Author Note:

And now we travel into the city of bitterness. I find these characters challenging, and simply can't bring myself to rush their intimacy. For the sake of being "realistic" we need to remember that the Hound is significantly older and finds Sansa desirable at the same time as untouchable for someone as seemingly unworthy as him - it could even be argued that he doesn't believe her feelings towards him. And therefore, Sansa gets to be left in the dark to the Hound's inner turmoil. Thoughts on my thoughts? I love to hear your opinions.

He recoiled from her as if she was suddenly ablaze. Sansa felt her heart drop and sit in her stomach like a stone. She stayed still as she heard him move away from her, shift beneath the cloak, then nothing. Silence. Her heartbeat was like a drum in her ears. If she had of been younger and more naïve, she would have been certain he could hear the sound of the blood coursing through her veins. Her core ached and her face felt flush. She shifted, missing his body behind her. Suddenly she felt very alone. Any bravery she had mustered during those few intimate moments of his skin on hers melted away like candle wax. She was the fire and her willpower was the wax dripping and hardening on the mantle of a great hearth.

Despite feeling empty and defeated, she sat up letting the cloak fall from her shoulders into her lap. He was on his back, his eyes closed. The longsword he brought was next to him, half his height, and his sword hand was resting on the hilt. For a moment she thought maybe she had dreamed the intimacy. She ran her fingers up her collarbone to the skin where her shoulder and neck meet. Sure enough, several indents were pressed into her tender skin. It didn't appear that the skin had been broken, but it felt close. It felt like a giant bruise. When she moved her head to the side the skin felt uncomfortably tight around the bite mark. She put a hand to her breast and noticed that it felt sore too, all due to the painful grip of his hand. Those hands, especially the one resting on his sword, were powerful and unrelenting. Her hands then moved to circle her neck. It was hot and a dull ache rose to the surface of her skin as she put light pressure around her neck. She felt branded. And yet, nothing had happened. He had been insistent and forceful, and then when she spoke up, he retreated as if wounded or disgusted. She had expressed genuine desire. She had only ever imagined his hands on her before. But in those fleeting moments it was actually happening. She felt it necessary to remind him of their looks in King's Landing and to reassure him that even though she escaped the grasp of the Lannister's, she wasn't wounded beyond repair. Desire still stirred in her. And just because the scenery had changed, didn't mean the longing had. But apparently, she had done something wrong.

After several moments of silence, she was convinced he was only pretending to sleep. Her hands shook as she made the decision to reach out to him. He has to explain. And yet, even though she had decided on reaching out to him, waking him, pestering him and even begging him if it came to that, she faltered. Her hands shook like leaves ready to fall in autumn. She paused, watching his chest rise and fall. Her hands still spread and poised in front of her, ready to fall on his chest and rouse him. But before she could recoil, much like he did, or continue to go through with her plan, his eyes shot open and stared straight into hers.

"Go to sleep, little bird," he said quietly. There was no anger in his eyes, despite how much the words stung.

Even though it wasn't a mean thing to say, Sansa felt her lower lip tremble. She took a deep breath through her nose and watched him watching her. Always watching. "I don't understand…" her voice trembled, revealing her hurt feelings. She suddenly felt childish.

The Hound did not change his expression. It remained straight, flat, and unconcerned. "I said I would take you home," he said. "That's all I'm going to do." The last sentence felt final.

Sansa went to open her mouth but he closed his eyes before she could say anything. That was that. His last words still rang in the air. Feeling defeated, she laid back down and shifted so far away from him that she began to feel cold as the cloak slipped from her shoulders. But she didn't care. It was better to feel cold than to be near him. She knew her anger was childish, she knew it made her look weak. Even with that knowledge, she still felt hurt and therefore, angry. It felt unfair to touch her, to let his hands brush over her skin, squeeze her, and stir up feelings she had pushed down for years in King's Landing. It felt cruel to bring those feelings to the surface, then dismiss them. It felt even worse that she didn't understand why. Am I ugly? Am I too childish? Am I too frightened? Her mind began spinning in circles. Maybe she had misread all of the looks. Maybe the stares between the two of them had been nothing more than stares. She remembered the afternoon in King's Landing when he had shoved her into her cage, nearly made her fall onto the bed, and confessed he wanted to hurt her in different ways than Joffrey. Had that been a miscommunication? In her brave moments maybe she was only being foolish.

Sansa woke the following morning by herself in the cave. The cloak was wrapped around her like a cocoon. She had clearly been restless, and it did not surprise her why. She had gone to sleep flushed, her body aching and sore. Her dreams had been vivid that night. The woods beckoning her, wolves howling her name, and her body feeling feverish, on the edge of a great precipice, with no ability to leap off to where she knew she needed to be. When her eyes had opened to the sun shining on the horizon and the lake shimmering in the morning light, her disappointment had creeped in, still raw. She lifted her head and felt an ache on her shoulder that spread around her entire neck. She coughed, her throat feeling dry. She could not spot the Hound, and she didn't particularly care. I can't survive out here without him. I won't make it home without him. Sansa had to keep reminding herself of his promise, and of his value. She reminded herself when her thoughts turned sour.

She emerged from the cave and went to the water. She drank greedily and splashed her face with little concern for the cold. Finally her face felt normal, no longer flushed with desire. She spread her wet hands over her throbbing neck and the tender bite mark on her shoulder. After several minutes of letting the cold water seep into her aching body, she opened her eyes and willed herself to look at her reflection. The surface rippled as the water moved steadily, but she still could see herself rather clearly. Her hair was the least of her worries since she washed it the evening before. It fell in loose red waves down her back. Her eyes looked puffy, her neck had purple bruises blossomed over it. The resemblance to the Hound's hand was striking. And the bite mark was dark and hard not to notice. If she tugged her dress up over her shoulder just right, it was concealed, but not for long. Her dress refused to stay so close to her neck. He marked me and then didn't want me. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but a rustling by the horses brought her back to reality.

"Eat quickly," the Hound said as she stepped out from the forest beyond the horses. He had berries wrapped in a cloth and an apple in his hand. He walked over to Sansa as she stood. He stopped when he looked up at her. His eyes widened. He looked at her neck and noticeably swallowed. "We leave as soon as you're done." He shoved the berries and apple into her hands and walked towards the cave.

Sansa did as she was instructed and ate quickly, without a word. The berries were tart and the apple surprisingly sweet. She filled her waterskin with cool water from the creek and attached it to her saddle. Windstorm was ready to go and so was she. She watched as the Hound approached the horses with their sleeping blankets rolled up and tightened with string beneath his arms. He tied them to Stranger's saddle and mounted the horse with ease. Sansa was a bit surprised that he didn't come over to help her, so while he adjusted Stranger's reins she quickly folded the dress she had hung to dry and shoved it into the pack. When she began to fold the cloak, she looked up and saw the Hound staring at her.

"Put that on," he started, "and keep the hood up." Sansa obeyed watching his eyes quickly avert away from hers. He looks upset.

Sansa looked up at Windstorm's saddle with a wary eye. "What's the matter, little bird?"

Sansa put her foot in the stirrup and clumsily climbed onto the saddle, avoiding answering the Hound until she was settled. "Nothing," she answered. "Aren't we going?"

He grunted in response and Stranger took off. Sansa followed on Windstorm the best she could, always a few paces behind as before. Instead of focusing on her disappointment and bitterness, Sansa focused on the scenery as they rode. Trees towered over them, the leaves turning into the crisp colours of autumn. The ground was muddy in places and dry and cracked in others. And the sound of water was never far away. They didn't take the road, for fear of encountering Lannister men, or any men, so they stuck to the uneven terrain of the forest floor. When it wasn't a ground filled with twisted roots, logs, and large rocks, it was open fields that tickled the bellies of the horses and brushed against Sansa's legs. The sun beat down on them in the open, making her feel hot and sweaty. The horses were breathing hard by the time dusk came, but the Hound seemed determined to keep riding. He never looked back. Sansa was certain he hadn't even gazed back at her. He doesn't even want to look at me. She swallowed the hurt and continued on, silent as ever. Dusk turned into night and the stars began to twinkle above them. Sansa gazed up while Windstorm slowed to a trot, following suit of Stranger. The Hound spun Stranger around while she was busy looking at the clusters of stars, causing Windstorm to whinny and stop abruptly, almost knocking Sansa from the saddle once again.

"The horses need to rest, little bird." He spoke as if nothing had ever happened, but he kept his gaze anywhere but on her. He dismounted with ease and led Stranger through a break in the trees, not looking back. He simply expected Sansa to follow.

Sansa nodded and went to try and dismount but immediately realized she would only fall. Her legs shook as she tried to swing off the saddle. Her body felt limp and weak from the waist down. Her hands clutched the reins tightly, looking ghostly in the moonlight that leaked through the trees. She could hear running water. Without any way down other than biting her lip and asking for help, she urged Windstorm to trot between the trees towards the trickling water, where Stranger stood lapping at the edge of a creek. The Hound patted Stranger and looked back with a disapproving glare.

"I can't get off," she muttered. He looked uncomfortable, which Sansa thought impossible. He only fears fire, so why is he acting afraid of me?

He walked over to Windstorm. "You can't get off," he mocked.

Sansa nodded, letting the hood of her cloak fall to her shoulders for the first time since they had begun riding again. He looked away suddenly. Anger surged through her. She felt like screaming, Look at me! Don't mark me then not even look! She swallowed the words, and tried to catch his eyes that continued to wander. A few heartbeats later he offered his hand. "It's not a hand I need," Sansa said bitterly.

His head snapped up and he finally looked into her eyes. The sudden eye contact startled her, taking the air from her lungs. "What you need is to get off that bloody horse yourself," he replied acidly.

Sansa did not say anything in return, simply stared at him. After a moment's pause he quickly grabbed her waist, almost too lightly and gently, and set her on the ground. The instant her feet and wobbly legs made contact with the ground, he let her go and began leading her horse to the water. "I'm not made of glass," Sansa said. His grip had been so light that she was certain she was falling, not being lifted in the air by strong arms.

"Aye," he started, "maybe not glass. But you are a delicate little bird." He kept his gaze on the water and the land on the other side. Anger stirred in her once more. Everything he said made her furious. He refused to look at her, barely acknowledged her, and continued to mock her. She wondered if maybe there was another reason he had pulled away from her. Am I too delicate, too fragile? Did I wince or cry out? She couldn't remember doing either of those things. And her time with the Lannisters seemed proof enough that she was strong. Yet he had pulled away.

Sansa kept her mouth shut while he handed her their sleeping blankets to set out for the night. "Over there, under the tree." He pointed to a tall oak tree that towered over the rest of the forest.

The tree was surrounded by lush grass, damp from the dew beginning to form. It provided significant shelter and was large enough around the trunk to keep them hidden from anyone passing by. Despite these useful characteristics, Sansa put her sleeping blankets on the lush grass and the Hound's closer to the water's edge, several paces away. She threw the blankets down with a thud and didn't even bother to unroll them. Dust flew up from the gravel near the river. She smiled, pleased with her small spiteful act. She was certain he would tell her off or say nothing at all and move his blankets back to shelter, but it felt good in the moment to rebel.

When the horses were tethered a distance away and Sansa was laying on her blankets beneath her cloak, the Hound walked over and grunted. "You won't want me far away if men come for you in the night." The Hound tossed his blankets next to hers causing her to jump. "No apologies?" he laughed at the mock while holding out his hand with salted beef in it. It was an offering, but Sansa did not want to accept. Her stomach growled in protest, so she sat up and snatched some from his palm.

"I don't have any apologies for you," she said quietly, waiting for the retort. He said nothing but drank from his wineskin and chewed noisily on the meat.

Sansa finished quickly and huddled under her cloak, turning away from him, staring at the horses. He shifted on the blankets, removed his armor and sword, resting them against the trunk of the tree. She heard him unfasten his cloak and drape it overtop of himself. Then silence. It seemed to Sansa that the silence between the two of them was thick. It felt like she could reach out into the open air and touch the tension with her fingers.

"Where are we going?" Sansa asked the open air. She already knew the answer. Courage was building from the tips of her fingers and working its way up to another question that rested on the tip of her tongue.

"I told you I'd take you home, girl." He sounded tired.

Sansa bit her lip. "Why did you stop?" it came out of her mouth before she could stop it. The words spewed forth and tumbled through the air.

Silence hung over them for several minutes. Sansa began to feel angry again. She was starting to feel hurt and disappointed. If he never answered she would have to live with it because he was her only way home. Not only that, but each time her courage rose to the surface, it deflated within a moment. This was the only chance she felt she had to ask him. "Because I didn't want to." The answer came quietly, almost a whisper.

"I…I don't understand." Sansa stammered, her heart starting to hammer. I didn't want to.

"Aye," he grunted, "I know."

She sat up, her bravery turning into anger, rushing to the surface. "How dare you touch me and mark me then not even look at me!" she heard her voice get louder and louder and his eyes widen with every octave she reached.

He stayed laying down, looking up at her. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders in beautiful waves. The blue of her eyes was dazzling. Tully blue. Then he looked at the marks he had left. The indent on her shoulder, the purple bruises around her neck, and the red mark on her lip that remained from her biting it over and over again. "How dare I?" he sounded angry and Sansa regretted her courage. "I could have fucked you bloody, girl." Sansa bit her lip. He grabbed her chin and pulled her close to his face. She could smell the wine on his breath. He still has wine? Her mind began racing. "And I still could. Is that what you want, little bird?"

Ah, yes. So now things can start to move along. What did everyone think? Reviews are wonderful.