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CHAPTER 13

SANDOR

"Ey, wake up! Please, wake up!"

He opened his eyes sleepily when he felt she was shaking his shoulder and found her blue gaze only a few inches from his. Something was shining on her nose…"Look! It's snowing!" she said again and a suddenly bright smile lit her face.

He rubbed his eyes and sat cross-legged to watch her for a while. It was snowing lightly and she stood a few steps from him; her face raised to the sky, eyes closed, letting the snowflakes melt on her pale skin. She seemed… happy.

What a weird feeling to have in the middle of a wood, hiding and running from everyone, he thought. Sandor took his hand instinctively to the wound on his side and ran his fingers over the stitches; realizing he'd developed a habit of doing it from time to time. Happy… he wasn't sure if he'd ever felt that way—maybe when he was a child, before the burnings and the scar, or maybe drinking red wine and whoring after a battle. But she did; she had been happy before her betrothal to Joffrey, before traveling to Kings Landing. After that, he'd rarely seen her smile or laugh the way she was now; confident and relaxed, smiling for a simple thing such as feeling the snow on her face again.

He rose and went to check on the horses trying to avoid her trustful look and the weight of the strange new feelings that overwhelmed him; because he was sure none of them were right. He shuddered at the thought of what had happened last night: the way she had given herself to him without reservations, giving him access to her mouth and neck, and how she had kissed him in return. He could undoubtedly feel her need for him, her eagerness to be with him, and only with a huge amount of willpower could he leave her and stop that madness. Otherwise, he'd have taken her right there in the middle of nowhere, before all of the gods who inhabited that bloody wood, and the little bird didn't deserve that. After that, he had just held her tight the best he could, her cheek over his chest until she fell asleep huddled against him. He shook his head to toss aside those memories; that was wrong, a man like him wasn't allowed to enjoy those kind of things, and he couldn't afford to be distracted by such thoughts, or he could make a mistake that could cost them their lives. But… his lips still burnt at the mere memory of her skin…

He fished around in the rucksack for something to eat and frowned, worried. They were dangerously close to running out of food: there were only a few dark sausages and some hard cheese left, so he would have to hunt as soon as possible—if the snow let him do so. She could be happy because it reminded her of Winterfel, but the snow was surely going to make their journey more difficult.

They went on the road again, only this time further from the King's Road. He wouldn't make the same mistake again; this new way was harder, but safer, and he hoped to find no soldiers for a long time.

The snow fell slightly but incessantly all day long and when it was time to camp, he had to build a small hut, like a lean to, with four sticks and one of their blankets to protect them from the snowfall overnight. Despite the chill and the snow, Sandor got to hunt a hare and after roasting it they sat to eat it under the hut.

"What are you going to do when we arrive to the Wall?" she asked suddenly "I've never asked you."

I never thought I'd reach there alive, he thought. He shrugged: "Don't know. I guess I could still find a northern lord who needs to hire my sword." he said instead.

She seemed disappointed with the answer. "What? Did you think I was going to take the black and fight for your bastard brother? Seven hells, no!" he laughed.

"No! I thought perhaps… perhaps you could stay but… with me…" He looked at her but she was staring at her feet now, suddenly shy. "If I could get Winterfel back I could pay you too, if you'd like… "

"You don't owe me anything, little bird. And first, we need to get there alive, so you better wrap yourself up the best you can and try to rest. Night's going to be hard."

She nodded "I know. Don't worry, I withstand the cold well, I think."

Hope so, he thought. This snowfall doesn't seem as if it will stop anytime soon…

She huddled into her cloak and they lay next to each other trying to sleep despite the chill and the blowing wind. Stay with her… he'd never considered that, but maybe, if she so wanted, he could do it. For her.

The snowfall continued for days and days. The biting cold chilled their fingers into clumsy numbness and pierced their bodies to the bones. Night and day, the snowflakes made a white endless curtain that made it more difficult every day to see beyond a few steps. The ground was covered in a thick blanket of white that made riding their horses increasingly difficult. He still felt strong, but was beginning to worry about her. Even though she never complained, she was paler and thinner every day and hunting was so scarce, he could barely find something to eat. The landscape was like a white bloody nightmare.

One day her mare tripped over a root buried in the snow and broke her leg. Its whinnies of pain were unbearable, but there was nothing they could do to help her, and he had to kill her. Sandor was sure that the girl would have cried having the strength, but she was so weak she remained silent most of the time. "At least we can use her meat," he said. She made a face of disgust and turned so she wouldn't see him tearing into the horse. "Grimace all you want, girl, but I won't starve because you are too proud to eat horse meat."

But that night, when the smell of a thick roasting piece of meat came to her, she asked for a slice and ate it greedily. He didn't mock her as he would do in a different situation—he knew that two days with barely anything on her stomach were too much for her to stand and the horse meat was as good as any other to fill their bellies.

In the morning, Stranger had to carry them both. She seated behind him, both arms tight around him. Nothing else had happened between them since the day they kissed under that tree and he knew it was better that way. But now he secretly enjoyed feeling her body against his back and he stoked her hands over his chest from time to time.

The coughs began that same evening. They were slight at first, but after two days it sounded really bad, until the night when Sansa began to shake and shiver. He touched her forehead: "Seven hells, you're burning, girl!"

"No, I'm just cold… don't worry, it'll pass…" she said, but she was pale and dark bags had begun to show under her eyes. He held her next to the fire and tried to warm her with his own body and cloak, but it wasn't enough. The next morning, her gaze was wet and blurry and she was so weak that Sandor had to carry her up to Stranger and hold her in front of him during the ride. She was huddled against his chest, barely moving.

Seven buggering fucking hells! He cursed. How didn't you notice? She is so proud and stubborn she hadn't even complained. I need to get her to a house or an inn or anywhere where she could rest and get some warmth.

"We are riding to the King's Road again" he finally decided.

"No… please…" her voice was almost a whisper "there could be soldiers… or worse…"

"I'll kill for a fucking roof over our heads and a fireplace. This is hell on earth. You just hold on!" he rasped.

Next to the road there should be more possibilities to find a place to shield from that storm. But although he made Stranger ride as fast as he could over the snow, it took him the whole day to make out smoke in the distance. He didn't care whose it was, he'd kill anyone he met if necessary. When they approached, he found that the smoke was coming from an old ramshackle wooden house. It was might as well have been a hut, but at least it had four walls and a roof. He stopped Stranger outside and picked Sansa up into his arms. "Hold on…" he muttered before knocking at the old door. "Is there anyone here?!"

"Please, I don't have anything…" said a voice at his back. Sandor turned and met a man as old as his house. He wore a threadbare cloak and was thin, wrinkled and toothless "the soldiers already took my animals and my money, there's nothing left, please, ser…"

"I don't want to rob you, man" he roared. "We just need a place to shield for a while."

"I-I don't have anything…" he kept stammering.

Sandor rummaged into his pockets and threw the purse he'd taken from the Frey soldier towards the old man. "Take that, now you have some coins."

The man watched astonished how Sandor gave a strong kick to open the door. The place stunk but there was a small chimney with a fireplace and an old cot on the floor, and it was warm there. He left Sansa carefully on the coat and knelt beside her. She was still shaking and shivering and her forehead glistened with sweat

"Come on Sansa, now you'll get better…" he said hopefully.

She raised a hand but was so weak the movement died half way so he took it between his as she tried to focus her gaze on him: "hey, you've finally said my name…" she whispered, smiling slightly. Then she fainted…