Author's Notes: Hello 'possums! And apologies for this inexcusable delay… I have not had this long break in writing since I started almost 3 years ago, and it felt really weird… It was all because of the move of course, but now it is done and I am lounging here on my sofa admiring my lovely new abode, yay!
So here is the continuation of the tale of our three travelers…
Sandor & Arya
"It is fucking madness, that's all it is."
"No it isn't. It makes perfect sense."
"No it doesn't – it is an invitation for trouble and you know it. Your sister knows it too, but she is just too foolish to admit it."
"I'll tell her you said that."
"Not hair off my arse if you do. I have been trying to get it into her pretty head but she is just too stubborn. Never thought you were much of a same, but in this…"
"That's because it is a good plan. We do it before we get to Riverrun and after that there is nothing anyone can do. At least if you two take care of the rest."
"Here, in the woods? On the run? You both are flaming mad to even think about it! Life is not so simple, I've seen that often enough. Been around too many bloody nobles to know how they think. That is not an answer."
"If it isn't, what is then?"
"Nothing is. There is no solution. I should have been wiser and not to get sucked in, but bloody hells! My head has become soft with you and your sister."
"But you like it. I have seen the two of you and it makes me sick."
"Spying on us, eh?"
"No, not spying! But I have eyes – and ears. You really could tone it down, you know. Some of us would like to sleep in the evenings."
"And we don't? We talk, that's all. I never thought I I'd hear that much chattering without losing my bloody mind – but she talks a lot of sense too. Not like before."
"I don't think there is much left of what she was before. She's not nearly as stupid as she used to be."
"She was never stupid. She was just fed horseshit by her elders and septas and maesters and the lot of them. Made to try to please everyone."
"Well, she pleases you now, no doubt about that."
"Isn't that what you wanted? With all your bloody pushing and prodding, trying to shove us together?"
"Har! I did, didn't I? Where would you two be without me? Some would say thank you. Civilised people, that is."
"-"
"I said, civilised people."
"I hear you."
"Bloody hells! You have my thanks, little wolf! Happy?"
"I told you so from the start! Maybe now you listen to me better. So about this thing…"
"Forget about the thing. Hells, I can't wait to see your kin betrothing you to some poor unsuspecting lordling. Poor man, you'd chew him for breakfast and clean your teeth with his sword afterwards."
"I won't be betrothed to anyone if I don't want it."
"Aye, I wouldn't be surprised. Besides, you don't need a lord or a knight. What you need is someone as stubborn as you - a bull."
"Maybe I'll marry a bull then. But a bull of my own choosing."
"Hmmph!"
Sansa
Sansa knew it was the only way. She had thought about all possible solutions during the weeks they had journeyed in the Riverlands, finding their route as far away from human settlements as they could. It was not always easy, Riverlands being so populated, but with patience and instincts of a bloodhound Sandor had found the way. On some days they had not dared to move at all, waiting for nightfall to sneak past settlements. On some days they had travelled brazenly along Blackwater Rush, on others they had diverted from the direct route and wound their way through the hills and across the many tributaries of the Rush.
Sandor had been true to his word. He had patiently answered Sansa's many questions about his life and escapades - not always elaborating on details, but gradually revealing the evolution of an idealistic boy to a disenchanted and bitter man. Yet it hadn't been easy. It had taken all Sansa's patience and perseverance to chip through the armour of indifference and hostility he had built around him through the years.
He never pretended to be something he was not, didn't tame his tongue or soften his words if he thought Sansa resorted to her old chirping. With him Sansa learned a new way of discoursing, as far away from the teachings of her septa as possible. Courtesy was not his armour but his strength and honesty were, and when Sansa argued with him that noble maids could not rely on such things he called her bluff and contested her – and claimed that women had more strength than any buggering knight and only fools allowed themselves to believe otherwise.
She also understood that his loyalty to the Lannisters was not borne from shared values or devotion to their cause, but from the fact that when he had nothing, when nobody had cared whether he lived or died, the lions had taken him in. Lord Tywin had shown a special interest in the burned, sullen boy, and the boy grew up to a man who paid him back with the only coin he had – his loyalty. That the arrangement was as cold as practical neither party had never had disillusions about - his value to them was summed up as the utility of his skills, and theirs to him as protection, rewards and a place to call his own.
Sansa put all the pieces together from many snippets of information he provided, some willingly, some between the lines – and after seeing the whole picture Sansa's heart ached for him and the harsh live he had lived.
"You were never as vile a man as your reputation painted you", she once stated to him – not as a question but as a simple truth. Sandor had only snorted and muttered about reputations being for fools who thought they were worth something.
Yet there were evenings when he withdrew beyond Sansa's reach and sat alone, or times when he growled and snapped at her at the slightest provocation. When that happened Sansa sighed deeply and left him alone with his demons, realising that the Hound in him was not so easily tamed.
In turn Sansa poured her little life out for him, hesitant at first lest he scoff at her sheltered and privileged existence, but he never did. She told him about Winterfell and the North and he asked questions and offered opinions. The first time they disagreed Sansa was initially timid to express her true thoughts, but as he listened to her arguments and responded to them with his own rather than dismissing them offhand, she gained confidence. That this man, so quick-tempered and foul-mouthed, actually listened to her was a rarity itself – Sansa was not used to older people and especially men paying much heed to thoughts of a mere maid. Yet Sandor was different.
Despite their new familiarity and the many hours they spent in saddle, Sansa leaning into him and enjoying the solid feel of him against her back and surrounding her, it took a while before they kissed again. When they did, one evening after they found themselves alone on a rocky outcrop, this time staring into the treetops surrounding them an undulating sea of green and grey, the kiss was hesitant and tender, lacking tenseness and passion it had ended with the last time they had ventured into such intimacy. Sansa was painfully aware that it was because Sandor thought he couldn't trust himself and kept himself in tight check, but she enjoyed the intimacy it conveyed nonetheless.
The following day as they rode beside a small stream and the sun was shining and Sansa closed her eyes and swayed her body in tune with Stranger's gait she suddenly felt Sandor's lips touching the back of her head. It was just a peck, but when Sansa sighed and leaned into his arms, he kissed her again, muttering something against her hair. 'Little bird' was all she could make of the words but that was enough.
Never again did Sansa feel frightened or lacking control – if anything, she realised that she wanted more. Many an evening Sandor pulled himself away from her when she would still have wanted to kiss more, touch more, everything more. When on those occasions she tried to pull him back into her embrace, he only grunted and warned her about playing with fire and stood up, leaving her to watch his retreating back with a strange mixture of want, longing and awkwardness.
Yes, the more Sansa got to know Sandor, the more she became lost in her own feelings towards him. Her mind travelled back to her father's words in King's Landing; his promise to marry her to someone who was worthy of her, someone brave and gentle and strong. At the time Sandor would have been the last person she would have considered fitting those words – and now she saw clearly how he was the only man to do so. He was brave, no doubt about that, and neither his strength could be questioned. That he was also surprisingly gentle had been a revelation to Sansa but now that she had won his confidence she could see the evidence of it every day, in so many ways.
One thing they never discussed was the future, unless it was about the immediate days ahead. Sansa didn't want to bring it up as she was afraid what it would bring – and she didn't want to spoil the magical feeling of being the only people in the wilderness, in a little bubble of their own where concerns of the world didn't reach them. What Sandor thought of the matter she didn't know – and didn't dare to ask.
Arya had been impossible ever since she had seen how things stood between them. Her self-satisfied "I told you so" would have irritated Sansa immensely any other time, but luckily for Arya Sansa was so happy that even her little sister's smugness couldn't annoy her.
To Sansa's surprise Arya didn't even seem to grudge her the time she spent with Sandor, every evening ending up with the two of them huddling by the cooling camp fire. But if evenings were Sansa's, mornings were Arya's, when she and Sandor checked the snares, dressed their next meal and discoursed about the plans for the day.
There were times when Sansa and Arya were left on their own when their companion disappeared ahead to do some scouting. After they had dealt with Arya's initial gloating and boasting about how she had been the one to push Sansa and Sandor together – a claim that Sansa grudgingly had to agree with, but which she was not foolish enough to admit - they spent much of their time talking about what would happen once they finally reached their mother and brother.
"I wish we would leave to Winterfell as soon as possible," Arya sighed one morning when they were sitting on a riverbank, bare feet dangling in its cool waters. The river was just a small unnamed stream, far away from human habitation. Sandor had gone to examine what lie ahead with dire warnings for the two of them to sit tight and wait for his return.
"Me too. I never want to set my foot in the South again." Sansa traced her toe along the surface of the water, enjoying the light breeze cooling her bare skin. The last few days had been unusually warm, which had prompted them for such unusual behaviour.
"And Sandor will have to come too. Robb will take him into his service and he will truly become one of us," Arya exclaimed. Her belief that it was a matter of only asking was touching to Sansa, who was not fooled to think that anything was that simple.
Along their journey they had ran into other travellers every now and then when passing near one road or another or at a river crossing. None had paid any attention to them; a tall hooded man traveling with a young woman and a boy, just a few more of the many misplaced people the disturbances in Riverlands had pushed on the road. They had heard tales of the atrocities carried out by the Mountain Who Rides and his men, and Sansa had noticed how Sandor's jaw had clenched whenever his brother was mentioned. By now she knew that he wanted his brother dead and an opportunity to face him must have been tempting – but when she had later asked him about it he had only muttered that for now he had better things to do.
"He will not become one of us that easily, and you know it," Sansa admonished her sister softly. As much she cared for Sandor she was not unaware of the difficulties lying ahead.
"How could Mother and Robb doubt him after all he has done for us?"
"They may not doubt his deeds and will undoubtedly be grateful, but it is still a long way from there to become a trusted bannermen." Sandor's reputation alone worked against him, and his visible role in the events leading to their father's arrest and execution didn't help. Sansa knew that he had only done what he had been commanded, and that he had changed since then - but the others did not.
Arya shrugged her shoulders. "When he asks for your hand and you get married, he will be more than just a bannerman. He will be family."
Married. Sansa had thought about it more and more as days went by – and to her embarrassment she had to admit to herself that her curiosity about what else beyond mere kisses happened between men and women was a big part of it. Every time when Sandor untangled her arms from around him and chortled about eager little birds, she felt disappointment and frustration that found no outlet in her current predicament. She was aware that her situation was highly unusual; young maiden from a respected house was not supposed to spend time in a close company of an adult man with a questionable reputation. Yet she didn't care, and she wanted more.
"Arya, I know you would like it, but surely you realise that it may not be possible. I am sister to a king and Sandor is not exactly a high lord, and neither can he bring with him lands, soldiers, wealth or allies."
"Who cares!? Without him we wouldn't be with our family and you couldn't be given away for any of those things."
"Robb cares and Mother cares. They have to." And therein lay the difficulty that Sansa had tried not to think. "No matter how good he has been to us, it is not good enough reason for Robb to accept him as a goodbrother. You remember Jory Cassel?"
Arya nodded, her face momentarily clouded by the memory of the man who had been an important part of their childhood, and so cruelly murdered by the Lannisters.
"Father loved him dearly and trusted him with his life, just like he loved his father Martyn. Yet had Jory asked for the hand of either of us Father would have said no. It would not have been proper."
"But why?! It is not fair!"
"I know it isn't. But that's just the way it is."
Silenced by the unwelcomed glimpse into the world outside their little bubble they sat silent for a long time, until the man at the forefront of their minds emerged through the bushes gesturing them to follow him.
Of course it was Arya who made the suggestion first.
"Well, you just have to get married before we get to Riverrun. Then there is nothing anyone can do about it." She smiled broadly, satisfied about having found a solution to their quandary.
Sansa gulped audibly and glanced at Sandor, who stopped in the middle of a bite to stare at Arya. Instead of a snort or a quip to keep her stupid thoughts to herself, as Sansa expected, he said nothing at all and after a while returned his attention back to the charred bit of bird in his hand.
Sansa too chose to ignore her sister's radical suggestion and swiftly changed the topic, but later that same evening when she was sitting with Sandor as was their habit, she asked him about it.
"Well, I haven't even asked for your hand, to start with."
Sansa's embarrassment manifested itself by her fussing about her cloak, arranging and re-arranging it around her shoulders. Yes, it was true – he hadn't talked about marriage or what would happen when they reached their destination.
Just as she desperately tried to think of how to make it sound as it didn't really matter to her, Sandor cursed and pulled her closer.
"I haven't asked you because I know it to be a fool's errand. They will never give you to me and pretending otherwise is stupidity. And even if they would, you would be a dimwit to stay with me."
"I would be honoured to accept your proposal, should you present it." Sansa's voice trembled but she didn't hesitate. The many long hours when she had skirted around the issue in her head, wanting not to think about it but thinking anyway, culminated into this one moment of absolute certainty. Yes, she wanted to marry, wanted to marry him and nobody else.
Sandor's face contorted into an expression of agony and anger. "Bloody hells! I Not asking doesn't mean that I wouldn't want to. A wife – I never thought I would seek to have one but here I am like a lovesick runt fawning over something that is out of my reach. You know it is impossible, why do you have to make it harder?!" His loud outburst was as sudden as it was rare these days but Sansa didn't flinch. She took a deep breath.
"There are many things in this world that are impossible. And then there are things that are possible for those who want them bad enough. Now, look me in the eye and tell me which one this is?" She prodded his shoulder until he turned to look at her.
"Impossible or possible?" Sansa whispered.
Had anyone ever told her that there would come a day when she asked a man to wed her, Sansa would have considered the notion absurd beyond imagination. No, her life path was to be as her mother's had been – her marriage decided by her parents. Yet here she was, waiting breathlessly for the answer that could turn her life towards a completely new and uncharted direction.
Sandor was visibly uncomfortable, traces of his outburst still lingering in his features and in the line of his tightly pursed lips.
"That is not a road you want to travel, little bird. You'll be ruined, people would snicker behind your back and think that a loss of your virtue made you stoop so low. Everyone would see that you married beneath you – and they would be right."
"I will likely be ruined anyway. I know how cruel gossip can be, and having travelled with you for such a long time many likely think me already spoiled," Sansa whispered. "If that is not enough, the word of my treatment in Joffrey's court will leak out soon enough - and what better way to humiliate and disgrace a maid than to take her virtue?"
Sandor flinched. For once it was Sansa who made him uncomfortable and although she didn't enjoy his discomfort, it was a potent feeling nonetheless. She, making the indomitable Hound squirm!
"You were never alone with me. Aye, that wouldn't stop some of the fucking knights I know, who wouldn't give a rat's ass to the little wolf's presence – or worse. But would I dare to come back to your kin having disgraced either of you?"
It was Sansa's turn to feel embarrassed. Yes, some men did horrible things to women and young girls, but this… Yet she wasn't above using every card she had. If Sandor thought her chances for respectable marriage already diminished, he might reconsider his stance.
She tried again. "If we would arrive married, there would be honour in it and I could held my head up high. And I wouldn't care what people say. I am brave enough to ignore idle gossip."
Sandor looked at her with a hint of amusement, his lopsided grin a proof of it.
"Fuck me sideways! So it has come to that a noble maiden has to teach the Hound about courage?"
Sansa smiled. Despite his frequent grumbling and indignant façade, Sandor had a keen sense of humour and as they had relaxed in each other's company, she had glimpsed it more and more often.
However, in a flash he was serious again. "You sure you want to do it? Face your folk and not be ashamed of the man walking beside you?"
"I do. I won't."
The intense scrutiny Sandor directed at Sansa would at one time made her falter and squirm, but knowing what was at stake and having learned more about the man, Sansa braved it without a wince, challenging his stare with her own gaze.
After a long break Sandor spoke. He had pulled back when he had taken her measure, but now he shifted closer and lifted his hand to brush her cheek.
"Then I'll be as brave as you. Never let it be said that I am craven in things that matter." A deep breath, so deep that it shook his whole body. "Will you marry me, little bird? Take this dog as yours?"
Sansa pressed her cheek against his touch and closed her eyes. Yes, this is it. The moment of no return. Nothing in my life will ever be the same after this.
"I will."
Somewhere in the darkness of the night they heard a jubilant hiss.
