Sandor couldn't guess how long he had been on the island. He never kept much track of the days. He didn't know how long it had been since he had seen or spoken to another human. When the ship appeared on the horizon, he almost didn't know what it was. He stood on the shore and stared out, watching it. After a moment of confusion, a strange calm settled over him.
"That's a ship." Sansa said, dragging herself over to lie in the sand beside his feet. He looked down at her and wondered briefly about how tall she would be if she could stand with him, but that thought vanished quickly when he realized the ship was getting closer. "I should hide. There's no telling how they could react to seeing me here." So she pushed herself into the water and was gone with a flick of her tail.
The men anchored the ship close to the island. The ship was small, probably made for transporting precious cargos only. A few of the sailors climbed down into the shallower water and made their way towards him, getting slower as they approached.
The look on their faces reminded him of something important. He'd forgotten about being so big and ugly. He hated lies, but he started formulating them in his head anyway.
"You alright there, ser?" asked one of the sailors. "You've been hurt, eh?"
"It's long healed." Sandor replied, assuming the sailor was referring to his face.
"How long've you been on this little island?"
"I'm not sure. A while." Sandor shook his head and sat down on the shore.
"Well, you're a right big fellow." Another sailor said. "Couldn't see the island from out there, but I could see you. Looked like you was standin' on top of the water. I thought I was seein' things at first, but everyone else saw you too. How'd you end up here?"
"My ship caught fire one night and sank." Sandor told them. "I'm not sure what happened to the rest of the crew, but I ended up here. I've been here ever since."
The sailors looked around at each other. "Well, we've got room on the ship. Only about a dozen in the crew."
Leaving. He could leave the island. He could leave right now and never come back. He could go back to Westeros and stay at some inn for a time. He could eat whatever stew they sold there, drink a cup of wine, sleep in a dry bed, bathe in water that wasn't the ocean, and then there was the matter of Gregor… He had put all of his hopes on this when he first landed on the island.
He looked out at the sea and saw her there among the waves, watching.
Could I leave her? He asked himself. Could I truly get on this ship and leave her behind? He looked back at the island behind him. He did not know how long he had spent there. A long time. Ages. It was a sort of home to him.
"We'll stay anchored here tonight, then." said another man who approached from the ship. He was dressed finer than the rest, and Sandor assumed this was the Captain. "We're ahead of our time anyway. Make your choice by the morrow, because we'll leave with or without you."
This could be my last chance. This could be it. Refusing this could mean that I will die on this island, whether it's from sickness or old age. I might be stuck here forever.
Sansa stayed among the waves until night fell. The ship lit up and the crew could be heard below deck. She was quiet as she swam up, and he was sitting on the shore, waiting for her.
She pulled herself up into his lap. "They are so bothersome. I'm not used to such noise."
"Are your people not noisy?"
"Oh, they are. Terribly so." She said. "But I've not been around my own people for some time."
"I haven't either." He took her hand in his, and used the other to bring her face closer for a kiss. He enjoyed kissing her more than anything. While her hand worming down his breeches was nice enough, he was shocked to find he would much rather just kiss her sometimes. He'd always had a hard time expressing himself through words, but kisses were easier. So he kissed her softly then, as soft as he was able.
When he pulled away, she was not flushed pretty like she normally was. Instead, she was so sad, the saddest he'd ever seen her.
"Are you going to leave me?" She asked, her voice breaking over the words.
His chest tightened. Gods, how did I ever think I could? "No, never." And he held her close to his chest as she wept in relief. He held her until the sun rose, and then he sent her back out among the waves to hide.
"Have you said your goodbyes to the island?" asked one sailor. "Are you ready to leave?"
"No." Sandor told him. "I think I'll stay."
"Stay here? By yourself?"
He laughed. "No, I've got company."
They all assumed he had gone crazy in the hot sun. He might have, but he let them think that anyway. It was best that they leave him alone to rot.
Soon they were sailing away. It tore at him that he'd never get to kill Gregor. He felt like he'd regret that for the rest of his life, but he also felt that if he left and killed Gregor in Westeros, he'd always regret leaving Sansa. He had to choose between hate, and a chance for peace.
Sansa had changed him somewhat. Her sweetness took away a little of his bitterness. Her kind words and gentle touches chipped away at the old fighting Hound he used to be. Her songs soothed him. He could not leave her. The hole she would leave behind on his soul would be too big, it would consume him.
As he was watching the ship on the horizon, she swam in from the waves and settled herself against him.
"Your beard is getting long again." She said, running a hand over his jaw, and then smiling shyly at him. "Don't trim it so short this time. I like the feel of it on my face."
She kissed him, and he forgot all about the ship that was sailing away.