Author's Note: Again, these early chapters are only being uploaded quickly because I already have them on tumblr.
Warning: SanSan stuff, don't like the ship get off the boat.
Disclaimer: All characters and the world of Westeros belong to GRRM, not to me, I own nothing.
A Sword with Wings
The pair looked down at King's Landing in silence for well over a minute. Sandor could feel Sansa shaking in front of him, terrified. "You know, King's Landing looks rather small from this far." He said after a moment, "Sort of makes me want to step on it."
He wasn't sure what he was expecting her response to that comment to be, a snort, a laugh perhaps, or at least to stop shaking, but Sansa only let out a soft frightened sob. The Hound bit his lip, trying to be be patient with her situation. She was a woman now, still experiencing her first bleed, which to his understanding made women more emotional than normal, or some shit like that.
He was still a little light headed, from the battle or the wine Sandor wasn't sure, but he knew staying here would do no good. He pulled Stranger's reins taking them away from the view, the pack horse followed his lead. He allowed the horses to remain on the road for a little while, but once the farmland started to give way to trees, Sandor beckoned them off the road.
He'd never admit it out loud, but his offer to take Sansa home had been on a drunken whim, he hadn't expected her to agree. At most Sandor had thought he could get that song he was promised and a good bye. Stannis wasn't a fool, had he managed to sack King's Landing he wouldn't have allowed much harm to Sansa Stark, perhaps he would have given the North the independence they wanted and hand Sansa over to her brother to assure an alliance with them.
Maybe, politics were not his concern, Stannis may have had another plan for the Stark woman.
All he knew for sure was that now that they knew King's Landing still stood, that meant Joffery was still King, and he would not forgive them for running away. The Imp, damn the little fuck, might be able to talk Joffery into keeping Sansa alive as a bargaining chip to get Jamie back, but Sandor knew if he was ever taken back, he would not live more than an hour or so after what he had said last night and that was if he wasn't beheaded on the spot.
Not to mention that he had taken the King's intended queen. She was just developing as a woman, bringing her along did not look good for him.
Sansa was a good girl, she would undoubtedly speak on his behalf and beg for his life, as she had her father, but that would do Sandor just as much good as it had Eddard Stark. His head would probably be placed next to Eddard, if only so she could despair over them both.
To spare them of this fate, they had to avoid being caught at all cost. They still would have a few days at least while the chaos that followed a battle calmed. As the Sworn Shield, Sandor had not left Joffery's side for many years, that might slow the King a little more too, now that he had no dog doing his every bidding. They could get pretty far away before anyone decided to come looking for them.
If they did at all.
There was a possibility that Joffery wouldn't bother, but Sandor didn't want to risk it.
Ugh, he had far too many concerns in his head for how much he had drank last night, it was making his head spin.
The sun had barely come over the horizon when they had left the farm, it reached the middle of the sky when they reached a stream that he had the horses wade down, taking them deeper into the forest. If they were hunted down, their scent would be lost in the water. Stranger obeyed, the pack horse had to have the rope tugged before she came into the river.
Sansa had stopped shaking and if she was still crying, Sandor could no longer tell.
His stomach gave a soft growl, he couldn't remember when the last time he had eaten was, but Sandor did know that he and Sansa had not wasted time breaking their fasts that morning. The Hound shifted a little on the saddle to get some dried meat from a side bag, emergency rations he had stocked Stranger with before the battle in case the war lasted longer than a single night.
He reached in front of him offering it to Sansa, she wasn't complaining, but Sandor knew if he was hungry she must be starving. The Hound could stand go a day or two without eating if needed, but he doubted the Little Bird had ever skipped a meal in her life. Sansa shook her head, "Eat." He commanded loudly, with just enough of a threat to suggest that if she didn't eat of her own will he would force feed her.
That was enough, Sansa took the strip of meat and started to chew on it. She was accustomed to much better. She would have to get used to much worse. Sandor kept his eyes on her, a few bites in and Sansa started putting larger portions in her mouth. She finished the piece he had given her in a few minutes and he gave her a second, his share, but she didn't need to know that.
He'd stocked enough rations to last three days at least on the dried meat, and the farm had some bread they could stretch out. Sandor was also familiar with some edible plants and once they were farther out he could even do a little hunting.
And if it came to it, he had some gold and silver to barter away at a village for food or even a night or two at an inn with soft beds and cheap wine.
Honestly, he could probably take Sansa deep into this wood and hide the Little Bird away for years, and perhaps he would…If Winter were not coming. Sansa probably hadn't noticed, but the nights were getting a little colder, Sandor knew they had get some place safe to wait out the coming Winter.
While concerns about the fact that he actually had no plan, and for Sansa's sake he needed to pretend he did, the Hound noticed that she was talking to him. He missed the beginning of the topic, but Sansa was going on about her family.
"- I suppose if we're going North there's a chance we might run into Robb too." She said, "Or at least someone from the Northern army that could take us to him. They might be wary of you, but I will tell them about everything you have done for me."
Was she keeping some sort of fucking mental list of the things he 'did for her'? Memories flashed through Sandor's head; when he had wiped her bloody lip, given her his cloak after Joffery had her stripped, saving her from those would be rapers, and even taking her from the city… It didn't seem to him like any of the things he had done for Sansa would spare his life if the Northern men decided that the King's dog should be put to death,
Still occupied with his own thoughts, the Hound forgot to listen to the Little Bird's chirping until she asked him a question. He hadn't heard it, "What?" He wanted her to repeat it, but she shook her head, having changed her him. Sandor gripped her shoulder and made her look at him, "What did you say?" He demanded, a little more roughly.
"I merely asked…" She replied softly, but trailed off.
He saw the fear in her eyes, it delighted him, it always did. At least when it was him she feared, he found it amusing. He frightened her, but no matter how much he did, she always had her courtesies, smiles and kind words. She felt obligated to share them with him because she was a Lady, but many of the women in the court did not.
They saw him as a dog, only Sansa ever saw a man.
Fun as it was to see her tremble, he had done nothing to frighten her this time and his patience regarding the question she had yet to repeat was wearing a little thin. Sandor squeezed her shoulder, "Go on…" he growled.
"I wondered if you have any other siblings…Besides the Mountain…" She finally spilled out.
The question took Sandor by surprise, and he didn't answer for a moment. Long enough that she turned her face away from him thinking the answer to be no. "I…" He said with a little hesitance, the Hound wasn't fond of speaking of his family, but he found himself unable to stop himself from speaking. "I had a sister once…"
Had a sister once, he did not need to elaborate on the mysterious circumstances of his sister's death, Sansa seemed to have no interest in that subject, "What was her name?" She asked instead.
Again Sandor was surprised by the question, but his hesitance to answer this time was for an entirely different reason. "It was a long time ago…I don't remember her name." This simple fact that he couldn't remember his sister's name made him angry with himself, ashamed, and of course sad. "Some days I'm convinced it was Jolee…But that might've been a maid's name…Or a whore's…Or maybe it's just a name I like."
"I'm sorry." Sansa said, Sandor didn't answer her.
He didn't speak again for a long time, and even then it was only to acknowledge that he was listening when Sansa started speaking of her family and Winterfell. He could hear the homesickness in her voice, he had only been in Winterfell for a little while, but it had seemed like a very pleasant place to grow up. Not like Clegane's Keep which had more frightening memories for Sandor than good ones.
The Little Bird chirped on and on, Sandor would have preferred silence, or at least a song rather than this prattle, but said nothing about it. After hours going down the stream, he pulled on Stranger's reins again. There was sudden drop ahead, making a small waterfall, and from there the stream became a river. Here would be a good place to make camp for the night, they were well out of reach of anyone who would harm them for now and they would be on the move again by sunrise.
Sansa got off first. She limped slightly, not used to riding for so many hours at a time, but didn't whine about it. Good, her chirping was annoying enough without petty complaints. Sandor had flint and steel packed in the supply bag on the pack horse and there was plenty of wood. His hand brushed something else as he grabbed the flint and steel, though, and he brought it out too.
Sansa found a rock to sit on and look at the river, she faced away from Sandor and he stared at her from behind for a moment. Sansa was a woman now, that had seemed a little odd to him, she still looked like a girl when they were still at King's Landing, yet with her face turned away he could suddenly see the shape of the woman she was becoming.
Sandor shook his head, it would be dark soon, he couldn't still be hungover, could he?
A branch snapped under his foot as he approached, making her turn to face him. She looked from his face to his hands, in one he carried the flint and steel, in the other he held a bottle taken from the farm house. "What is that?" She asked.
"Dye. We aren't the only ones in this wood and no one can know who you are." Sandor replied, bluntly "Wash your hair, cut it, dye it. New clothes…" He reached to his belt and pulled free a knife, the same one she had used the night before. "And this."
Sansa stared at the blade wide eyed that he had it. She had left it in the barn, probably hoping to forget about it, and what she had done, but Sandor knew she needed to keep it. That would not be the only time she would have to use it.
"Cut my hair…?" She said meekly, and a hand came up to touch it subconsciously, she was clearly terrified at the notion of having short hair like a boy's.
Fortunately for her the Hound liked his Little Bird with long hair. "Only a little." he said, "So it's not recognizable, or even, you can't have your hair that even."
Sansa didn't look assured but nodded. Sandor told her to turn around so that he could do her hair while there was still light. He had to undo the braids first, it was a simple hairstyle, compared to so of the others he had seen her wearing, they came out easily enough, but her hair had not been brushed that day or at least not very well, and it was knotted in several places
. Sandor did not know about the hairbrush she had taken from the farm, if he had he would have used it, but since he did not it was available Sandor instead combed her hair with his fingers. Even without a proper wash her hair was so soft and lovely…
Sansa's hair had been the first thing he's noticed when he arrived in Winterfell, so bright and vibrant next to varying shades of brown that her siblings had. Even her mother, who's side of the family she got this auburn color from, did not have quite as beautiful hair.
Sandor almost felt a twinge of remorse for what he was about to do to it.
At the longest, Sansa's hair fell over her small breasts and midway down her back. Sandor pulled it all over her shoulders and used the knife to cut it, deliberately uneven so that it fell not much below them. Sansa made a noise, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. For fuck's sake, she wasn't crying about her hair was she?
The hard part was dyeing it. He had Sansa tuck her head under the waterfall so that it was wet and easy to run his fingers through while he dyed it. He wasn't gentle, his fingers got caught several times, he spilled dye over her dress, and there were places in her hair that were missed, but his hands were completely stained and the dye mostly gone.
When he finished Sandor left her alone to gather fire wood. He returned and the sun had dried her hair enough to see that the dye had turned it brown, a shade or so darker than her little bitch of a sister's.
Sansa didn't say anything to him and instead watched him arrange wood for the fire and grab the flint and steel. Sandor stared the pile and held the tools in his hands for a great deal longer than he should have. He couldn't bring himself to strike the steel and flint together to make sparks that would start the fire
. He kept thinking about what he had seen the night before. The green wildfire, his heart started to pound again and he heard the screams of men being burned alive.
"Do you need me to do that?" Sansa asked suddenly, snapping him out of it.
He glared at her and wanted to say no, but his hands were shaking and he relented. Sansa left the rock she sat on and took over the job of starting the fire. Sparks flew from the flint and steel, Sandor backed away from them, and it took Sansa several strikes to actually get the fire going.
Sandor got up again and went back over to Stranger, getting more of the dried meat from his rations and a loaf of bread which he ripped into two pieces for them to share. He handed Sansa her half of the meal and sat on the opposite side of the fire from her. Close enough to feel the warmth of the flames, but he also tried to stay as far away from it as possible.
Normally small fires like this didn't bother him, the Hound attributed his problem to being residual panic from the night before. Sansa kept looking over his way, but something in his eyes was keeping her from speaking. They ate their meager meal in silence.
Sandor laid down on his side, the burn against the ground hiding it from the world. Night was starting to fall and he had closed his eyes to try to sleep when Sansa spoke up, "How long do you think it will take to get to Winterfell like this?" She asked.
He had no idea how to answer her. On the road it could take well over a month, there was no telling how long it would take off the road. He dodged it by changing the subject, "I have a better question: how long will it be before I get that song , Little Bird?" he asked, she didn't answer, so he demanded it again.
"I don't know any songs." She said, her voice was trembling a little, "I can't remember them. Any of them."
He made a small noise acknowledging her answer and the problem she face. He understood, wouldn't be the first time a caged bird forgot how to sing.
"I promise, I'll sing someday, when I remember." She swore, Sandor made his noise of acknowledgment again but didn't open his eyes. "How long until we reach Winterfell?" Sansa asked again.
She was so naive, so innocent, it was charming in a way. Part of Sandor wanted to give his life to protect that innocence, and yet at the same time the Hound kind of wanted to fuck it out of her himself.
"Go to sleep Little Bird, it will be a long time." He said vaguely.
Sansa didn't press, he heard her get down on the ground and crawl toward him. She stopped and laid next to him, between Sandor and the fire, close, but not as close as they had been that morning. "Sleep well." She whispered.
He didn't answer her again, pretending he had drifted into slumber already. He listened to the crackle of the flames, and Sansa's breathing. The rhythm of each one slowed and he almost thought he heard the exact moment the Little Bird fell asleep. He must have laid awake for hours still himself.
In his head he still heard the screams of burning men. They were so loud he could hear them over the explosion of fires, and from the distance of the wall. But as loud as each scream was, there was nothing he could hear more than the phantom scream of a six year old boy…