Sandor
Sandor woke up to small hands pawing and clawing at his neck. The ministrations were urgent and insistent, immediately shaking him from his sleep. His blood coursed hotter as his eyes fluttered open to darkness, but he heard the voices at once. He grabbed Sansa's hands and stopped her pawing and clawing and she stilled when she realized she had successfully woke him up.
He slowly slipped her off his lap and onto the ground beside him. Slowly, and quietly he grabbed his sword off the ground. He heard Sansa's intake of breath and raised his hand to silence her. The voices were far off but getting closer. He moved to a tree on the opposite side of the camp and waited. The wind carried their voices toward the camp and Sandor struggled with determining the distance. He tensed when he felt Sansa behind him, grabbing onto his left arm. He turned toward her and spoke to her quietly. He tried to be gentle, sensing her terror, but the urgency took precedent in his voice.
"Hide in the brush and be silent." He felt her hands squeeze his arm one last time before she reluctantly moved away.
When he saw the flickering of the torch light he felt some of his anxiety leave him. He managed to determine there were only two voices and the men were of small build. It became clear though, when their path zigzagged and turned, back tracked and twisted, that they were not simple travelers, but were searching for something or someone.
"I saw the footprints," one of the voices drifted to Sandor's ears. It was the voice of a boy it seemed, well into adolescence, but it still held the flavor of youth. When the next voice reached his ears his hand tightened on the pommel of his blade.
"Shut up," the stable boy hissed. "If you wake up the Hound we're both dead."
"This is a bad idea, Alston. Please let's just go back," the other pleaded softly. Sandor would have no trouble killing them both, but he knew Sansa had a soft heart, and if she could hear them as well, she would no doubt be saddened by that one's death.
"We slit the Hound's throat while he sleeps, take the girl, bring her to the queen. You heard what they said at the tavern. That was Sansa Stark. I don't never want to work at that fucking stable again," Alston the stable boy responded. Their voices were coming closer now, right toward the Sandor.
"You said we was going to do bad to the girl though," the slower of the two said. Sandor felt his blood heat. It was a slow simmer, the more he thought on those words, the harder his grip on his sword became. "Won't we get in trouble for that?"
"Not if we say the Hound did it. Think he hasn't raped her? Then you're an idiot Frieder."
"I don't want to hurt nobody –"
His voice broke off when he tripped, a curse leaving his lips. Alston the stable boy whirled on him and hissed at him angrily. He pulled him to his feet and they continued on. Sandor felt himself grow insulted. Boy's chasing glory, gold and pussy, did stupid things, but to think that they could catch him unawares… it was insulting. Slowly he slid his sword from his scabbard and grabbed a dagger from his belt. No shielding would be necessary in this fight. If it could be called a fight. He glanced back at Sansa, though he could not see her in the darkness. He hoped she was underneath the brush, and he prayed to the Gods he did not believe in that her eyes were closed.
The first kill was the sweetest. He slipped the blade of his dagger into his soft throat, watching his face in the torch light as surprise turned to recognition. As recognition turned to fear and fear turned agony. It was only a fleeting moment, but it was enough to fill Sandor with immense satisfaction. As the stable boy and the torch fell to the ground Frieder turned to flee. Sandor stuck out the arm that wielded his great sword and stuck it into the center of his chest. He felt the steel grate against bone as it slid through his sternum, nicking a rib on its way in.
He hit the ground with a hard thud but Sandor paid no mind to it. He reached down and grabbed the torch, grinding it into the dirt and stomping on it with his boot. It took some effort but eventually the flame was stamped out. By the time it was distinguished Sansa had crawled out of the brush and ran to him.
"Do not look," he rasped and turned her away from the bodies. But she did not appear to be interested in the dead boys. She wrapped her arms around him and let out a few shaky breaths before stepping back. He could see her fight to keep control of herself and she nodded very slowly.
"It is good I did not fall asleep again," she said and forced a little smile. He struggled to see her in the darkness, but he was impressed with her strength.
"It is, little bird," he agreed and patted her back gently.
"Do we move on now?" she asked, fighting to keep her eyes off the dead boys. Sandor moved to he stood between them.
"I do not think we need to. These fools came alone I think. I won't be sleeping again tonight though. Get some rest," he told her gruffly but she shook her head, looking off into space to his left.
"I shouldn't think I will be sleeping either," she replied softly and he nodded.
"Do you mind walking?" he asked. He did not want to ride Stranger in the dark, out of fear he might misstep and hurt himself.
"I can walk just fine," she replied and Sandor nodded.
"Alright then. Let's get walking."
()()
"When my father died I was working on a cross stitch for him. It was a dire-wolf, it looked like Lady. I was just putting in her yellow eyes when it happened. Lady was the smallest of them all. She had thick grey fur and she loved it when I scratched her ears."
"I had a dog once," Sandor told her. "A pup. Named him water. Stupid name I know, but I was eight and my face had just melted off. My mother got him for me, after I recovered. Found it five days later with a snapped neck. 'Only three dogs belong to the Clegane family' my brother said."
"That's terrible! Siblings ruin everything. It was all Arya's fault."
"Still blaming your sister?" Sandor asked. Sansa was up on the horse now, and the sun was beginning to rise, but Sandor still walked beside Stranger, leading him with the reigns. "That was the Queen's doing, little bird. Your sister tried to defend your wolf."
"She started it. She shouldn't have been playing with Mycah."
"You do remember then. What really happened? What did I kill that little boy over?" Sandor asked and there was silence for a moment. When he glanced back his little bird's head was hung in shame.
"Arya told the truth… but I had been drinking wine. Joffrey said it was alright. I was so confused. I… I…"
"You didn't kill the boy, little bird, I did that. And the Queen killed the wolf," he said simply and looked ahead again.
"I should have told the truth," she whispered. "Maybe then Joffrey would have hated me and we could have gone home. Then none of it would have happened."
"Still a foolish little bird, aren't you," Sandor laughed. "To think King Robert would have broken the engagement because Joffrey wanted to. Robert never loved that boy."
"Was it true what you told me?" Sansa asked softly. "About your burns?"
Sandor was quiet for a long moment. His hands tightened on the reigns and he bit his tongue.
"Yes it was true."
"I heard your bed linen set fire when you were seven…"
"That is the story my father told everyone," he replied stiffly. "Now no more questions about me."
"I've told you all about me," she protested.
"There is only one thing you need to know little bird, and it was the only think I was raised for. Killing people. It's all I've ever been good at."
"You are good at other things," his little bird protested and his lips twitched.
"Oh? And what is that?"
"Well I would not know, Ser, you haven't told me yet," she replied haughtily. He did smile then.
"Call me Ser again and I will tell you nothing," he rasped.
"Sandor," she said curtly.
"I'm good at drinking… and whoring," he told her and she huffed. "I am little bird. So good in fact that the whores charge me three times as much as a regular man, but you, you gave it to me for free."
"You wear your cruelty like you wear your armor," she replied softly. "I am trying to get to know you."
"You know me, little bird," he rasped.
"I know the Hound, not the man," she said and Sandor felt an odd sensation in his chest. It hurt, but it felt good. It was a constriction, but a release. His heart sped up and slowed down, but when he spoke again, it was with more coldness than he had ever directed at his little bird. He did not know how else to proceed.
"The man died when I was eight, and the dead don't come back to life."
"I've tried hating you, Sandor," he heard her say gently. He heard her lean forward and she put a hand on his shoulder. "And you have tried to make it easy for me, but I can't hate you. The last time I felt this safe, Lady was alive."
He shrugged her off.
"I'm not your bloody pet, girl," he grumbled. She was silent the rest of the day.
()
Stranger needed real food, not what Sandor could find along the way, and he needed a rest. The past week he had been ridden hard and Sandor feared for his safety. So he entered the little town a few leagues from Acorn Hall reluctantly. He found a place for him to stay the night, be watered, fed, and brushed, and a little inn for them to stay. The town was much quieter than the last they were in, and he was grateful for it.
Sansa had not spoken since the morning, but she did not appear angry with him. It was he that was in the sour mood, but no matter how gruff he was she kept the little smile on her face. He left her in the room they had rented with the dagger he given her. He taught her a few quick moves that a woman could use to take down an opponent twice her size and left. She begged him not to leave her alone but he told her she would be fine and ordered her to lock the door behind her.
"You only open that door for me. Understand?" he asked and she nodded. He glanced back anxiously at the inn as he walked down the little dirt road that made up the entire town.
"This town used to be something," a man called to him as he walked down the street. "Used to be bustling, then that Mountain came in, burning everything in sight, killed our boys, raped the women… just a few of us left now."
"I bet you have some wares for sale then," Sandor said and approached the man. He was leaning in the doorway of a little shanty, wearing what used to be a white shirt, now stained with blood, sweat, dirt and shit.
"What the monster didn't take," the man said and ducked inside. Sandor followed, crouching down low to get under the door frame. Inside was a little treasure trove. Women's dresses draped over old chairs, men's tunics and breeches, boots of every size, gold trinkets and the life. Little wooden figurines scattered a table on the far side of the little shack.
"I'm surprised the others haven't robbed you yet," Sandor said looking everything over.
"Everyone that could have killed me was taken by the Mountain. Now only the old and sick remain. Plus, I take care of those I can, they don't begrudge me anything," he replied, flashing decaying brown teeth in a sad, twisted smile. Sandor nodded slowly. He looked at the dresses, all linen and wool, nothing very fancy, nothing that would arouse suspicion, but more pleasant than the brown wool she wore now. He wondered which Sansa would like more before grabbing the blue one. He had always liked her in blue. He'd like to see her in it again.
"Have any cloaks?" he asked. "Something thick, practical. Something that would keep a girl warm in the harsh cold," he asked.
"I do!" the man yelled in excitement. "It's worth quite a bit though. Took it off a soldier I found not too long ago. Real nice quality. You know what they say about Tywin Lannister I bet."
Sandor watched as he dug in a chest and pulled out a thick, red cloak worn by Lannister knights.
"Anything that is not… crimson?"
"Don't like the Lannister red? I can't blame you, after what I have seen done to my people. I have other cloaks. Not as thick and warm as this though. All different colors. Grey, Blue, Yellow…"
Sandor looked down at the blue dress he held in his hands. He wandered what she would look like draped in a yellow cloak. His colors. His hands tightened around the blue fabric and he ground his teeth together.
"Whichever is the warmest. I care little for fashion," he replied. He just did not want to see the look on her face when he presented her with a crimson cloak. He was handed a thick grey cloak of good wool and thick fur around the collar. It was a man's cloak, but it would keep her warm. He paid the man and set out, but paused as he looked at the little table with wooden figurines.
Resting there was a little wooden wolf's head, no bigger than the tip of his thumb, with bright yellow eyes.
"It's yours for a copper," the man said and came around to look at Sandor greedily. Sandor reached out and picked up up, feeling it rest in his palm. It was tiny and fragile, like his little bird. All she would need to do was paint it grey when they arrived at Riverrunn, and it would look just like her precious wolf. Sandor put it in his pocket and flung a copper at him.
"Thank you kind ser!" the man called after him. "Some friendly advice for a big spender. If you are heading North stay clear of the Twins. Big wedding there they say. That stark boy calling himself king will be there. I'd move back onto the King's road if you want to avoid any fighting!"
Sandor turned to look at him.
"They aren't at Riverrunn any longer?"
"Haven't been there for weeks," he replied.
"Thank you," Sandor answered and walked back toward the inn.