Old Anchor had taken them over a week to reach due to the snowstorms. Untrusting and nervous, citizens of the port town kept a wide berth from the hulking man and the gigantic, black stallion, assuming that the cloaked woman was probably a slave or an unwilling wife. Sansa remained mute, cloaked head bowed in mock submission, to further their ruse.
House Melcolm soldiers took slight interest in the pair, preferring to huddle close to their warming fires as the snow began to fall in earnest again. Descending to the docks, they were able to secure passage on Wolf Lady, ironically, to set sail to White Harbor three days after their arrival, exhausting all of the jewels Sansa had stolen. While residents and patrons alike protested the prevailing winter, Sansa heard her house words echo through her mind, "Winter is coming. Family, duty, honor." Plagued by nightmares every night, she had preferred to keep watch during the night and nodded off in the saddle on their journey, awkwardly resting on Sandor's back during the daytime hours.
Confined to a cheap inn with the few coins they had left, Sansa chose not to question the handfuls of money Sandor deposited on the bed late in the afternoon of their first night, rather expressed her gratitude with a small kiss to his ruined cheek. With the extra silvers, they filled their bellies with warm stew and wine before returning to their room.
Sansa spun away when Sandor, lenient from several cups of wine, suddenly decided to disrobe before succumbing to sleep. Stifling a giggle, she heard the straw pallet shuffle before the giant man groaned, followed by heavy breathing. Sansa dared a quick glance, appreciative Sandor had pulled the blanket over his body, clothes abandoned in a heap. After retrieving a bucket and board from the innkeep, Sansa quietly scrubbed out their clothes, stripping down to her own smallclothes and winding a blanket protectively around her body. Easing herself onto the pallet and making sure there was a proper blanket barrier between their bodies, she relaxed into layers against her comfortable protector. With a grunt, Sandor rolled over and habitually tucked Sansa under his arm. She examined the scarred, naked arm, tracing their patterns with her eyes after Sandor's deep breathing signaled his descent into slumber.
As her own eyelids grew heavy and nightmares lurked, Sansa inched her way out from under Sandor's arm, intending to repair his trousers by the fireplace having obtained a needle and thread during her earlier chore. Clean laundry was suspended from a cord from one end of the room to the other, dark water spots marking the wood floors. Instead of sitting close to the fire, Sansa ensured Sandor was completely asleep before unfolding her wet, hidden-in-a-blanket spare smallclothes in front of the fire to dry. In a relapse of modesty, Sansa could not bring herself to hang them on display for Sandor to see.
Finally settled in front of the fire, Sansa took the snoring man's breeches and worked small stitches in the leg. Absorbed in the final knots her work, the flames grew low and she realized there was no more fuel. Hunched over and straining to see, she didn't even notice the blanket-draped, hairy foot next to her until she was startled by it. "Oh, seven hells, you scared me," she vehemently whispered, refusing to look up at the obviously half naked man standing over her.
"Little birds don't swear," he grumbled.
Sansa chuckled, blue eyes fixated on the tiny sutures, grateful the low light didn't reveal the crimson color that had flooded her face and neck, which grew even hotter when she realized her smallclothes were spread out next to her. Frantically pulling her private wardrobe under her leg, she stammered, "I, ah, yes. I thought I'd repair these before you woke." A quick nod of her head and a curtain of hair hid her discomfort. Sandor had been nothing other than gruff and sour at her since their travels, her only respite derived when his arm proprietorially pinned her in place each night. Any notion of Sandor's desire for Sansa, rooted in the memory of his stolen kiss and the daily proximity of his cloak, had been firmly dismissed by his indifferent treatment. Sansa recognized that she was merely a responsibility that he took upon his chivalrous, albeit buried, shoulders.
"What were you humming?" Sandor pulled the lone chair next to the lady on the floor. Even from her limited vision, Sansa could see that he had wrapped the blanket around his waist, scarred chest brazenly bared. His hand moved across her shoulder, rough fingers brushing her smooth skin as he tugged the blanket up to cover her exposed scars. Yielding to her notions, Sansa laid her cheek over his hand, barely capturing it before Sandor snatched it back. "What are you doing, woman?" he demanded.
Turning her face to his, Sansa's tears dammed. "Nothing, Ser. I'm a stupid girl." Refusing to break his gaze, Sansa blinked her tears into submission. She had just been served her definitive rejection after supposing his silence for thoughtfulness along their journey, his protective arm never affected by the adoration she had anticipated. Days of imagining Sandor's feelings for her, assuming they had been pushed aside for duty, blossomed into rancid bitterness in her soul. Not even a dog would love her.
"The years I wasted," she murmured before she could stop herself. Returning her gaze to the low embers, Sansa anticipated Sandor's muteness and continued. "Every time Petyr touched me, I thought of you. I thought of you running your sword through his belly, through his eye, taking off his head with a single swing. In my mind, you saved me over and over."
"I am not some gods damned knight from your stories!" Frustrated, Sandor stood and knocked the chair over. "Littlefinger raped you over and over and I wasn't there! So quit trying to pretend I'm your savior!" Swearing, he reached down and yanked the repaired trousers from her grip.
"In my heart, in my bones, I swear you are a good man Sandor Clegane." Sansa's voice faintly shook with her proclamation. "Deny me. Reject me. You will always have your redemption in me no matter how vile you claim you are. Your demons only have different faces than mine."
Barking at her to shut up, Sandor shoved past the hanging laundry and plopped onto the pallet. Irately, he dressed and stormed out of the room. Nearby, a rooster called out the nearing dawn just as the slamming front door of the inn rattled the shutters. Sansa tested the clothing on the line, pulling on her gray dress since it was the driest, before collapsing onto the bed.
It felt like she had just closed her eyes when a giant hand gently shook her. "Wake up and eat, now." To Sansa's lethargic ears, Sandor almost sounded apologetic. He had deposited a tray of hard cheese and dark bread with a cup of milk next to the pallet before moving to relight the extinguished fire.
After croaking her inquiry to the time, Sansa was astonished to learn that it was half past noon. She offered her apologies for sleeping so late into the day and was rebuked with a mock. "What else do you have to do to pass the time until we sail?" Pride wounded, she finished the meager meal in silence.
A soft knock at the door preceded a lady's call, "Excuse me, m'lord, m'lady?"
Sandor signaled for Sansa to remain on the bed while he unsheathed his sword as he approached the door. "What do you want?" he hollered.
The door violently burst open, three blue cloaked Melcolm soldiers yelling for Sandor's arrest for Lady Alayne Stone's kidnapping. Steel blades flashed then kissed in a furious pace, the two younger soldiers engaging Sandor while the other pursued the treasure, who had jumped from the bed and towards the fire, armed with her own small dagger. She saw one of the soldiers collapse into a heap in the doorway.
Gracefully spinning through the laundry towards Sandor in an elaborate attempt to keep away from the soldier, Sansa gasped when pain erupted between her ribs. Clutching her hand near the pain, she noticed the crimson stain promptly extend past her fingers before looking to Sandor, who had just impaled the remaining guard near the door.
"Sandor?" she managed to pant before she dropped to her knees near the pallet. She watched, as if in a dream, while Sandor screamed and removed the head of her pursuing guard with one hasty stroke.
"No, no, no," he begged over and over when he swooped her up into his arms and deposited her onto the pallet. Sansa coughed and gagged before he propped her up a bit, furiously swiping his palm at what she knew was blood. "I'll go get a maester," he offered, starting to stand but restrained by his lady's hand on his own.
"It'll do no good, you know," Sansa wheezed, feeling cold and drained. "I'd rather not be alone when I go."
Her knight pressed his own hand onto her own that covered the fatal wound, causing her to gasp in pain and he to roar in agony. "You're strong," Sandor lied, tears building in his own grey eyes. "My beautiful Little Bird, you can do this."
Sansa's body relaxed, unbidden, and through the pain, she was both relieved and sorrowful. "I will never see Winterfell. But I died trying!" she whispered triumphantly.
"Aye, lass. You flew away and found your song, Queen of the North." Sandor had lowered his face to hers and brushed her lips with his own.
Her own tears spilling, Sansa defiantly chastised him. "Don't kiss me out of pity because I am dying."
Sandor pulled her up to him, Sansa crying out in pain. Through the veil of darkened Stark hair, he admitted his devotion while stroking the scars along her neckline. "I'd die a thousand times to hear you say that," she acknowledged, using what little energy she had left to stroke his wrecked cheek. Sansa was glad to know that she was loved in the end as her eyelids felt heavy and tugged close.
"No, stay awake!" Sandor demanded, causing Sansa's eyes to snap back open.
"I cannot," she admitted. Her face twisted in pain, but she strained to make her last thoughts coherent. "Never leave me. Take me with you. And kiss me…kiss me like you love me."
Deftly, Sandor joined their lips while his body shook with sobs. Sansa hated herself for causing him misery but reveled in his tender caress. Burying his face into her hair, the grief-laden baritone stumbled through the words of the Mother's song, his voice fading to silence in Sansa's pale ears.