Chapter 6:

So Sansa went West, and Sandor went with her. She was silent for an entire day, staring mutely into the mane of her horse, letting the animal follow Stranger, Sandor's enormous black horse. He made no attempt to make conversation, only offering her a walnut when he split one open for himself. She shook her head in silence.

"You wanted to go west," He snapped as he pulled to a halt to make a camp for them, "Now you're going West you're in a bigger buggeirng sulk than your bloody sister was."

"I just didn't expect I'd have to leave her so quickly after having found her again," The sound of her own voice surprised Sansa after having stayed silent for a whole day.

"Well you haven't got to worry about her; that bitch of Tarth has got more precious honour in her thumb than your bloody sister has in her whole scrawny body. She'd have to kill her just to get away."

"I just miss her, that's all."

"You can still turn around and go after them to the wall."

"I'm going west."

"Have it your way, little bird."

She hadn't heard him call her little bird for a few days. It was only now Sansa noticed how she had missed it. She thought of how glad she had been to see him again. He must know I will never be able to pay him for his services, she thought as she lay down to sleep that evening, staring up at the sky, he must have offered to take me out of kindness. Perhaps he is more of a knight than I originally thought. That made her want to laugh. If that's what I really think then I really am just a stupid talking little bird.

What had lead Sandor to offer his companionship she couldn't put her finger on. He probably just got fed up of Arya…

She had decided, by the time they were riding the next morning, that she would make an effort to be a lady and be extremely courteous to him, and speak as if he were a friend, the way she had with Brienne. After all, he was going out of his way to accompany her and undoubtedly protect her.

Just as it began to rain they came upon an inn with smoke rising from its rickety chimney, and she asked him if they might stop as politely as possible.

"Only for a short time. An hour, at the most. Just so I might warm my clothes and get some fresh food."

He agreed without any objection. Obviously he wanted to rest and eat as well.

"I'll get us a room for the night and food. Some hot water for a bath as well. Keep your hood up. Don't show your eyes. I'm your husband, and I'll do the talking."

She glanced up at him in worry at the thought of posing as his wife, but quickly pushed the thought aside. It is for my protection. I owe him this much, at least.

They gave their horses to a stable boy and made their way inside, to see the room filled with burley, drinking men. Sansa stopped in her tracks. The look some of them wore in her eyes reminded of her of the men who had taken hold of her and tried to pull her from her horse the day the mob attacked in King's Landing. She slid her arm through Sandor's without a second thought. He looked down at her.

"If I'm your wife…" She whispered. He said nothing. They made their way across the room.

The closer they came to another man the tighter Sansa's clutch on Sandor's arm became. She didn't let go of him even when he banged his fist on the bar countertop, demanding a drink and something hot to eat. She leaned her head, thankful her face was shielded by her hood, into his arm.

"Y'after a room for the night?" The owner grunted, placing a tankard of beer in front of Sandor and a glass of wine in front of Sansa. She reached out and gingerly took a sip whilst Clegane made the necessary arrangements. Turning her head, she saw nearly all the eyes in the room were on her. Those of the men were, anyway. Sandor must have felt her tension as he suddenly took her by the hand and pulled her away, past the tables of gaping men and up the stairs.

"What if they recognised me?" She whispered nervously as they approached the door to their room.

"That wasn't recognition, little bird, that was jealously."

"Why would they be jealous of me?"

"Not of you, of me."

As he ushered her into the room with only one bed, she noticed in horror, she could have sworn there was a smile on his face.

"A woman from downstairs will be up with some water for a bath for you," He told her gruffly, once they had set their things down, "I'm off downstairs for a drink. Don't open the door to anyone except her or me."

And with a shut of the door, he was gone. Within a few minutes a burly but female voice came from the corridor, belonging to a woman with the largest hips and biggest breasts Sansa had ever seen, carrying a pitcher of hot water for her bath. When she was alone again, Sansa carefully lifted her dress over her head and stepped out of her small clothes. Stepping lightly into the tub, the hot water seemed to seep inside every part of herself, bringing a warmth so welcoming she couldn't help but let out a small sigh with a smile. Cupping the water in her hands she brought it up to her face and leaned back with her eyes shut. She thought of Sandor downstairs, how glad she had been to see him again. And, somehow, how right it felt to be alone on the road with him. She could remember the night in King's Landing she had been making her way back to her chambers, when he had emerged from around the corner, and was blocking her way. How close he had leaned in to her, the way he had inhaled as he took all of her in, and, most importantly, how her heart had pounded…

A sudden sharp knock at the door and the sound of the latch trying to turn made her jump, scattering small beads of water onto the floor. She climbed out of the tub and, finding her gown, pulled it on as quickly as possible, fumbling awkwardly with the sash and hurrying to the door.

"Who is it?" She called hoarsely, trying not to sound afraid.

"Me."

As she looked down to the latch, she suddenly realised that her gown was only half laced correctly. One breast was nearly bare. With a tiny gasp of panic she adjusted it and then unlocked the door to find Sandor standing there with a bitter look on his face.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Bloody cow's piss of wine they've got here." He replied, walking brusquely past her and taking off his cloak and sword. Still in a fluster about her gown, she folded her arms to cover herself and went over to the other side of the room. All she could do was stand by the bedside, embarrassedly staring at the small space they had to share. When she saw him swing his feet up onto the mattress and lie down, she couldn't help but take one step back. He looked up at her with a mixture of annoyance and disappointment.

"You'd better get used to this," He said, "This is how people travel on the road when they don't want to be recognised."

She swallowed. He's right, she thought. If I'm a wolf, a true wolf, I shouldn't be afraid. Into her head came the sudden image of Margery Tyrell, and how effortlessly she had faced the path of the marriage bed with Joffrey. Margery wouldn't be afraid. She is a queen. I am a wolf.

Pulling the sheet aside, she climbed into the bed beside Sandor.