I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. :) p.s. I made a tumblr(finally). Feel free to talk to me there. I'd love to chat with all of you about san/san and other wonderful things that make my heart sing. /celticwanderer

"You can't say a word." Sansa cried into Shae's chest. She lifted her head and looked up into Shae's concerned eyes.

"Please, Shae. Promise me you won't say anything."

"I promise, my lady." She comforted."I don't think anyone would believe me if I did." She joked, trying to get a laugh out of Sansa. It worked, but only momentarily.

"Oh, Shae" Sansa sighed, lifting herself from Shae's lap. She sat as straight as a lady could as the floor. "What am I to do?"

"Nothing, my lady." Shae said, sternly. "The only thing you need to focus on is getting out." She narrowed her eyes.

"I am." Sansa whispered. Collecting herself, Sansa wiped her tears and caught her breath. She stood, straightening her dress. Shae followed her lead, and Sansa lifted her chin, trying desperately to find what little strength she had left. "With Lord Baelish."

Shae made a face. "My lady, he is-"

"My only hope." Sansa stated plainly. "He is taking me to my Aunt Lysa in the Eerie."

"Not to your lady mother?"

"He said it is too dangerous." Sansa said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself. "It will be safer for me there, until my mother and Robb win the war."

"I suppose anywhere is better than here..." Shae said with a tinge of sadness. She opened her arms and embraced Sansa. "Do you have a bag?" She asked, letting go.

Sansa looked around her chamber, trying to remember. "No. They took my bags when I first came here."

"Not to worry, child. I'll get you one. It will be small though."

"Thank you." Sansa smiled. "You have been a true friend. Mayhaps when this war is over, my family can send for you. You will be most welcome in Winterfell."

"I'd like that my lady, but I fear we'll both be old women by the time this war is over."Shae Let out a small smile and bowed before leaving the chambers.

Sansa repeated her words in her mind. We'll both be old women by the time this war is over... After everything that had happened, it was hard not to believe those words, but her father taught her that it is easy to let go of hope, but never to let go of all of it.

Sandor slammed the door to his bed chamber. He looked around his bare room. Nothing but an old stained bed, a small wooden table with one chair, for he had broken the other two in drunken rages, and a dresser. He walked over to the dresser and opened its drawers. One had a few clean tunics, which he threw over his shoulder onto his bed. The next had a pair of brown britches, he threw those onto his bed as well. He searched the other drawers, they were full of useless things from a life he did not wish to remember. He opened the last drawer, the one he had been avoiding for he knew all to well what was inside. He opened it slowly and the leather bound book came into view. Stitched onto the cover in gold was a fair maiden, hair cascading down her back, handing a crown of flowers to a wounded knight whom laid beside her underneath a tree. With careful hands, Sandor lifted the book and blew the dust that had settled on top. He went to his bed and sat down on the edge. The book creaked as he opened it, for he rarely did. A small, flat, purple flower laid on the aging front page. Sandor let his index finger roam the petals, now hardened by time. A piece broke off and fell to the floor and he retracted his hand immediately. He flipped through the rest of the book and stopped at the very last page. He read and re read the words written on the back cover. "To my dear granddaughter, may you one day find the happiness that lives in these pages." Sandor closed the book, holding onto the one possession he had to remember his sister.

After packing his clothes, and book in a satchel, Sandor stuffed the bag under his bed and headed to the kitchens for food...and wine.

As he walked through the corridor, and down the stairs, he tried to think of what he would need. Bread, that could last them a good while, and it was light in weight. Meat, it would go bad quick, but at least it would make the first few nights in the forest an easier transition. Some sort of fruit for long rides during the day, whatever went he could feed to Stranger. And wine. Even if he was carrying more weight than he or his warhorse could handle, there would always be room for wine.

Luckily, Sandor frequented the kitchens more often than not, so it was no surprise to the cooks when he came storming into the room demanding food. He could eat enough for three men, and from what he saw, the little bird ate much like a little bird, so the amount given to him was perfect.

"More wine." Sandor commanded. One of the young kitchen wenches rushed to the cellars with out question. The others kept their eyes on their work, not wanting to be the next target of Sandor's wrath.

One of the plump cooks bent over, her large derrière jiggled as she took the tray from the over and set in on the flour covered table in the center of the room. The sweet lemomy aroma filled the air.

"Are those lemon cakes?" Sandor asked.

The plump woman looked at him, taken aback by his soft tone.

"Yes, ser. They are."

Sandor was not much for sweet pastries, custards, or fruit filled desserts. He preferred salted meats, potatoes and ale. He had noticed that when ever lemon cakes were presented during dessert, the Little bird's face lit up and she always took more than one.

"I'll take four of those." He said, nodding to the fluffy lemon cakes.

"I'm afraid they're for-" The cook started.

"I said I'll take four." He straightened his back and stood tall and intimidating. "Don't make me ask again." He spat.

The cook lowered her head, and quickly wrapped four hot lemon cakes in a cloth napkin. The younger kitchen maid rushed back in the room and handed Sandor two flagons of wine. It wasn't enough, but he didn't have time for any more of their nonsense. He was sure Joffrey would be looking for him soom, and needed to finish his preparations before the sun went down, for their would be guards everywhere. After the cook wrapped the bread, and meat in napkins,

Sandor made his way back to his room. He shoved the food into the sack under his bed, and took a swig from one of the flagons before stuffing them in with the rest of his belongings. The sour red burned it's way down his throat, warming his chest. He always kept his weapons on his person. His sword which had slain countless men, and three daggers. He had to get this bag to his black warhorse, Stranger without anyone noticing. He knew the young stable lads to be nosey, but they looked as if they were going to wet themselves every time Sandor came by, which eased his mind.

Then, I have to tell the Littlebird...he thought. After dinner, when he walked her to her chamber, he would tell her to gather her belongings and they would leave in the dead of night. It will work, he convinced himself. She will say yes...

An abrupt knock on his door filled him with rage. His room was the one place in where he could do as he pleased, and he hated being bothered there. In three easy strides, Sandor opened his creaky door.

"Clegane..." Littlefinger smiled. He wore his usual grey long wrap with a belt tied around his slim waist.

"What do you want?" Sandor hissed. He stepped out of his room and shut the door behind him, not wanting Littlefinger to see his belongings. Sandor looked on either side of the corridor, and to his surprise, the guards Littlefinger usually armed himself with were not there. "Came here all by yourself like a big boy, aye?" Sandor mocked.

Petyr ignored his remark. His smile unnerved Sandor. "Out with it, I don't have all day."

"I came here with a peace offering." Littlefinger tosses a large sack to Sandor. He caught it with ease, the unmistakable sound of coins jingled in his hands.

"Peace-" Sandor roared a mighty laugh. "What the buggering hells are you talking about?"

"I will be leaving tomorrow, and wish to part on good terms with you, incase we meet again. I have heard whispers, of a mountain that moves in the North..."

Sandor's entire body tensed up. Gregor? He hadn't heard any news about his brother since they last fought at the tourney for Eddard Stark. He tried not to let his face give away his thoughts, but when it came to Gregor, a rage that could not be contained boiled inside of him. "What does that have to do with me?" Sandor asked.

"I want to be certain that if I come across Gregor Clegane in my travels, I can send for you to see that he does not harm what I hold dear." He licked his lips. "I know that you would find great pleasure in doing so."

A strange feeling went down Sandor's spine. What he holds most dear? He already knew Petyr had plans to leave with Sansa, and though he was tempted to grab him by the neck and say the only person leaving with the little bird was him, he would let him keep on thinking that.

"Where in the North are you headed?"

"That isn't important yet."

"Aye, I think it is. I don't like the cold, so if you plan on wanting my help, I'll have to know how far North. I assume you're taking the girl to Winterfell?" Sandor asked, playing his game.

Petyr stood quietly for a moment. His eyes bore into Sandor's, calculating his next move. "No, it is not safe for her Winterfell while her mother and brother are still fighting."

"Funny, I would've thought you'd love to be the one to take her to Catelyn Stark." Sandor raised an eye brow.

"You need not worry, Clegane. She will be returned to her mother eventually."

"That still doesn't answer my question, you cunt. Where are you taking her?"

The gleam in Petyr's eyes told Sandor he was amused by his question. "Come now, there is no need to get upset. When we leave, there will still be plenty of young redheads for you to force yourself onto."

That was it. In seconds, Sandor's large hand was around Petyr's neck, and his back was against the cold stone wall. "I never forced myself on the girl, and I'll be damned if I let you lay one slimy hand on her." The thunderous steps of three guards ran to the feuding duo, pointing their weapons at Sandor. He let out a low chuckle. "Too scared to fight your own battles?" Sandor released Petyr, who fell to the floor, gasping for air. He looked pathetic. It was no wonder Catelyn chose Eddard over him, he thought, but chose not to say it. It wouldn't do him any good, and as much as Sandor wanted to throw the sack of gold coins at him, he would need it for the long journey ahead.

One of the guards knelt down, offering Petyr a hand, but he denied it. He stood and straightened his belt. "You're already damned." He said with a scratchy voice. He turned, his long wrap cutting the air, and he walked away, followed by his three guards. It took every ounce of self control Sandor had not to throw one of his daggers into the back of his skull.

He slammed the door to his room and looked out the window. The sun was beginning to fall, and he pushed the anger out of his mind. He grabbed his bag, taking one last look around his room, making sure he was not missing anything. He was never much for material possessions, and besides his sister's book, he did not own anything that held sentiment.

Whenever he saw inside the Littlebird's chambers, he was amazed at how much "stuff" she had. He supposed it was different for ladies. They were held to a higher standard of looking a certain way. They needed the gowns, perfumes, powders, and soaps, but not Sansa. He recalled the morning she had her first moon blood. Yes, her eyes were red from crying, but he thought she looked more beautiful than ever. In her simple blue dress, her hair in a long braid that fell down her back, with pieces coming out of the front. She even smelled good. The oils she wore always drove him mad, but he recognized the way she smelled that morning as something natural. Something completely her. He hoped she wouldn't stay too attached to her possessions, as she would need to travel light. He knew she liked all those pretty things, but she was smarter than the other highborn ladies, and he knew with the promise of seeing her family, she would gladly leave every last dress and jewel behind.

As Sandor walked through the muddy path that led to the stables, the clanking of swords filled the air. Countless men were practicing for the battle. Fools, he thought, they decide to get familiar with a sword the day before battle? He practiced at least four times a week to keep fit and ready. He had to, he was part of the Kingsguard. He watched the two men practising closest to him, it must have been a father and son, they were years apart, but had the same face.

"Keep a firm stance!" He yelled. The two stop what they wee doing and looked at Sandor. Idiots. "You need to keep a firm stance, stop prancing around like a pony, you'll get knocked off your feet. Do you know how difficult it is to stand back up in full armor, with a sword and shield while another man tries to cut your head off?" He yelled.

"What an inspiring speech." A familiar voice sang from behind.

Sandor turned around and saw Bronn standing there, hands on his hips. Sandor growled and continued on to the stables.

Sansa stepped out of the bath and wrapped her ivory silk robe around her. She took her time washing herself with the lavender scented soap. The robe clung to her wet skin. She left wet footprints behind as she walked to her vanity. She untied the string that kept her robe closed and examined her body. The bruises from the riots were fading, and she was almost the same creamy white shade everywhere again. Her eyes roamed over the swells of her breasts. They had grown and fallen a bit from the weight. Her hips had widened, now that she was ready to have children. She looked more like a woman each day. She was started to become less embarrassed of seeing her naked body.

Her eyes went down to the red patch of hair that covered the unexplored part of her. Absentmindedly, she wondered what it would be like if he touched her there. Sandor...she whispered. Would she ever feel his hands on her? Gods, why was she thinking such things during a time of war? She wrapped her robe tightly around herself and sat on the chair in front of her mirror. She started brushing out her long curls

Dressed in another deep emerald gown, and hair styled in a Southern updo, Sansa pointed to the things she felt she would need for her journey home, and Shae put them in the medium sized bag she found.

There was a soft at the door and they froze. "My lady?" A muffled voice called from the other side.

"Hide it!" Sansa whispered, waving her arms around wildly.

Shae looked around with the bag in her arms, deciding on the balcony. She ran through the curtains and set the bag down behind a large pot before running back inside, catching her breath, and opening the chamber door. Bronn stood on the other side, and bowed to Sansa.

"My lady." He smiled. His eyes went to Shae. "Nice to see you again so soon." Sansa's handmaiden was not amused at his words. "May I?" Bronn asked.

"Please." Sansa extended her arm, inviting Bronn inside.

"Thank you." He stepped inside. "Might I speak to the lady privately?" He looked over his shoulder at Shae. "Surely you understand the importance of...discretion." He winked.

Shae looked at Sansa, seeing if she was alright with it. Sansa nodded, and Shae left the chamber, not before glaring at Bronn.

"Need I ask?" Sansa raised her eyebrows.

"It would be best not to." Bronn smiled.

Sansa stood uncomfortably, her hands clasped together. "What can I do for you, ser?"

"It is not what you can do for me, but I for you." He stepped closer. "I am not sure if you have been told the news, but Stannis's army is expected to arrive on the morrow."

Sansa's eyes widened. "Tomorrow?" She breathed. She suddenly felt very light headed. She thought she had more time. Another few days at least.

"Yes, my lady." Bronn started. "I was sent here by Tyrion, we want to know if there is anything you need?" He asked.

"Tyrion sent you?" Sansa did not know what he knew. It frightened her.

"You need not worry. He wants to make sure you return home safely. He knows of Joffrey's plan for you if the battle does not go in his favor, and wants to make sure you are gone."

Sansa believed Bronn. Tyrion had shown her nothing but kindness, but still, it was hard to trust that anyone in this place wished for her well being. She thought she had found that person in Sandor, but realized it was her, and her alone who had to keep herself safe. The first step was getting out of King's Landing. The next would be to rid her self of Lord Baelish. "I thank you for your concern, ser, but I do not need anything. You can tell Tyrion I will be safe and far from this place when Stannis comes."

"That is good to hear, my lady. And I am very glad to see you are leaving with the right person."

Sansa furrowed her brows quizzically. Bronn had warned her against leaving with Lord Baelish, what had changed his mind. Her expression gave her confusion away.

"I saw him heading to the stables with arms full of bags." Bronn said.

This confused Sansa even more. Lord Baelish never went to the stables, let alone carried his own bags. He would be much more discreet in doing so. "Who is it you speak of?" She asked.

Now it was Bronn's turn to looked confused. "The Hound, my lady."

Sansa's heart dropped to her stomach. What was he doing? Was he leaving with out her?

"You say he had bags with him?" Sansa put her hand to her pounding heart "Like he was leaving?"

"Yes." He answered, sensing her anxiety. "I assumed you were leaving together. I-"

"No, I am not leaving with him, ser. I would appreciate your silence in this matter."

"Of course, my lady. I did not mean to offend you."

"You didn't. And I hope I do not offend you if I ask you to leave." Sansa said coldly, looking at the floor. Bronn bowed and turned to walk away. "Bronn..." He turned back around and Sansa rushed to him, pulling him into a hug. "I will pray for your safety in battle." She whispered. The let go of their embrace, smiling at each other. He bowed and walked out the door, parting as odd friends.

Shae came back in. "I won't ask if you won't.' Sansa smiled and nodded. Shae returned to the balcony to fetch the bag of Sansa's belongings. Sansa took the private moment to regain her composure. It was not her business if Sandor was leaving, or whatever it was he was doing. He did not care for her, she had misread their interactions like the foolish girl he said she was.

She was a lone wolf.

Once Sandor successfully tied his belongings to Stranger's saddle, he was stopped by Ser Meryn Trant, relaying orders from Joffrey. He wanted Sandor to oversee the men practicing in the courtyard, and help them if need be. With a gruff, Sandor obliged, not wanting to raise suspicions.

He spent the remaining hours of daylight watching and yelling at the men. Some were capable fighters, the young ones had energy, the older ones had skill. Mayhaps the Lannister army was not completely hopeless. He had heard about the great size of Stannis's army, and the Red Woman by his side whispering the words of the blasted fire God into his ear, maddening the Stag King.

There was to be a grand feast that night, and after the long day of plotting and training, Sandor was looking forward to a well deserved meal. The thought of a nice chicken leg made his mouth water. He was so hungry, he was sure he could easily eat every fucking chicken in the great dining hall.

As he made his way to her chamber, nerves built up in his stomach. The last time they spoke, he demanded a song from her and told her not to leave with Littlefinger. He could barely look at her, but he did not remember seeing anger in her eyes when he did. Only sadness. A look she wore often. He hoped she would hear him out. She had begged him to take her away from this place, so why should he be nervous? He was coming to her with good news.

He steadied his beating heart and knocked on her door. The raven haired handmaiden opened it. "Yes?"

"I'm here to take the Lady Sansa to dinner." He rasped.

"She left earlier, by the hand of Lord Baelish." Shae informed.

Rage boiled inside Sandor. He turned away and started walking to the dining hall. Shae ran after him and grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. Tyrion's whore was brave. "Keep him away from her." She commanded.

Sandor glared at her, and for a moment, Shae was frightened he was going to hit her. "I will." He swore, before he tore down the hall.

The great dining hall was a merry place to the naked eye. Candles hung from the ceiling, giving off a warm golden hue, more so than usual. A band played joyful tunes in the corner of the room. Men drank and clanked their ales together, ladies who dressed up for the affair hid themselves with their delicate fans, trying to decide which member of the Kingsgaurd to give their handkerchief to.

These were the types of events Sansa used to romanticize in her head. She knew nothing of war and the finality of death, so only payed mind to the sweet gestures of a last dance, and token of luck before the men went off to fight. It all seemed so trivial now. Why celebrate when there was sure to be bloodshed tomorrow?

She avoided the long table to the right of where the royals sat, for Lord Baelish's eyes had been burning through her all night. It made her feel incredibly uncomfortable, so she kept her focus on the long table to the left that sat the Kingsgaurd. It was impossible not to notice that towering presence that was missing from the festivities. Sandor. Where was he? She thought. She was surprised when it was Lord Baelish, and not him who escorted her to dinner. Mayhaps Bronn was right, he really did leave me... She forced the thoughts out of her mind, knowing if she started to weep Joffrey would relish in her tears.

Joffrey raised a hand and the band immediately seized in their song. The chatter died down and the brat King stood. "It gives me great pleasure to join all of you on the night before battle." He started. His shrill voice gave Sansa goose pimples. "I am proud to fight valiantly along side all of you tomorrow," He raised his glass. "As we slaughter the Stags!" A loud cheer erupted in the room, almost making the walls shake. Men screamed and banged on tables like wild beasts. Joffrey laughed at the sight. "And soon, I feel we will-" The large doors to the great hall opened, interrupting Joffrey's speech. All eyes watched as Sandor Clegane emerged. Sansa's heart felt like it was going to explode. Gods, he's still here. She wasn't sure how much more her heart could take. "Where have you been, dog?" Joffrey asked.

Sandor stopped right in front of the royal table. "Beg pardon, my king, I was seeing to it all the men have the weaponry they will need for tomorrow so that we are well prepared." He answered.

Joffrey snapped his fingers. "See to it that my dog is well feed, and has plenty to drink." Joffrey smiled and shoed Sandor away. He gave a small bow to the King, and a short glance at Sansa before taking his seat with the other Kingsgaurd.

"Where was I?" Joffrey tapped his finger to his chin. "Ah yes! And soon, after we slaughter the Stags. " Another loud eruption of cheering echoed through the hall, igniting Joffrey's blood lust. "We will kill every last wolf in the Seven Kingdoms!" He yelled, raising his goblet. The other men followed suit.

"All hail King Joffrey!" One shouted.

"All hail King Joffrey!" The others repeated in unison.

Sansa reluctantly took her goblet and drank to her betrothed. The liquid burning her throat. The band continued playing, and the chatter grew once again.

"I trust you are nothing like your traitor father, and will be ready for tomorrow as well?" Joffrey hissed at Sansa.

"Yes, your grace. I long for the day we marry so that I may call myself a Baratheon and be associated with the Stark name no more." She lied.

Joffrey scoffed at her words and went back to his meal. The night went on. Through out the feast, Sansa found herself continuously staring at Sandor. He ate ravenously. Probably preparing for whereever he was going, she thought.

Her eyes went to one of the Kingsguard who stood and walked over to a young lady with hair so blonde it was almost while. He extended a hand, and she blushed before taking it. He brought her to the center of the room and they began dancing to the lively tune the band played. The looked at each other happily as he spun her around the center of the room, and Sansa couldn't helo but to smile.

"Excuse you." Someone said quietly next to Sandor. He looked to his left and saw Bronn, making himself comfortable between him and the knight he nudged away.

"What do you want?" Sandor growled.

"Where are you going?" Bronn asked in a hushed tone.

"What's it to you?" Sandor took a large gulp of ale.

"I saw your bags today by the stables."

He felt Sandor's dagger pointed at his stomach. "Say anything and I'll-"

"Oh shut it." Bronn interrupted. "I'm not going to say anything. I already know everything that's...going on." He looked around, everyone seemed to be distracted by the dancing and loud music. "I thought you were leaving with Sansa." He whispered.

"What changed your thought?" Sandor asked.

"She said she is leaving, but not with you."

"I know, you sodding cunt. I'm going to tell her tonight."

"Well I suggest you hurry, because she thinks you're leaving with out her."

Sandor turned his body to Bronn. "And why does she think that?" He asked knowingly.

"I-Well, I thought when I saw you with those bags that-"

"Gods, you fool."

"Who will dance with my lady?" Joffrey's loud voice boomed through out the hall.

Sansa admired the way the girl's dresses flew out as the knight spun her around.

"Do you like that?" Joffrey asked. Sansa turned to him and realized he must have been staring at her.

"Yes, your grace. They dance beautifully." She mused.

"If I remember correctly, you love dancing."

"I do..."

"Who will dance with my lady?" Joffrey stood.

Sansa froze. The room silenced and the men looked at their King. "Oh come now, my lady wants to dance, surely you won't make her look more foolish than she already is." The men snickered.

"Joffrey, please. I do not wish to dance." Sansa pleaded.

Joffrey slapped her across her face. He cheek burned red. "You will do as I say!" He extended his hand, and she reluctantly took it. He led her to the center of the room where the other couple was dancing. They proceeded to sit back down. "No don't be silly, you shall dance too. Everyone will dance!" He shouted. "The question is, who will dance with my lady? I do not feel like dancing and I don't wish for her to suffer because of me."

Ser Meryn Trant stood. "I will, if my King wishes."

Joffrey smiled. "Excellent." Joffrey smiled, he turned to Sansa and whispered in her ear. "You and Ser Meryn will be getting to know each other very well."

As Ser Meryn approached her with mischievous eyess, he was pushed to the side by Sandor. "Bugger off." He snapped at him.

"Dog?" Joffrey laughed. "You dance? Oh this is too good. Very well." Joffrey handed Sansa off to the Hound and walked back to his seat. "Everyone up, this is to be a night of celebration! Dance!"

The men and women in the room all stood, finding their desired partners. The band picked back up where they left off.

Sansa swallowed hard and placed a hand on Sandor's shoulders. She was tall for a lady, but still, her height was nothing compared to his. He placed one hand on her waist, and the other around hers. His touch sent fire through her body, and she almost lost her breath. He took notice. "You're alright now Littlebird, you're alright" He said under the music. The couples around them spun in circles, and Sandor and Sansa started to dance.