Once again thanks to littlebirdhound
All characters belong to GRRM
As Sansa held her corset to her chest, she could not help but feel exposed. She darted her head back and swallowed her relief when she saw that Sandor was holding up his cloak once again. She quickly pulled off her now destroyed corset and shift, letting them fall to the ground, and picked up the worn, brown tunic off the ground, slipped it over her head and smoothed it down her sides. She did not enjoy the feeling of not having support under her clothes, and picked up her cloak to cover herself once again. The brisk cold she felt, was seeping under her skin.
"I am dressed," she said simply, clasping her cloak and fastening the dagger and leather sheath that she had previously discarded. I must look like an awful sight, she thought with a frown and tied the leather straps around her waist. She turned just as Sandor slowly lowered his cloak. She looked questioningly at his furrowed expression.
"What? I put on what you gave me," she assured him, "Just as you requested."
"You can't take your cloak with you girl," he rasped, "It has to stay with the rest of your garments. You can wear it 'til we're done here, but we'll have to find another for you. I misjudged what you would need. Not used to picking garments out for a girl and all."
She watched as he laid his cloak over the log once again. Won't he be cold? She mused.
She stood still as she watched Sandor take his dagger out once again and began hacking away at her discarded skirts and small clothes. What is he doing? She wondered but did not ask him. He picked up her shift and ripped it into two and when he went to pick up her small clothes, she gasped. Her face turned red as he shredded them in half as well. Gods, he is mad!
She watched as Sandor threw the small clothes on the ground and picked up one of the wineskins. Sansa frowned at him. He seems to have some sort of plan, but he is just making a mess of my clothes.
"I don't understand. What is it you're trying to do?" she finally asked.
Sandor turned around and gestured to her ruined garments, "I'm trying to make it look like you're dead. With this stag's blood on your clothes, scattered towards the river, might be it'll stall the search party a while, make them think you were killed and thrown in the river. The current under ice would surely take a person with it and drag it down stream, so I'm going to throw these," he said waving his arm toward the pile on the ground, "into the thawed patches out there."
Sansa looked out to the river, not liking the sound of that.
"I'll drag that hindquarter to the river too," Sandor said as he continued slicing and tearing, "It will make a bloody trail even a fool can't miss. And hopefully they'll take the bait and search far from where we'll be heading."
Sansa watched as he started to pour the blood over the pile of rags, and used his boot smear it. "What if you fall through?" she exclaimed as she watched him. "The ice might not hold you, it's too dangerous to walk on!"
Sandor looked over and grinned, his skin looked stretched on the burnt side. "You care?" he teased with a cocked brow.
Of course I care, though I am sure you would mock me for it. You saved me once before, long ago, and for that and your cruel words that helped build my armour, yes, I care, she thought.
"Or might be you just need me to get you home, is that it?" he asked as he advanced closer. Sansa took a step back, but stilled when he gripped her chin in his hand, though not ungently.
Instantly, she was taken back to the first time he gripped her chin and how angry he had been long ago:
There's a pretty for you. Take a good long stare. You know you want to. I've watched you turning away all the way down the Kingsroad. Piss on that. Take your look.
Sansa looked at him carefully now, though this time, she noticed, there was no anger. His grip is not of iron, but gentle, he does not reek of wine, and his eyes...his eyes are...different now.
"Don't worry about the likes of me, little bird, I'll get you home one way or another," he said with some reassurance in his voice, "and not a scratch will befall you."
Sansa stared up at him, puzzled at his words and actions.
"I don't understand. Why you are doing this for me? I have nothing to give you, I don't even know what will happen once I get home to Winterfell. All I know is that I have no one left in the world. No one. And here you are, trying to reassure me that I will be safe and get home. What is it you gain, Sandor? Since my father was beheaded, I have not known who to trust, putting my life and safety into empty promises. Don't promise me something you can't deliver," she said with a shaky voice.
Sansa could feel a strange emotion building up inside her, she could not grasp what it was, but as she said these words she knew, deep inside, that he wanted nothing from her; that despite his cruel ways and uncouth mouth, he would never hurt her. Deep in her heart, she knew, but with all she had been through she needed to hear from him, again, that he would not hurt or use her to gain something for himself.
Sansa stared up at him waiting for an answer. She looked him straight in the eyes and for a second she thought he might not be able to meet her gaze. He glanced away as he removed his hand from her chin and ran his hand over his face. He shook his head and let out a deep breath, and looked at her.
"Might be I'm doing all this," he gestured between her and the mess on the ground, "because, just maybe, I need to do something right for once. I'm not going to stand here and confess all these feelings to you. Just know that I want nothing in return and that maybe seeing you back home is enough for me. If you remember little bird, I, too, have nothing left. I have no honor, I have nothing but this," he stated simply, patting the sword on his side.
Sansa felt her eyes fill up with tears. No one, except him had ever spoken so plainly with her, and she nodded her head. She grabbed his hand and held it tightly.
"Thank you," was all she could say and then quickly dropped his hand.
"Don't be quick to thank me just yet, we're not finished here, and our journey's just beginning." Sandor retorted with a heavy tone, handing her the wineskin.
He walked over to Stranger and untied a bundle from his saddle, heaving it over his broad shoulder with a grunt. He walked back and climbed over the log once again, throwing the bundle on the ground, and quickly removed the cover exposing the leftover remains of the stag. It looked as though much of it was taken off and there was not much left of its hide, just the occasional patch near the hooves. Sandor grabbed a handful of the stained garments and the hind leg tightly, and started pulling it toward the river. He stopped after several steps, frowning at the lack of blood and reached for his dagger to slit fresh gashes into the meat.
"Throw me a skin, this meat is mostly frozen and it's not leaving enough blood for my taste."
Sansa picked up the wineskin that had not yet been opened, checked to make sure the plug was tightly secure, and threw the skin, feebly missing Sandor by several feet. Don't even start, she thought as Sandor shot her a glare and stomped over to retrieve it.
"Might be you need lessons in throwing along with killing, little bird," Sandor muttered to her, "Your septa wasted her time teaching you courteous ways when all along a lesson in daggers and arm strength would have gotten you a lot further." He grabbed the skin and proceeded to cover the meat with blood, and started down towards the river once again.
Sansa watched, almost in amazement, at the ridiculous sight in front of her. Gods, what goes through his mind, she wondered. She watched as he pulled the meat behind him, now leaving a clearer trail. Enough for someone unawares to think that maybe a body was dragged to the river, and strewn garments might make one think I was...
Sansa did not even want to think the word, and shuddered, remembering the riot in King's Landing. Thank the gods he found me, else I surely would be dead. Or worse.
Her eyes softened slightly as she watched Sandor work.
He is such a strange man. He hates knights and nobility and yet, here he is, doing this for me, all because he had a hunch that Littlefinger's bastard daughter was me. I wonder why, though. What will become of Mya and Lothor? Do they know who I am and were they just playing along? Though I do hope that nothing harmful befalls them.
She gazed at him as he threw bits of garments behind him and made his way closer to the river.
He looks better than I remember him from Kings Landing or my dreams. He was always so angry but now,' she thought as she watched him hoist the carcass, he looks relaxed, and so strong, as though this is something he does everyday.
She watched him struggle across the ice and dump the hindquarters into the thawed hole.
Be careful, she almost cried, her hand flying to her chest. She watched as it seemed to disappear under the ice. If only it was that easy to just disappear, she thought sadly.
Sansa gasped suddenly. She could hear the loud groan of the ice giving way. She did not know what to do and started to run towards the river. Sandor did not move, but held up his hands to stop her. Sansa did at once. With wild panic in her eyes, she watched as he carefully laid himself down, spreading his large form over the ice. Slowly, he dragged himself over the ice towards the shore. When he was close enough, he quickly stood up, and took a few more steps. He grinned at her, as if to mock her earlier threat of danger.
Of course I worry for naught, and he just grins at my concern…
Suddenly, a large cracking sound startled her, and his next step landed him knee deep in the icy, shallow water.
"Fuck!" Sandor cursed, hauling himself out of the water and stumbling to the shore. He glanced back around and surveyed the river momentarily before walking quickly towards Sansa, his leg having a more pronounced limp this time.
Sansa's heart dropped. She saw how soaked he was and knew that the situation could turn dire.
No, she thought and went to go meet him, but again, he held up his hand to stop her and she waited until he was beside her. He looked at her, hard, his mouth grim.
You knew I was right, but, of course, you will never admit, she thought. Her eyes widened as his large hands came up and grasped her cloak, lingering slightly longer than necessary. He cocked his head at her and ripped the clasp that held her cloak closed, brushing it off her shoulders. Sansa stared up at him with a frown and quickly went to fold her arms across her unbound breasts. She tried to back away when he grabbed her and picked her up quickly with a discomforted grunt. One strong arm under her knees, the other around her upper back, holding her close.
Sansa gasped. "What are you doing?" She yelped as she struggled to get down, kicking her legs. Suddenly, she felt really high up, and she felt his arms tighten around her. He started towards Stranger, stopping near the log to grab his cloak and wineskins. She had no choice but to press closer to his chest and cling tighter to his neck when he let go with one arm and bent down to grab them.
Oh by the gods, please don't let him feel my breasts against him, she thought suddenly. He passed the wineskins to her and she clutched them with both hands using her arms to steady herself as he grabbed the roughspun sack that had held the animal meat, and brought his arm tight under her arms. On the other side of the log he stopped and looked down at her. His mouth turned up in a smirk and he flicked his eyes up and down her flushed face.
"Not the true knight you were looking for, little bird, but you're better off with me," he rasped briskly. "Had to carry you. How strange would it be to see two sets of footprints, one being as tiny as yours, walking away from that bloody mess, hmm?"
He hoisted her up sitting her side saddle. Sansa clutched the saddle's pommel tightly. She looked at Sandor fearfully as Stranger started to snort and turn his head in her direction. This horse is large, fitting for the rider, she thought nervously. His eyes are wild just like his masters used to be.
Sandor gently patted Stranger's rump, and quickly grabbed the wineskins from her hand and roughly stuffed them into the bag. He rolled it up into a small bundle and tied it to the back of saddle. Sansa noticed his breeches were now crusted in snow and ice, and she looked down at him worriedly.
"This is not good," she said, a hitch in her voice. "You are going to freeze now that you are wet. I told you not to go on the ice. It was not safe and now look, you are going to freeze," she repeated.
Sansa furrowed her brow as he threw on his cloak and hoisted himself on to Stranger. She felt her face grow warm when he pulled her closer and wrapped his cloak around her frame. She could feel the saddle's pommel digging into the outside of her upper thigh. This is going to be uncomfortable, she thought. Whether she was referring to the arms holding her close or the pommel that was soon to rub a hole through the side of her breeches, she did not know.
"Why don't we take my horse?" she asked as they passed the three horses that lazily watched them.
"Don't need to attract more attention than I already get. Chances are someone would recognize your horse. How would I keep warm, besides?" Sandor asked, bending over so his mouth was close to her ear and she could feel his whiskers brush her cheek, causing her to shiver.
Sansa tried not to blush at his words and turned her head so he could not see the side of her face.
She glanced over at the basket with the leftover food and wine, sitting abandoned, and spotted the blanket. As if he could read her thoughts, he nudged Stranger in that direction and slipped off quickly. He looked inside and quickly handed it to Sansa. Then he shook the snow off the underside of the blanket, rather violently, and mounted again, tucking it over his lap, hoping to keep his legs warm, she supposed.
"Its not going to work. You will have to warm yourself faster," Sansa warned.
Sandor shrugged and reached around her waist to flip the basket open, and retrieved the skin of Arbor gold. He took a long swig and made a disgusted face.
"Sweet wine; the downfall for many great men. Drink too much of this shit and all a man's secrets will be spilled." He tipped his head back and finished the skin off in one gulp.
Sansa tugged on his arm urgently. "You are not from the north, you don't understand the cold. You cannot go with wet clothes. I've seen it before and it is not long before a man is lying dead from shock. You said you want to help me, well, how is your being dead going to help?" She asked frantically, still pulling on his arm. "You must take off your breeches."
She stared puzzled at his sudden grin. This man! One moment he is growling and snapping at me like he hates me and then next he is grinning. We have only been in each others company for less than an hour, I'm to put my life in his hands, and he grins at this situation.
"You want me to remove my breeches, little bird? What should I wear, hmm? Might be I'll wrap this blanket, here, around my waist and wear it as a pretty skirt." He retorted, laughing at her as he lowered the wineskin and threw it across the snow.
Sansa gritted her teeth. She could feel herself flush again, despite the cool air, and turned away.
"Then go," she hissed, "go, ride away, but you will be thinking of my words when you freeze to death." She glared back up at him. His eyes looked amused though he did not smile.
"You're bold, I'll give you that girl," he rasped quietly.
You bring it out, she thought. He can listen to me for once. I am not backing down.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Finally Sandor looked away towards the cabin and pursed his lips together. "Right," he muttered under his breath, nudging Stranger towards the cabin door. "Not a peep from that little mouth, understand? Hopefully they did not hear us before."
Sansa nodded. I've won this time, she wanted to admit to him, but decided against it.
Sandor halted Stranger near the door and swung down. He wordlessly pointed his finger to Sansa and handed her the reins, pulled his cowl over his face, and threw the cabin door open, slamming it behind him. Sansa sat nervously, her legs hanging off Strangers side, she slowly tucked them closer towards the stirrups. I don't need him biting me, she thought. She hesitantly patted his neck carefully, ready to pull her hand away quickly. Stranger just snorted loudly and shook his mane. You like this? You are just like your master, ready to bite but stayed by a gentle touch. She looked up at the cabin door as she scratched him behind the ears.
I hope they are all right in there. Sandor said he did not kill them, but still, what will happen to them? Sansa closed her eyes tightly and clutched the reins in her hand. She said a prayer to the mother, asking her to watch over her friends, but her prayers were instantly interrupted when Sandor emerged. He stepped out and took a quick glance back again. He shut the door behind himself and hoisted, once again, atop Stranger.
Sansa noticed that he had on Ser Lothor's pants. They seemed to fit, though it was hard to tell with his cloak and tall boots. He must have taken his stockings too, but his pants will be short like mine, she mused, hiding a slight smile at the thought.
Sansa could not help but break out the smile when he looked down at her and turned Stranger around. "Lets get you out of here, little bird," he said his growling voice in her ear as he pulled her under his cloak and into the warmth of his chest.
