Sandor & Arya
"Wolf-girl – here!"
"The Hound! Did you come to see me practicing my water-dancing? Look!"
"All I see is you bouncing around waving that stick. Don't waste my time - come here, now!"
"You're in luck, Master Forell just slipped away for a second. But he'll be back soon."
"Fuck Master Forell, this is important."
"Well, what is it?"
"Listen to me and listen to me well. Things have gone from bad to worse, you are not safe here."
"What, what do you mean? Where is father, and Sansa?"
"It is too late for your father, the gold cloaks have him already. As for your sister, she is with the Queen and I can't get to her right now."
"I am not doing anything without my father and sister! Where are you taking me?"
"Do you come voluntarily or do I have to knock some sense into you?"
"No! I am not coming! Let me go!"
"What the hells is wrong with you?"
"..."
"Do you think I am taking you to the Queen? Is that what you think?!"
"I… but… you are a Lannister man…"
"Mayhap I am, but that doesn't mean that I jump to that bitch's ever command. Even a dog can disobey sometimes."
"But why? And what is happening?"
"I don't have time for this nonsense, I am too busy trying to save your bloody neck. But if you insist: your father has been declared a traitor and Cersei has ordered him to be captured. All your northmen will be arrested or killed if they are foolish enough to resist. You and the little bird will be taken as hostages. Will you follow me now or do I have to carry you?"
"But… but… They can't arrest father! He has done nothing wrong!"
"Maybe not but that is of little consequence."
"Where are we going? And what about Sansa?"
"I am taking you out of the keep, to the city. There is a house in the Street of Silk where I can hide you. Wait, stop."
"Ouch, what are you doing?!"
"Stop squirming or I'll cut your ear off."
"You are cutting my hair?"
"You are better off if you pretend to be a boy. Good thing you are already wearing breeches. We'll get you another tunic, something less fancy, and you will pass as an errand lad. I'll tell them to assign you to their cook, who is mute - which is just as well."
"The cook? Are you taking me to an inn?"
"Not exactly an inn but close enough. Inn full of wenches. Now shut up and let me cut the rest."
"And Sansa?"
"I'll try to get to her later. It will be difficult because she'll be guarded better than septas cunt. But I try, and I will bring her to you."
"Wait, she may not come with you if the Lannisters are behind this, you being Joffrey's shield. Here, give this to her and she'll believe you."
"The fuck this is?"
"It's my direwolf brooch. She'll recognise it and trust you."
"Fair enough. Now move, we have a long way to walk."
Sansa
If Sansa had thought herself broken by the death of her beloved wolf, what she lived through next was a completely new kind of hell. More painful. Darker. More nightmarish. Nothing made sense and the whole world had turned upside down.
The death of King Robert, the attacks on Winterfell men, Arya's disappearance, the arrests of everyone around her... She had at least still been able to function then and had gone to Prince – no, King Joffrey and Queen Cersei to plead mercy for her father.
And then that horrible day on the steps of Sept of Baelor.
The pain had cut through her like a knife and she had swam in it ever since, in the sea of sorrow that had pulled her under and tossed her this way and that with nothing to hold on to. No mother, no Arya, not even her old septa – only faces of enemies all around her. Joffrey's laugh and the way how the wind had blown his golden tresses away from his perfect face on that day, and how sunlight had glinted in his gilded attire… How was it possible that someone whose heart was so dark could be so bright on the outside? How had she been so blind as to not see before what he truly was, a monster?
The never-ending stream of tears flowed down Sansa's face, finding their way to her pillow. She didn't care. What she had experienced before had paled beside the horror of this very day; her father's tarred head, his eye-sockets blindly staring towards the North as a final insult to his dignity. She had thought it had been bad enough to see him being executed with his own sword – but this. This.
Madness had overcome her and she had sought to kill the one who had caused this horror. She could have, she would have – but then the Hound had knelt in front of her and stopped her on her tracks. Sansa hadn't even felt the sting on her lip after Ser Meryn's blow but strangely she had registered the gentleness of his touch. Like he touches his horse, had flitted through her mind quite irrationally.
And then the moment was over, and she had squandered it.
A soft scratch on her door alerted Sansa from her slumber. She hadn't been sleeping but only staring blankly at the wall. Who can it be? The servants had already been to see her, bringing a tray of food which she had disregarded. She didn't want to see anyone, she didn't want to talk to anyone. I am not here.
The door opened and then closed silently. Of course she didn't have the luxury of privacy, no more than any prisoner languishing in royal cells. She refused to look who it was and expected to hear a loud command or a stern order any moment.
"Lady Sansa." She recognised him immediately – there was only one man who sounded so gravelly and hoarse, even when he spoke softly.
What does he want? Did Joffrey send him? Her mind raced. If Ser Meryn's blow had made her see stars, what would the Hound's strike do? She wouldn't survive it, for sure she wouldn't!
"What do you want?" She hated the tremor in her voice but couldn't help it.
"I'm not here at Joffrey's bidding. I have something to you, from your sister."
"Arya?" It didn't make sense. If they had caught her, why was he telling her that – and where was she?
"Aye, the little wolf-girl. Here." The Hound stepped closer as he spoke and extended his hand towards her. Sansa couldn't help herself and jumped up in her bed at the mention of her sister, and now stared at his extended fist. He opened it slowly and in his huge palm rested a familiar brooch, a direwolf Sansa had seen on Arya many times.
"Arya! Where is she? How is she?"
"She is not here. And she is well enough."
"Thank the gods," Sansa whispered while picking up the precious object with shaking fingers. The Hound waited patiently, keeping his hand steady and only pulling it away after Sansa had clutched the brooch into her own hands. She had been worried sick about her headstrong sibling and feared the worst.
"I thank you kindly for the news – but how did you… I mean, how could you…?" What does he mean, 'she is not here'?
Luckily the Hound didn't seem too dismayed. "Hid her in the city. She is safe there, biding her time."
"Her time for what?" The relief she felt was immediately replaced by a new concern. How could a small girl survive on her own in the big capital with no family or friends to look after her?
"Time for you and her to leave. You'll be going back to the North, as soon as I can get you out of here."
The Hound stared at her almost challengingly. Only then Sansa realised that she was sitting on a bed clad merely in her nightshift, alone in the room with one of the most notorious men in the realm. She noticed how his eyes shifted from her face to her chest and lower. The feel of that gaze made her tingle all over. Dear gods! She pulled the covers higher, up to her chin.
"What…when? Do you mean now?"
He raised his head and despite her uneasiness Sansa felt strangely reassured by his calmness, just like earlier that very same day.
"No, not now. I need to find you a trusted escort. I have heard a man from the Night's Watch has been in the court, seeking for new recruits to travel with him to the North. I need to find him and convince him that it is in his best interest to take a few extra travellers with him."
Sansa shuddered thinking of what means he had in mind. If what he said was true, surely a man of the Watch could be persuaded by reason and by appealing to his loyalty to the Warden of the North? Yet it had to wait; there were things she had to understand first.
"My lord, if I may ask, why are you going into so much trouble to help us? You know that my family is declared as traitors." Sansa was already aware that the Hound was not interested in what other men wanted; honour, fame, land or titles. So why was he doing this?
"My reasons are my own. Isn't it enough that I do this, do I also have to justify myself to you?"
Sansa was surprised at the vehemence of his statement but couldn't give up so easily.
"But surely, whatever your reasons are, and I would not presume to enquire them any further, you will have to leave the court if you help me to escape? Would you join us and travel with us to Winterfell?"
Ha laughed, a mirthless laugh. "The dog's place is with its masters. Not with pretty birds in the Northern woods. No, it will be enough that I get you both out of here."
He turned away then. All throughout their discussion he had stood in front of her in his full armour, his boots still caked with mud from the yard. Sansa was discomfited by his presence but now she found herself distressed about his imminent departure.
"Wait, please… when do I know it is time?"
He turned to look at her over his shoulder, the good side of his face towards Sansa. He sneered.
"Don't worry. I'll let you know. Until then, don't do anything differently. Forget this discussion ever happened. We can't have anyone suspecting anything is amiss. And don't talk to me. I am one of your jailors, remember. My King relies on me."
Then he was gone, disappeared as silently as he had appeared. For a long time Sansa stared at the rough wooden door, her mind filled with a maelstrom of hope, doubt, disbelief - and through all that, still grief.
