Sansa stopped dead in her tracks, clutching her parcel tightly and trying to catch her breath after their flight. All the air brought into her nose and mouth was clearly flavoured with smoke. A fire? She looked about frantically, but could see no sign of it, and the stablehands were clearly occupied with calming the horses, not releasing them or quenching any flames. It must be further away.
She suddenly remembered she should be following the Hound, and looked about for him. Ice slithered down her spine when she could not spot him anywhere. She scuttled forward, looking into every stall as she passed, trying to see around the horses for any familiar figures.
"Get over here!" Someone yelled out, and she tried to hide behind a post before she realised it was Clegane's voice. She hurried towards the call, to find him leading a black horse towards her; a brown horse's lead was tied to its saddle, following behind.
Sansa went to place her bundle in one of the black steed's saddlebags. The Hound pressed her away effortlessly as the horse skittered.
"No, keep away from this one," he stated, and brusquely took her dresses from her to pack away. "Stay by the gelding, and keep up, no matter what." Having said that, he took the lead of his horse again, taking them out of the stables. Sansa tugged her hood further down her head and held it closed under her chin.
It seemed no-one took much interest in them though, and even those that did had only to see the Hound, and then they very quickly had other things to do somewhere else. As soon as they were out in the courtyard the Hound began to jog, the horses clipping alongside him, but for Sansa it was a run.
Her inner body, where she thought her womb must be, spasmed with pain. Her throat began to burn and she was sorely afraid she would be left behind and lost in the crowds.
"Please!" She called out desperately. He stopped and turned to her, furious. "It's agony!" She meant the whole of her, but his eyes dropped down to her hips, and the fury fell off his face. With muffled words Sansa was sure were curses, he lifted her up and placed her in the gelding's saddle.
"You keep your head down!" he hissed. Sansa bent forward, her head almost touching the horse's neck. She saw now why he had chosen to lead his horse rather than ride, as the outer courtyard seemed full of milling people, many just darting about. A few other riders were trying to make their way through the crowd on skittish mounts, and making no better progress than they were.
She heard the Hound yelling at people to get out of the way, and his horse screamed with him, but the sound of steel being drawn was absent. That didn't stop her heart from continuing to beat in her chest like a drum. In fact, it was now harder, not easier, for her to breathe, and the smell of smoke was filling her sinus, burning her face. How could Sandor bear it? She looked up to catch a glimpse of him and finally saw it.
The Small Hall was on fire.
The whole roof was alight, and flames were pouring out the upper windows. The lower ones were still empty of fire, and there were still men running in and out of the building, carrying water or trying to salvage things.
It was fortunate Sansa was riding, or she would have stopped once more. The fire was terrifying, but strangely compelling. Her head turned to keep watching the spreading and sinuous flames as they moved past it, only looking away when they reached the gates.
The gate was open, possibly to let in assistance, but the guards were agitated and restless. The shortest one seemed the boldest, as he held up a hand in greeting at Clegane's approach.
"Move!" The Hound roared at them, and even Sansa quailed back in terror. "It's a crisis, you slack-faced cunts!"
With stammered words, the guards darted aside, and the Hound went through at a clip, spurring his horse into almost a canter. Outside, crowds had gathered, loudly trying to guess which building of the Keep was burning.
While the inside courtyard had been filled with frightened cries and barked orders, amongst the smallfolk the mood was almost jovial. How they must hate their King, to be happy to see his stronghold burn down, Sansa mulled. Well, I hate him too, so what do I care? The Hound's horse had taken the lead, and the catcalls and laughter soon turned to outrage as it bore down, snorting and eager.
Clegane broke into a sprint alongside it, periodically slapping its flank to direct its eager path-clearing. As the only one the crowd could see, Sansa felt almost responsible for the chaos. Her gelding kept up, but was obviously as upset to be associated with the black stallion as Sansa was, as he kept tugging on the lead from one side to the other. At least it distracted her from thinking of the last time she had been upon a horse surrounded by smallfolk.
The mob thinned out as they got further away, and finally the Hound called out to his mount and swung onto it.
"Hood down," he snapped at her, and then pressed forward. Sansa took no chances, and put her whole head down, making herself as small as possible. The streets were mostly empty in the early night, but news of the commotion at the Keep seemed to have spread already, as there were people standing at windows and in doorways. A stout man called out as they were slowed by a line of poorly parked carts.
"Is it another army attacking us, then?"
Clegane did not even acknowledge his presence. Sansa yearned to answer and put his worries at ease, but she knew it would bring down the Hound's wrath on her later, and before she could decide if it were worth it, they were past, the man's yelled insults faintly trailing them.
It wasn't much longer before Sandor's horse suddenly came to stop, her own almost colliding with it. The black stallion flicked his tail sharply in the gelding's face, and her mount cantered backwards. Sansa peeked up from the horse's neck and saw they were at the Old Gate, with guards bustling towards them. Clegane didn't wait for them to address him.
"Has any bugger approached this gate tonight?" He yelled out, sounding impatient and angry.
"No, my lord," a roundish guard said, looking resolutely at the Hound's chest. "Is something going up at the castle? There's been talk-"
"Of course something is going on at the fucking castle," Clegane spat. "There's been sabotage, and you lot better keep your eyes sharp as knives on everyone that leaves this city in the morning, you hear?" He wheeled his stallion about in front of the small group of gold cloaks, who calmly but unmistakably backed away.
"Yes, my lord," their apparent leader agreed.
"And take note of anyone who seems to be watching the coming and goings, or who asks too many questions. Don't breathe a fucking word that you know anything about the Keep to a single soul, not even your wrinkled old mothers." He pushed his mount forward again, towards the gateway.
"Open this thing up. Some messages can't be entrusted to birds," he said with a sneer, and Sansa felt like she should take offence to his words, though she didn't know why.
The guards sprang into action, but the portly man stayed put, looking at Clegane and, Sansa sucked in a nervous breath when she realised it, eyeing her as well.
"What is going on up there?" The man asked in a low tone.
"The less you know, the less you can spread around like midwives gossip," Clegane snapped. "It's bloody chaos up there, but unless things get a whole lot worse we need men holding the gates more than we need them tripping over their feet trying to fight the fires."
The guard's eyes widened noticeably and Sansa wondered how Clegane could be so foolish as to let such words slip, after speaking about the need for secrecy.
"I understand, my lord," the gold cloak said with a grimace. The gate had been opened up enough to let riders through, and Sansa's heart fluttered with uneasy excitement at the prospect of passing out of this city once and for all.
Before he pressed his horse forward, however, the Hound raised his head and spoke loud enough for all the men at the gate to hear.
"Speak nothing to anyone of what's happened at the Keep and nothing of what happened here. There are going to be heads rolling after tonight, and they'll include yours if you're fucking fools," and with that, his horse took off at a good pace, the gelding pulled into a trot close behind. Clegane didn't look back once, and neither did Sansa.
They were not far out of the gates when his horse suddenly turned left off the road, charging over the heath parallel to the city walls. Sansa was confused, but said nothing, as she had been bid. They picked their way between cottages, through high grass and the occasional thicket of trees, still in plain view of the walls.
In the darkness, and with the inner city faintly lit by the distant fire, Sansa hoped they would not be noticed. Her arms began to ache from how tightly she gripped the reigns, but every time she forced herself to relax, she quickly found herself tense again soon after. She shivered from the cold, but equally felt sweat pouring down her spine.
Finally they sighted another road, and the Hound turned to approach the city again, on a course to meet the magnificent Lion Gate. Sansa had to swallow down her cries of confusion, fearing any attention. Had he changed his mind so quickly? In a sudden flash, the thought came to her to untie her horse, and ride away down the road, into the night, by herself. The reins felt loose against the slickly wet palms of her hands.
But she did nothing. Nothing except clench and unclench her hands around the now-warm leather, and struggle against sharp tears. They went down the road a while, each step tightening her throat. And then just before reaching the gate, casually, Clegane led his horse over the other side, into the ragtag groups outside the city walls; caravans bunkered down for the night, eagerly awaiting entry the next morning to a city desperate for supplies. Despite the hour, there were many lit fires and roaming figures. To Sansa each one seemed sinister, including those clearly belonging to children. Just a few hours previous the sight of the poor and struggling vagabonds would have pierced her heart with pity, but now it seemed instead they were piercing it with fear. Even so, she followed demurely as the Hound slowed his horse and wove his way leisurely through the camp.
Sansa wondered if he were looking for someone, or if he intended to join the group. If these folk meant to leave the city rather than enter it, perhaps it would best to travel with them. There would be food, and no-one would look for a lady amongst such a company. Furtively, she clenched her hood tighter down and tried to stop herself from peering around like an outsider. It would be terrible to compromise their deception before it had even begun.
They continued on, through the darkness patched with small lights, winding through tiny lanes, squeezing through places she would not have expected one to take horses. Their progress seemed painfully slow, but she could feel new patience in her from the need to be nothing unusual in this place. She could see little, but smell much. The paths the stallion ahead led her horse down stank, not so much as the low streets of the city on the hot summer days, but rather the fetid air of a small place well-lived in.
Would I rather have lived here in the dirt, than be beaten, raped, hurt?
Sansa didn't know, and didn't want to. She plucked it out of her mind and focused on the smell of the horse under her. Warm, smoky and salty.
Her forehead tapped against the gelding's bushy mane, waking her suddenly. Or did it? Had she been asleep? The sky was still dark, darker than before. No gentle glows from fire pits lit up the night.
She sat up, and at once came to regret it. Her back, neck, legs, tummy; all ached. Sansa felt as though her entire world had diminished down to pain. She couldn't even have named all the ways she was suffering, if she had been asked. She couldn't have named much of anything. The horse swung her backward and forward, and fatigue swung her downward. She fought it desperately, more afraid of what would happen if she fell asleep than she could be afraid of the torture it was to stay awake.
She just needed close her eyes and rest her brow on the horse's warm neck. She simply had to.
When Sansa woke again, it was as sharply as if she had never been asleep. Her arms grasped the horse's neck like a vice, and her feet scrabbled for purchase against its belly. She was falling, dropping to the ground to break her neck! The poor beast protested against her heels kicking into it with a whinny that was brutally loud in the night's silence.
So rigid with fear was Sansa that she didn't even hear Clegane dismount his horse or approach her, and at his sudden touch she startled with a terrible spasm. The horse rocked back and then jerked forward as her companion gripped its reins sharply.
His other hand returned to her hip, warm and solid as the stones that Winterfell was built from. Still her body fought against being handled, but he held her and the gelding firmly, until slowly they both relented. Then he picked her up with both arms, and she tried to relax as much as she could as he shuffled her around, doing something she could not discern nor care about.
"Only a brief time," a dry voice scraped over her ears as she was laid down, finally, on the cold but blessedly flat and motionless ground. Hands continued to work over whatever was covering her, but she was heedless of his fussing.
Her eyes shut with the finality a drawbridge; finally sheltered, finally safe.