Summary: Without stopping to think she pressed her cheek against his, deliberately so, and didn't let go despite Sandor's instinctive shudder and attempt to lean away from her.

Sansa

When she felt a strong arm grabbing her from behind and a big hand covering her mouth, Sansa didn't flinch. It is him. He came back. Not for a moment did she suspect it to be anyone else.

Her first reaction was relief – no matter how much she had resigned herself to the fact that she needed to survive on her own from now on, she knew it would be much easier with a companion. A companion she could trust. And as odd as it might sound, she trusted the Hound. Sandor.

His smugness irritated her though. What had taken him so long? If he was going to come back for her, why let her wait and think otherwise? Sansa had a good mind to scold him for that, but then she got caught by his mere presence, the way he loomed over her and made her feel so small. He looked ragged and well-travelled, but not as feral as the last time. Without realising it, she extended her hand and touched him, gaining confidence from the solid strength she could feel in her fingertips even through his padded jerkin.

Sansa's gaze was caught by the spot where she had kissed him – if that's how it could be described; the instinct making her open her mouth and lick the salty taste of him where his beard morphed into the hair on his chest. Knowing how he looked below the collar of his attire made her even more aware of how close he was, and what he was suggesting would mean: the two of them traveling together without the shielding presence of others. No separation between him and her, not even the modicum of privacy she currently enjoyed. Would he assume there would be a repetition of what had taken place? Would he demand his payment in those terms?

Hearing his assurances to the contrary left Sansa with mixed feelings. Her honour – or what was left of it – would be safe. She wouldn't have to endure another experience of him, or any man, on top of her, wouldn't have to feel her womanhood invaded, nor live through the moment when he would shudder, yield, grunt and lose control. What had made him do so, she was curious about – she couldn't see a woman doing such a thing. There had been a few passing moments when she had felt herself to be drifting into the unknown, but they had been fleeting and surely could not be anything as powerful as what he had gone through?

When Sansa rested in her tent that night it was not the prospect of yet another new phase of her journey back to her home that kept her awake, but distracting thoughts of the man with whom she was to share that journey. She traced her fingers across the fading bruises and lifted them higher still, touching her secret place at the top of her smallclothes. She was wet – what did that mean? Tentatively she pressed harder, and when she felt a jolt go through her core she hastily removed her hand, tucked her furs tightly down and clutched the trim of it against her chin.

"Tell Toki that I left of my own accord, that he is NOT to follow me. I have met with my bannermen and they will take me to the North, but they don't want to get involved with the Mountain Men or the traders. Do you understand?" Sansa shook the confused boy by his shoulders as she whispered into his ear. The boy blinked and slowly comprehension lit his eyes.

"Yes, m'lady, I see," he squeaked.

"Repeat what I said, quietly." Sansa didn't loosen her grip.

"I am to tell Toki that your bannermen have come and taken you away with them, and that you left because you wanted to. And that he is not to follow you," the boy repeated. Sansa smiled at him and brushed his cheek with her hand.

"That is correct. You are a good boy and I'll remember you well. Now, go back to sleep and make sure you pass this message only in the morning, when they start to wonder about me." She pressed a small coin into the boy's palm. "Take this. They may be angry at you for not alerting them earlier, but tell them that I threatened you – or tell them whatever you think may help you. You will have my thanks and this coin all for your own in any case." To sweeten the deal even more she leaned closer and grazed her lips across the boy's forehead, before leaving him where she had found him, under one of the wagons.

She had expected to be riding in front of him, but Sandor plunked her unceremoniously on top of the pile of bedrolls and furs he had tied on the back of his saddle.

"Better you ride on the back, at least until we are out of the mountains. I need my hands to be free in case we run into trouble. Just hold on to me and you'll be fine," he rasped after seeing Sansa's confused expression.

As a matter of fact, it was not bad. Her seating was soft and as long as she held tight to him, she felt secure even though at times when she glanced at the ground it seemed to be frighteningly far, and the notion of tumbling down on the hard ground made her tighten her grip. Sandor's back was wide and solid and fleetingly she wondered why she gained so much confidence from him. Without being able to put it into words, she knew that he wouldn't let her fall.

Sansa wasn't used to riding and having to sit astride, so her legs resting against his sides felt horribly vulgar for her – especially as at times Sandor leaned against them when adjusting to Stranger's gait and unbeknownst to him pressed against her bruises. That reminded her of how she had gained them in the first place – him between her legs, only turned the other way around. Sansa was glad he couldn't see the blush on her face and she buried her face against his back and tried not to think about it.

After a brief rest, which she knew to be more for Stranger's benefit than hers, but which didn't stop her from dozing in the bleak sunlight, they continued on. Whether Sandor had rested she didn't know; he had been awake when she had drifted into sleep and he was awake when she woke up, staring at her with a guarded expression on his face.

They had started to descend the mountains and the path became wider and smoother, and Sansa was eager to see where they were heading. She rested her chin on his broad shoulder on the good side of his face and followed the change in the landscape; from rocky ground to scattered fields growing patchy grass to meadows full of lush greenery.

"Where are we going?" she asked, curiously.

"We are heading towards the Twins, but not going that far. I plan to ride along the Kingsroad further to the North. Depending on how busy the road is, we either ride on it or beside it, in the woods."

His calm response encouraged Sansa so she continued with her questions.

"Where did you go when you left the village? Did you go to the Vale? Did you see Petyr?"

"Not your business, no and no."

Sansa was dismayed. "Timett was sure you were heading there to tell him my whereabouts; that's why we left so urgently. If you didn't go to him, where then?"

Sandor turned his head so that Sansa's nose hit his cheek. "What did you think? That I would run to him in hope of a reward for telling him where his precious little bird had flown?"

Sansa pulled back. "As a matter of fact, if you must know, I didn't think you'd do that. Although it would have made perfect sense. You were on your way to offer him your services, weren't you? What changed your mind? Why didn't you go and tell him about me?" She stared at him and saw him frown.

"Lost my appetite for serving schemers like him. Had enough of it in the service of the Lannisters."

"So where did you go? And why did you come back?"

"Quit your chirping already, little bird. I am here, ain't I? Isn't that enough?"

Chastised, Sansa stayed quiet and pressed her cheek against his back again while sneaking her hands under his armpits for a good hold. However, not being able to see where they were heading was uncomfortable as she wasn't able to anticipate Strangers movements, so after a while she raised her head again and this time placed it on his other side, next to his burns. She felt Sandor stiffen and guessed that he was uncomfortable with her being so close to them, but she decided to ignore it.

As they rode on she stole sideway glances at his wounds. They were so very close, she being practically cheek to cheek to his burned flesh. At this close distance she could observe them dispassionately; the hard rubbery surface, twisted flesh and its undulation under the seared skin. His earlobe was missing but besides that his ear looked normal, just the skin surrounding it being of the same gnarled appearance as the whole side. She could see clearly where his hair didn't grow, despite him having combed his long hair to cover it as usual. On the edges of the bare patch she saw soft white hairs growing, as if unsure whether they had the strength to grow into thick, glossy strands like the rest of his locks.

Somehow the sight of those wispy white hairs touched her heart more than the crude savagery on the rest of his face and for the first time she realised that as horrific a sight as his visage was, it was still the face of a man – only scarred. That he should have held it as a shield between him and the rest of the world, as she had seen and heard him doing, suddenly felt awfully unfair. Without stopping to think she pressed her cheek against his, deliberately so, and didn't let go despite Sandor's instinctive shudder and attempt to lean away from her. No, Sansa only curled her hands around his thick neck, leaned closer and felt his rough skin chafing against her own.

As the shadows grew longer they finally stopped to make camp. Sandor disappeared into the woods and came back with a stack of firewood and soon they had a roaring fire next to which Sansa gratefully warmed her chilled hands. She had packed some fresh food, cheese and salted meat, and Sandor had some dried bread, so they enjoyed a modest but quite adequate meal.

"Where to next? Which of your bannermen will get the privilege of welcoming House Stark back first?" Sandor's sudden question startled Sansa from the nice drowsiness bestowed by warmth and a half-full belly.

"We might stop at Greywater Watch. Howland Reed was one of my father's closest friends and I am sure he will lend me his help." Sansa had thought of this and had plans ready. The only unknown was where to find House Reed. She had worried about it, whether Toki would have the confidence and patience to wander into the famous swamps of the Neck, which were known to be treacherous. With Sandor she had no such qualms.

"The frogmen, eh? Have heard of them. They are said to have strange magic and their houses float so that one is never sure where to find them. How do you propose we meet them?" Sandor was cleaning his teeth with a twig and spat behind his shoulder, but instead of it repelling Sansa she only took as a sign that he was comfortable in her presence. Not that he would have minded his manners in front of anyone, she mused.

"We don't. We just go there, make noise and wait for them to find us. That's what my father said he had to do, after all the years he had known him and with them being bannermen for House Stark and all. If it worked for him, I'm sure it will work for us."

Sandor regarded her with an interested expression. "You have this all planned out, do you?"

"I hope so. After Greywater Watch, where we are sure to hear the latest news, we can decide which house in the North to go to next. Maybe House Cerwyn, which would be the closest to Winterfell. Maybe somewhere else. But we'll get there. We'll get the Northmen together again. And we'll get Winterfell back."

Sandor leaned against his bedroll, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His mouth was curled into a strange twist and it took a while for Sansa to realise that he was smiling.

"'We', eh? So how is it 'we'? Not you and a man who serves you? Your dog. You think your lords will not see fit to send me packing, mayhap with a pat on the back and perchance a juicy bone, but packing nonetheless?"

Sansa's stomach lurched at the thought of him leaving her as soon as they reached the North. Part of her knew that he might be right; the lords would not take kindly to his presence, him being known to most of them only as the rabid Lannister Hound. Why did it hurt her so to think him gone, when only a short time ago she had thought him long dead and buried in an unnamed grave somewhere?

"I will make sure that your efforts are duly rewarded when we reach the North," she said, glancing at him. She was still unsure what drove him. If it was not a monetary reward, and surely not a desire for lands or titles, what was it? Especially if it was not a reward of another kind that he himself had suggested she should be prepared to grant to her champion, but had declined to seek for himself?

"Hope not. Have no longing to be hanged at the end of a rope for my many sins."

"Not as long as I have breath in my body," Sansa said, straightening and meeting his eyes. "Anyone who even dreams of touching you will have to answer to me."

Sandor only looked at her, full of mirth. "Aye, I always dreamt of being rescued by a fair maiden."

Huffing, Sansa sank back to her seat. Fine. If he didn't think his chances high, it was up to her to make sure that he could – that he would – stay. Without telling him so.

One more moment of uncertainty passed as she retreated to her bedroll, keeping a close eye on Sandor. He had promised to keep her safe, even from himself. Would he?

He puttered around for a while, added more wood to the fire, made sure there was a pile of more to be added as the night went on, checked that Stranger was securely tied, then settled heavily onto his bedroll a good distance away. He sighed deeply, his broad chest heaving, and threw a glance towards Sansa, who snapped her eyes closed and pretended to be asleep. Then he rolled on his side and soon the only sound she heard was the steady rumble of his breathing.

Sansa stayed awake a bit longer, trying to find a comfortable position on the thin roll, wrapping furs closer to her body. Even though her tent had been thin, it had kept some of the night chills away, and she thought longingly of the warmth of the big man close to her. She knew that should she sneak under his furs, she would be warm and comfortable – yet she couldn't do that. He would surely take it the wrong way, and then…

Sansa's sleep was restless and not only because of the coolness of the night.