, she doubted whether her Florian ever would. Perhaps it was time to put aside the song of Jonquil and sing another.
"They'll see me if I try to leave. They'll catch me. Joffrey will have Ser Meryn beat me again." The words rushed out of her in terror.
"No one is going to see you. And Ser Meryn will never beat you again. If he tries, I'll cut his bloody head off."
Sansa gripped her bed with such ferocity her knuckles turned white. How could she possibly trust a man such as this? How could she leave? All the fear of a bird in a cage with captors at every bar flooded her at that moment.
"Do you swear it, on your honor as…?" She stopped there, about to say 'as a knight' but realized almost too late that Sandor Clegane hated to be called a knight.
"On my honor? As what?" he scoffed. "On my honor as a fucking knight? You're still a stupid Little Bird if you think I'll swear on that."
Sansa hesitated, chewing her tongue. "On your honor as a warrior?" she decided. It seemed to be the one thing that this man valued of himself.
The Hound seemed to weigh that and Sansa took it as a good sign. "I don't swear oaths," he complained. "Knights are the ones that swear fucking oaths."
He glanced at her and then declared in a halfway sarcastic tone, "I give you my word, even if it kills me, I will take you home to your family and keep you safe for however long it is necessary. And I'll kill whatever fools try to stop me."
It wasn't exactly the proclamation that she had wanted to hear, but Sansa knew there wouldn't be one better. Dare she go with him? Dare she take the chance to stay here with Joffrey and the Queen?
Very slowly, ever so slowly, she nodded. The Hound stared at her for a long moment. "Then get your things. And get out of that dress. Silk and thread will only give you away. If they pull through this night, then we'll be hunted all the way until we're safe in your cold dreary keep."
Sansa stood, trying to ignore the pounding of blood in her ears. She stared blearily around her room for something that didn't look regal to wear and her eyes fell on the simple cotton shift her maids had given her after she had attempted to burn the evidence of her flowering in her fireplace and ruined all her other gowns. This she seized and as well her travelling cloak from when she had come south from Winterfell. She searched vainly for her riding boots and at last noticed them pushed back under a pile of linens.
"Hurry up," the Hound barked, glowering. Sansa gazed around helplessly for a place to change, as he did not seem about to wait outside the door for her and finally out of desperation, she drew one side of her bed hangings and began to strip out of her silk dress and into the cotton one. She had just about finished the laces when she heard a sudden movement from the other side of the curtains. Terrified that the Hound had forgone his honor and decided to take her in her vulnerability, she let out an inadvertent squeak of fear. But when nothing happened and she finally gained the courage to look around her hangings, she saw that the Hound had moved to the door and had drawn his knife, so quietly that she hadn't even heard.
"What is it?" she breathed.
"Shut up," the Hound shot at her. For several long moments, the two stayed frozen. And then Sansa heard it too. The sound of pounding footfalls coming their way.
The Hound glanced over at her as she fumbled with the bodice of her dress. There was a sudden pounding on the door.
"Lady Sansa, I am ordered to take you to the Queen. Are you within?"
Sansa stared at the door and then at the Hound. Sandor's eyes narrowed for a moment and then, stepping into the shadow behind the door noiselessly, he nodded curtly to her.
"I-I'm here," Sansa called thinly.
The door opened and a Gold Cloak strode inside. He spotted Sansa crouched on her bed and smiled evilly. He moved forwards towards her but before he had gone three feet a hand had closed over his mouth from behind and a blade was swept across his neck. The man never even saw his attacker. Sansa watched numbly as the man bled out across her carpet before the Hound grasped her arm and shook her.
"Come Little Bird, we need to go. There will doubtless be more when this one doesn't come back."
Sansa nodded wanly and pulled her cloak around her shoulders, bending to insert her feet into the riding shoes and do up the laces. It was several seconds before she realized she hadn't finished lacing her bodice. She looked up quickly but it seemed that the Hound hadn't noticed. Quickly she pulled her laces tight and then stood on shaky legs, teetering. The Hound grasped her arm impatiently and pulled her forwards past the body and out her door. Before she could even think what was happening, the two were striding along corridors and down stairs. Once, the sounds of feet approached them and Sandor pulled her into an empty room until the sound receded. And then somehow they were outside and he was dragging her across the now unguarded bridge that she had often crossed to get to the Godswood. But instead of heading in that direction, they took a turn and Sansa found them barreling down a dark alley. She gritted her teeth at the sounds of explosions and battle below them and then took a deep breath, struggling to keep up. Finally they took another turn and she saw the stables ahead of them that housed the horses of the Gold Cloaks and King's Guard.
"But how are we going to get out?" Sansa asked after they had rushed inside and he had pronounced the place unoccupied. Indeed, there was only a single horse left in all the stables so desperate had been the sortie, the enormous black one that the Hound loved so much and no other man would touch.
He turned to her then and smiled crookedly. "I have a plan."