Summary: The knowledge that Sansa was right there, only a few steps away, gave his cock some ideas of its own, and for a moment he wished she wasn't there – then he could take himself in hand and let some of the pressure dissipate.

Sandor

Their days soon settled into a routine consisting of rising early, riding at a steady pace the whole day bar a few breaks to give Stranger and themselves a rest, and evenings and nights in haphazardly erected campsites away from major paths. The food they had was soon consumed but Sandor was prepared and had snares for small game, which he patiently set up each evening and checked in the morning. More often than not he caught a hare or a bird, perfect for their main meal when roasted over flames.

Evenings were initially quiet affairs, but over time some of the connection once felt between the angry man and the frightened young girl, both trapped in their own way in the glittery court, came back. They had changed, but something of the old was still there and gradually they started to talk. Sansa shared more than Sandor, telling him about Sweet-Robin, Petyr's games and his role in Joffrey's death. Sandor only snorted at that, not caring about the fate of the cruel youth his charge had turned into. When he had first been entrusted to Sandor's protection he had been as innocent as all babes are – but that hadn't lasted long.

In turn he told Sansa about the Quiet Isle, although it took a while before he felt comfortable about expressing his thoughts in words. With the exception of the Elder Brother, Sandor's interactions with others had consisted only of the barest necessities, of simple words over concrete matters. There were some things he kept to himself, but he found it surprisingly easy to tell her about his life since they had last met. Even more surprisingly, she seemed to be interested in it.

Sandor also noticed that Sansa started to trust his guidance and often asked his opinion or advice, not only about matters concerning their current journey, but also his views about the North and what she should do next. He found it oddly satisfying to be trusted and gave her measured responses, as much as he could.

Still, Sandor preferred to listen to Sansa. He also liked the look of her, all scruffy and unkempt after weeks on the road. She was dressed in peasant clothes and her auburn hair flowed free, and sometimes Sandor found himself wondering what if she was just that; a peasant wench or a camp follower. He had never had a regular woman as so many of his fellow soldiers did, but if he ever entertained such a notion, it would be someone like her – someone who looked him squarely in the eye. Nonetheless, whenever such laughable thoughts came to him, he quickly snuffed them out. He would do exactly as he had promised; deliver her to her home and then disappear from her life. Mayhap to Braavos, mayhap to Pentos.

As they approached the Kingsroad they came across a village, just large enough for an inn to prosper. Sandor wanted to stop only to get some grain for Stranger and food for them and continue straight on. Sansa shyly suggested that they stay for a night to enjoy the luxury of sleeping inside, especially after the rains that had menaced them lately, but Sandor declined, considering it too risky.

"Stay here," he muttered, helping Sansa down from Stranger's back. He didn't want to attract too much attention and hence chose a quiet alley at the back of the stables, not too far away from the inn where he was going to get what they needed.

Sansa nodded, seeking to sit down on an upturned tree trunk resting against the wall, a safe distance away from Stranger and the muddy lane. The horse had started to accept her presence but Sandor still felt better if she kept her distance, especially if he was not there.

Sandor haggled with the innkeeper about the cost of the goods he wanted, waited for the cook to pack their provisions into large bags, then went to the stables and collected a small sack of grain. Carrying all that he turned his steps back to the place he had left Sansa, pleased about the swiftness of his transactions. They still had a good few hours to get away from there and settle down in a place safe from the curious glances of onlookers.

As he approached the alleyway he heard coarse voices and sounds of a scuffle. Breaking into a light run he hurried ahead, a tight knot squeezing his innards when he thought of what it could mean.

Turning the corner he saw Sansa and two men. He immediately took in the situation; Sansa trying to back away from the men, the younger of them having grasped her arm tightly, the older standing further away and laughing.

"Don't you hurry now, wench, we haven't negotiated the price yet. Much too pretty to let the opportunity pass – I can't remember when I last had such a fine young ass as yours!"

The other man chuckled and held Sansa tighter. She had obviously resisted them as her hair had broken loose from under the modest scarf she had used to cover it, her cheeks were flushed and she was panting. Stranger snorted and pawed his front hoof against the ground, but being tied couldn't do much more.

Gods! Sandor dropped his bundles and hurtled ahead, releasing his sword from his scabbard as he ran. He didn't waste time or the element of surprise by announcing his presence; he charged directly towards the man who was holding Sansa. At the last moment the man saw him coming and pushed Sansa aside, straight into a puddle of mud.

It was not a proper fight; a trained warrior against untrained villagers could have only one outcome, and as soon as the men saw him they recognised the same. A few strokes, one of them gashing the arm of the younger man, and the men were sent running for their lives.

Sandor felt the familiar traces of battle fury rising in him, and he wanted to follow them and kill them for daring to put their filthy hands on Sansa – but that wouldn't have been wise. Besides, Sansa needed him. She was still stranded in the puddle, not moving away even though her assailants were long gone.

Sandor knelt next to her. "Did they hurt you? Tell me."

Sansa's face was contorted and as he examined it trying to find any signs of injury, tears started to flow down her cheeks. She tried to hold them back, he could see from the way she squeezed her eyes shut as if that way she could prevent them, but inevitably they escaped from under her lashes. The trails they left in their wake were clearly visible on her skin, splattered with mud from the impact of her fall.

Sandor didn't know what in hells he should do. She had been strong, enduring their travel much better than he had expected, not complaining with word or gesture, doing what he bid of her and more. She was certainly not a noble maiden expecting to be waited on hand and foot anymore. Yet here she was, crouched in mud and looking dejected and defeated.

"Come on, girl. No harm done. They were just louts who thought they could prey on a lonely maid, but they thought wrong. I saw to that."

Still she didn't move and tears kept on streaming. Clumsily Sandor placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Can you move? Sitting in mud does no good to anyone."

Whatever control she had had over herself finally seemed to break down and Sansa started sobbing loudly, hunching her shoulders and lifting her equally muddy hands to her face.

"They…they told what they wanted to do with me – that they would take me to the barn and have their way with me… I didn't know if you'd get back here in time… and I am so cold and dirty and hungry and tired and…" Anything she said after that disintegrated into incoherent sobbing as she sniffled and mumbled into her hands, rubbing her face and inadvertently smearing mud all over it, her crying only intensifying.

Sandor looked at her helplessly. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Finally he gathered her into his arms, lifted her away from the filthy patch and carried her back to the crude seat. Setting her down he knelt in front of her once again, removed her hands from her face and dabbed it with his sleeve – which only covered any yet bare patches of her skin with a brownish hue, the cloth being not much cleaner than her face.

"There, there. It'll be fine. Mayhap we should stay here for the night, get you out of those clothes and into a bath, have you sleep in a proper bed."

At that Sansa stopped her sobbing and lifted her eyes at him. As red-rimmed they were, the hope and trust he saw in them made him flinch.

"Could we? Would that be… safe?"

Bugger that. Sandor knew he would feel safer on the road – but on the other hand, they were not being actively searched for as far as he knew, and this was just one shitty village, one shitty inn. It would be unbelievably bad luck if they were caught here and now. He made his decision. The little bird needed this.

He stood up. "We'll stay here. Come with me, I don't plan to let you out of my sight anymore."

Meekly she followed as he untied Stranger, strapped their provisions onto his back and walked him to the stables. A few barked commands to the stable boy saw his horse settled, and then he loaded Sansa and himself with their belongings and they went back to the inn.

The only room available was one of the better ones, and Sandor was bitter over the coin he was forced to pay. Nonetheless, only one glance at Sansa, who stood forlornly by his side, convinced him that it was worth it.

"Bring a bath to the room as soon as possible. And someone to wash the dirty clothes and get them ready by morning. Later we want a warm meal and a flagon – no, two flagons of wine brought to our room." The innkeeper nodded to all his demands and called for servants to execute them.

The room was not large but it had all they needed and more. A fireplace, a small table and two chairs – and a four-poster bed. As two servants came carrying a large wooden vat and maids scurried back and forth carrying buckets of hot water, Sandor eyed their lodgings, wondering how they were going to manage the night.

On their second evening on the road Sansa had dragged her bedroll closer to his and suggested that they could share the covers to keep the cold at bay. It was a perfectly sensible suggestion and one Sandor had wanted to make, but he was glad it was she who brought it up first. Not that it changed much; they might have shared the furs but still slept a good hand-width apart, not touching each other. Yet they shared the same warmth underneath and their nights were better from thereon.

The bed – that was a different proposition altogether. Well, there was always the floor, and space enough in front of the fireplace for him to lie if he only moved the table aside. Sandor deposited their rolls and furs on the floor for the time being and turned back to the proceedings going on around him.

"You'll be as good as new soon, look at all that hot water," he muttered to Sansa in a clumsy attempt to cheer her up. She had regained her composure but from the way she licked her lips and watched the filling of the tub like a hawk, Sandor saw that she could hardly wait until she could sink into it.

In due course the bath was ready and Sandor prepared to leave the room. "Hand me your clothes when you are undressed and I'll make sure the maids have them. And lock the door after that. I'll be downstairs and come back after some time."

Sansa hardly waited for him to leave, so eager she was, starting to unlace her top and pull down her stockings. Sandor hurried out but not before catching a glimpse of a pale calf, an arresting sight indeed.

He waited behind the door and tried not to imagine her undressing behind it; first removing her top, then the skirt, then stockings, then her smallclothes… He had actually never seen her naked and a twisted remorse hit him anew for not taking the opportunity that night. She wouldn't have resisted, he knew. Gods only knew what had made her accept him then – maybe the knowledge that he would be dead soon, maybe something else. Sandor had never entertained the notion that she had wanted him for his sake. He was not that stupid. Mayhap she had used him as a tool for punishing herself – for what, again he was flummoxed by her motives.

He had tried hard not to think about their encounter as they had journeyed, knowing it would only make things more difficult. Yet there were moments when memories came back unbidden, especially when she was so close that he could smell her scent…. Sandor shook his head in anger. Not again!

Soon the door opened slightly and a slender hand extended with a tight bundle of clothing in it. He took it, glimpsing through the narrow gap but seeing nothing – she must have been right behind it. The door closed and there was nothing else for Sandor to do but go downstairs to hand the bundle to a maid and drink some sour red to flush the disturbing thoughts out of his head.

After a time he deemed sufficient Sandor returned to the room. Sansa let him in, dressed in fresh clothes and her long damp tresses coiling behind her back. Her skin was pink from scrubbing and still glowing from heat and she was smiling.

"Thank you so much – I really needed that. Nonetheless I am sorry I behaved so childishly, when nothing actually happened."

"Nevermind that. You deserve this break, I have been driving you hard."

"It is your turn now, the water is still warm and I left enough soap for you. I could take your clothes down and we'll get them washed as well. Who knows when we'll next get the chance?" Sansa pointed at the bath with an expectant look on her face.

"Where would you go? After what just happened I refuse to let you wander on your own. Those men were surely not the only ones noticing a pretty lass like you," Sandor grunted.

"I am sure if I only went downstairs I'd be safe."

"There is no guarantee of that. If some ruffian harassed you, what good would I be sitting in the tub up here? No, that's the end of it, you are not leaving this room unless it's with me."

Sandor placed the flagon on the table and started to remove his cloak, determined to enjoy the privacy of the room he had paid good coin for. When he turned he saw Sansa still standing there, her gaze flickering between him and the tub.

"What if I stayed here – I could get onto the bed and pull the curtains closed to give you privacy? It would be a shame for you to waste the opportunity to bathe, that's all."

Sandor chuckled. "Do I stink that much? Mayhap I do." Then he frowned. "You really think that's so important? I don't care whether you see my hairy arse or not, but would your maidenly sensitivities be offended by staying in the same room with a naked man?"

Sansa blushed, the red of it mixing with her still flushed cheeks. She glanced towards the bed, which indeed had faded curtains hanging from the upper rails. Sandor wondered how much of her blushing was due to his poorly chosen words. Maidenly sensitivities, when she was not a maid anymore and they both knew why.

He considered the suggestion for a moment. It was true that he stank and his clothes would benefit from a good scouring. Besides, it was not his modesty he was worried about – he couldn't care less if she saw him stark naked. Soldiers used to living among troops in camp conditions shed any such notions early on.

Finally he shrugged his shoulders. Why not?

"Go on then, get into that bed and pull the curtains. I'll take a plunge to make you happy. I'll take my own clothes to be washed though, just hand me my bag so I can take out new ones."

Wordlessly Sansa handed him his saddle bag from which he fished out his second pair of breeches and a tunic, laying them on a chair close to the tub. Sansa climbed onto the bed and yanked the curtains into place.

"No peeping, then." Sandor called for good measure before pulling his tunic over his head and kicking his boots, breeches and smallclothes in a bungled heap on the floor. He glanced at the bed, especially the seam where the two sides of the curtains closed. It appeared closed enough, but just the thought of her possibly peeking at him from behind it made his skin tingle.

His cock reacted too, stirring and stiffening lightly. Bloody hells! He pressed it against his thigh with one hand while he climbed into the tub and sank under the water.

The water felt bloody good. Sandor submerged himself fully, holding his breath and letting his body soak there for a good while before he got up gasping for air, and reached for the soap and cloth. He washed his body meticulously and in an orderly fashion, starting from his upper body and arms, going down to his thighs and legs, not leaving any place untouched. While cleansing his cock and balls he felt the stirring again. The knowledge that Sansa was right there, only a few steps away, gave his cock some ideas of its own, and for a moment he wished she wasn't there – then he could take himself in hand and let some of the pressure dissipate. In theory he could do it even now, she having indicated that she wouldn't peep, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to do it completely silently. Whether she would recognise the noises was another thing – but then Sandor remembered that she had already heard him release once. That thought did nothing to lessen his arousal and sighing he stroked his shaft fleetingly, just enough to give him a jolt of pleasure. Yes, he knew it was worse that way than ignoring it altogether, but he couldn't help himself.

After scrubbing and rinsing his scalp and hair under the water he was ready. Mischievously he climbed out of the bath, not trying to hide his nudity, not even his half-flaccid member. If she was stealing a look, let her see something! He dried his limbs and hair casually with the piece of cloth left for the purpose, stretched his arms and body and marvelled at how even that short soak in warm water seemed to relax his muscles.

Again he threw a glance towards the bed – and maybe it was just his imagination but he thought he saw the curtain move, just a little. He sneered. Surely Lady Sansa of Winterfell would not deign to bring herself that low?

"I am done, you can come out," he called to her after stepping into his fresh clothes and tying his laces. Sansa appeared, calm and dignified, and that was it, they didn't address the bath anymore.

Sandor took his clothes down, called for servants to empty the tub and take it away, and after all that had been taken care of, their food was brought in. Bowls full of steaming stew peppered with pieces of meat and vegetables, fresh bread and freshly churned butter, cheese and ale and a new flagon of red – life was starting to look pretty good indeed. For good measure he lit the fire in the fireplace. He had paid good coin for the room and hells if he was not going to get his money's worth.

Food tasted delicious in Sandor's mouth and the wine sweet – even though in reality the stew was greasy and stringy with meat and the wine was piss-poor dregs from the bottom of the barrel. He didn't care. The room was warm, they were safe, the little bird was happy again and chirping as she ate her meal with a good appetite. He decided to enjoy it as long as it lasted, the next day seeing them on the road again.

After the meal Sandor stretched his legs in front of the fire, careful not to get too close.

"I hope we'll get to Greywater Watch soon. Don't care much for defending you against every man in the Neck," he grunted good-naturedly.

"No man dares to approach me if you are around." Sansa was curled on the floor against their rolls, staring into the fire and absentmindedly untangling her hair with her fingers.

"I can't blame them, you know. If I saw a wench like you in a godsforsaken village like this, I too might have a good mind to ask your price."

Sansa threw a scandalised look at him, but seeing his grin held her tongue. Then she got serious.

"I thought I could do it on my own. You know, with hired men, with my bannermen when I find them. I thought my blood would be enough to see me through." She sighed. "What a fool I was."

"Not a fool. Just ignorant of the ways of the world. There is a difference."

"Will you stay with me? Until we get to the North?" Her blue eyes pierced Sandor as she turned her head. Yet if he supposed them to be pleading, or her request to be one of a young maid in need of a rescue, that was not the case. The eyes that held his were clear and full of determination.

Sandor realised then that if he expected to be her knight in shining armour that would never be. No, she might realise that she needed help, but she certainly didn't need a rescuer.

"I'll stay as long as you need me," he muttered. "And as long as you pay me," he added as an afterthought.

They were both tired and soon after the meal Sansa went to the bed and climbed into it. Sandor pushed the table aside and unfurled his bedroll on the floor. Sansa saw that but didn't comment and he was happy to let things be.

His belly full of food and wine, the admittedly pleasant feeling of being clean for once, and the warmth and relative safety provided by four walls surrounding them saw him soon drowsing off.

"Sandor?"

Hells, what again? Sandorsighed. Sansa was usually not unreasonable with her requests, but what in hells could she still want, at that time of night?

"Aye?"

"Seeing that we have paid for the room with a big bed…and not knowing when we will have a chance again… Would you like to move over here?"

What the fuck? Sandor's eyes shot open while he digested her words. She wanted him to come into her bed?

"What do you mean, girl? Afraid of sleeping on your own?"

Sansa was silent for a while but he heard her shuffling between the sheets.

"I…just thought you'd enjoy a soft bed as well."

Sandor wondered if she could indeed be that naïve. Inviting a man into her bed for a soft mattress? Especially considering what had already happened between them? He tried to make sense of it but soon gave up. Aye, she had grown up and matured but maybe deep down she was still a naïve young maid, innocent to a fault? He sighed. If that was the case, he'd better let her know the error of her ways.

Sandor got up and made his way in the faint light of the glowing embers. He separated the curtains drawn around the bed and peeked inside, but saw nothing but darkness. Gingerly he placed his knee on the mattress, where it hit her – what part he couldn't be sure of, but she yelped and moved aside soon enough.

"My pardons."

"Here." Sansa patted the mattress on the side where Sandor was entering and from the sounds made her way to the other side.

Sandor sank down and settled on 'his' side. Admittedly, the bed was soft and luxurious and he didn't mind sleeping in it. It was only her proximity that portended a restless night when he had been prepared for a good night's slumber.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.