Chapter 4

Tyrion sat behind his desk and shivered. Pod had let the fire go out again, and for some reason the Tower of the Hand was always icy cold. Probably haunted by the headless ghosts of Hands past. He looked up, too far up he thought as his neck strained, at the man standing before him and thought how best to phrase his words. What he was about to say was going to sound more than a little ridiculous, and the Hound might just throw his head back and laugh at him.

"You love your wife," he finally stated.

The Hound continued looking at him as if he hadn't spoken. Well, at least he didn't laugh. That's a start.

Tyrion had been watching the Hound with his "little bird" for weeks now and this was the conclusion he had come to. The Hound couldn't keep his eyes off her, and there was a gruff gentleness about him as he dealt with her. It was difficult to believe, but beautiful women had been known to bring down fiercer men. Many knew of the tale of Ser Jorah Mormont and the lady he won at the tourney, and how she had led to his exile. Or the real life "bear and the maiden fair" as some liked to call that tale.

"Do you have nothing to say to this?" Tyrion quipped. "It is a horrible accusation, I know. Surely you have something to say to clear your name."

The Hound seemed to consider for a while. "I love my horse," he rasped. "And to a much lesser extent my squire."

Tyrion tsked. "Speaking of your lady wife and your horse in the same context? You really are a brute."

The Hound scowled. "Tell me what you want, Imp, so I can be on my way."

Tyrion picked up the piece of parchment on the table. His hand trembled only a little as he handed it to the Hound. "I assume you can read?"

The Hound's eyes roamed the parchment. Judging from the rate his ruddy complexion paled Tyrion knew his conclusion had been justified. The Hound handed back the parchment, but kept his silence.

"With Jamie de-," Tyrion began, but his voice croaked at the word. He cleared his throat and tried again. "With my brother dead, your wife is no longer safe here. You need to get her away from here. I'll give you one day to get her as far as possible. After that I will have to bring my sister this raven."

The Hound was still standing there. Run, Tyrion wanted to tell him, scream at him. Take the wife you won't admit you love and run from here. Cersei's rage will break her and make her beg for death.

"Where do you want me to take her?" the Hound asked.

Tyrion had to laugh at this. "Ah, always the loyal Lannister dog, weren't you? Well, Sandor Clegane, I release you from your doggly duties. Take her as far as you can as fast as you can. Best you not tell me where."

***

He had a pretty good idea where his little bird would be at this time. She would be in her room, sitting by the window, taking advantage of the last light of the day to stitch pretty patterns on scraps of silk or linen. He had one such scrap tucked neatly into a pocket under his mail. His blood had ruined it beyond repair, so he doubted she would want it back.

He usually knocked on her door and waited for her to call him in. But today he simply turned the handle and walked in. She took a moment to tuck her needle into the cloth before standing to face him. "Hound," she said, her little chin lifting in the air.

For weeks there had been no "ser"s, no "my lord"s or "my husband"s. At another time he would have laughed at this show of defiance. She looked about as threatening as a newborn kitten. No, a newly hatched chick, as even newborn kittens had sharp claws. But his derisive laughter would have crushed her as it always did and she would need her spine rigid today.

"Pack your bags, little bird," he said. "We're going riding."

She looked nervous all of a sudden. "At this time? It will be dark soon."

He snorted. "Aye, and you are scared of the dark. And of horses, spiders, rats, wolves-"

"I am not scared of wolves," she said indignantly.

"That well behaved pet you had was barely a wolf. When you see them wild and running in packs, you will do well to fear them. But enough of this. Pack a dress or two. Warm dresses, nothing too bright or fine. And any small items you won't part with. Tommy will meet us beyond the gates with supplies. Meet me at the stables in half an hour and don't be late." He turned to leave.

"Hound," she called out. He turned to look at her. She had her chin in the air again, and the light of the sun was bright in her hair. "Aren't you going to tell me why?" she asked.

He drew a knife out of his belt and advanced towards her, causing her to take a few steps back. When he was close enough he put a hand in her hair and drew her close. "We'll need to cut this off," he mumbled. Her hair was impossibly soft, and smelled like sweet things. Like flowers and maybe vanilla. He tightened his grip and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. She was breathing heavy and her eyes were closed, her eyelids trembling. He brought a hand to her face, brushing his thumb across a fine cheekbone. When he touched her lips she parted them with a sigh.

He let her go and put his knife back in its scabbard. "Tie up you hair," he said, his hands almost itching to touch her again. If he wasn't careful the feel of her hair, her skin, could become an addiction. "The Kingslayer is dead," he added, answering the question she had asked.

She brought a hand to her mouth and looked like she was about to loose her lunch. Good. It meant she understood the gravity of the situation.

"Half an hour," he rasped before leaving.

***

Sansa nearly ran back to her room when she saw the massive black warhorse the Hound was tending to. But then the Hound had already seen her. "You're late," he said.

Sansa said nothing but continued to eye the horse warily.

"Stranger is mine," he told her, taking her bag from her hands. "That brown one is yours. I hope you know something about riding."

"I do," she said. "I just don't like horses very much. One bit my maid once and she nearly lost a finger."

"You'll loose more than a finger if you go anywhere near Stranger's mouth. Just stay away from him."

You didn't have to tell me that, she thought fervently.

When he was done tying her bag to Stranger's saddle he approached her, lifting her as easily as he would a down stuffed pillow and placing her in her saddle.

They trotted leisurely towards the gates. Sansa had to stop herself from looking back every few minutes to make sure no one was following them. She wanted to make her horse go as fast as it could but realized that would draw attention.

Her heart thudded in suspense as she watched the Hound talk to the soldiers at the gates.

"You really wrenched my shoulder badly at training," a jolly fat man with an impressive yellow mustache was complaining.

The Hound eyed the man sourly. "Loose some weight before you challenge me again. You're an embarrassment. Open the gates. My wife and I are going for a ride."

The man leered at Sansa. "Fancy little thing you got there, you lucky dog. But then being the King's favorite should have its perks. What's in the bag though?"

"A blanket and a picnic. I want to fuck my wife in nature and eat a sandwich after. What's it to you?"

"All right all right. I was just curious. And you shouldn't speak like that before a lady," he chided. He signaled for the gates to be opened. "Very nice to meet you, Lady Clegane. If you have a sister perhaps you will put in a kind word for your husband's good friend?"

The Hound snorted, rearing his horse onwards. "Bugger that. You're no friend of mine."

As they rode away Sansa imagined Arya with the fat man and had to giggle.

They found Tommy asleep in a clearing with several bags laid out around him. His white horse was grazing on a patch of dry grass.

The Hound walked over to Tommy and gave him a kick. "Get up, you idiot," he said. "By the Stranger I didn't know anyone could sleep as much as you do."

"I just shut my eyes for a minute!" Tommy whined. He yawned mightily and gave Sansa a lopsided grin before helping the Hound distribute the bags of supplies between their horses.

They rode in silence for a while, the setting sun turning the sky red above them. Tommy rode beside her with the Hound several paces ahead.

"This isn't the King's Road," Sansa said to Tommy.

Tommy nodded. "This is the Gold Road," he said.

Sansa blinked. She knew little enough about maps but that couldn't be right. "Isn't this the road that leads directly to Casterly Rock?"

This time the Hound answered. "Aye. We'll follow it until we reach Blackwater Rush. Then we'll head northwest to Riverrun." He turned back to look at her reaction. "That does not please you? "

"I thought we would be going to Winterfell," she confessed.

"It would take us a month to get to Winterfell, and only a week to Riverrun. Plus I don't fancy freezing my balls off again up North. You'll have to get your brother or uncle to take you back to your cold, dreary nest." He looked at her again. "I thought you would be pleased to see your mother at least."

"It will please me. Thank you, Hound." Sansa tried to imagine what it would be like to meet her mother again, to be embraced by her, but it had been too long. And somehow the longing she was feeling for Winterfell, for home, was so strong it was twisting her insides.

The night darkened around them and brought with it shadows. Sansa thought she saw eyes watching them from the woods around the road. She made her horse trot as close to the Hound as possible without bumping into his horse. She offered him a smile when he looked at her, but he said nothing.

The gentle trot-trot-trot of the three horses soothed her mind. And it seemed they were riding for hours and hours. Sansa lost track of time and suddenly the Hound was shaking her awake.

"If you fall off your horse I'll just leave you behind," he rasped.

Sansa huffed and sat up straighter.

"Stay awake a little longer," he said. "I know a cave where we can shelter."

It took them about an hour to reach the cave and by then Sansa was really struggling to stay awake. It didn't help that Tommy would yawn loudly every few minutes.

The Hound got off his horse easily and started rummaging through the bags. Tommy slid off his saddle and looked ready to fall asleep right there where his horse could trample him. But he managed to grab a bedroll and drag it away into the darkness of the cave.

Sansa waited for the Hound to help her off her horse for a few moments, but he had apparently forgotten her and was talking to and brushing his monstrous horse. She sniffed and started to slide off like she had seen Tommy do but somehow her legs felt like jelly and the ground too far away. She ending up in an undignified position with one leg caught in the stirrup and the other across the horse as she clung to the saddle with her arms. She heard the Hound laugh before feeling his arm around her waist, lifting her to the ground. When she seemed unable to stand he carried her into the cave and gently placed her on a boulder.

Moonlight was streaming into the cave and the Hound eyed Tommy's sleeping form sourly for a moment before heading out again. When he returned he dumped bedrolls and few bags on the ground. He nudged Tommy awake with his boot. "Eat before sleeping," he said. He rummaged in one bag and brought out two apples. Biting into one he tossed the other towards her. She fumbled to catch it but it just bounced off her chest and rolled away into the darkness. He made a strange noise at that, almost as if he was about to choke on his apple. She narrowed her eyes and was very close to pouting.

"Do you need help?" she called out before he left.

"Do you know how to make a fire? Tend to horses?" he asked.

"No," she said slowly.

"Then just sit there and look pretty."

This time she did pout.

Sansa sat close to the fire and watched the Hound's face as she struggled to chew the strip of dried beef in her hand. She placed the last bit of beef in her mouth and wiped her hand against her dress. Then she knelt beside her bedroll and brought her hands together, closing her eyes.

"What are you doing?" asked the Hound.

"Praying," she said, casting him a furtive glance. The fire did nothing to make him look cheery. Rather it cast the angles of his face in sharp relief and made him look harsher than ever.

"You really think the gods are listening to you?" He was sneering now, and his voice was hard. "You think they have nothing better to do?"

"I don't know," she said, honestly.

He snorted and lay down on his bedroll, turning his back to her.

Like every night she prayed for her mother, her brothers, and her sister. She prayed for her father's shade, for it to find it's way back to Winterfell. She prayed for Tommy and the Hound as well, prayed that they made it through this journey safely. She didn't know how long she prayed, but the Hound was making soft noises in his sleep now. She considered him for a while and decided to pray for herself too. She asked that he like her, just a little.