Author's Note: This is the first chapter I'm posting simultaneously with my updates on tumblr, so for those of you who've been reading this is approximately how often I update, I sometimes go longer or shorter.

Warning: Language, some implied sexual thoughts, violence

Disclaimer: All character except the three men at the end are GRRM's creative property, I only have the losers.

A Sword with Wings

Arya was not pleased when she awoke to find herself being carried away from the Brotherhood, and even less pleased to find out that they had left her friend Gendry behind. Sansa had tried to explain that it had been Gendry's choice to stay with them, Sandor tried to explain that his horse wouldn't carry that many. Even now, Stranger only put up with them because Sansa and Arya were both so light.

"We will need another horse eventually." Sandor said.

"Then why didn't you take one when we were with the brotherhood?" Arya answered defiantly, "We could have taken one and been gone, all four of us!"

"There any wasn't time, or any need." Sandor replied roughly, growling over Sansa's shoulder to Arya, "The cunts already had Stranger packed and ready to go for me, it would've taken too long to get another horse ready."

The argument seemed to go on forever, Arya completely and fully convinced that there was something they could have done to bring Gendry with them, while Sandor remained set in his belief that there was nothing they could have or should have done. It was Sansa's job to mediate them, and even her good manners were wearing thin quickly.

"Consider yourself lucky." Sandor said after a few minutes of blessed silence when Sansa had finally snapped at them both to just drop it. "If we hadn't brought you with us, you would've tried to escape yourself, wouldn't you? You don't want to be on your own out here. Someone worse than me would find you."

"There's no one worse than you." Arya answered bitterly, Sandor rolled his eyes at her. He'd killed more men, women and even children than he cared to count under orders from Joffery and the Lannister family. He never regretted any of their deaths until now, and even then, he felt no real remorse for the damn butcher's boy. Just a sense that his death was going to continue to be unnecessarily brought up.

Sansa opened her mouth to tell Arya to watch what she said, but Sandor spoke faster than she did, "You never knew my brother," He snorted, thinking back on the many crimes Gregor had committed, under orders or not."Once killed a man for snoring."

He remembered, almost randomly, that Arya had been there the day Ser Gregor had killed Ser Hugh at the tourney, but Sandor couldn't recall if the little Wolf bitch had been present when Ser Loras had nearly been killed by him as well. Arya had probably not seen how Sandor had stepped between his brother and the knight of the flowers when all anyone else could do was gasp. Sansa would have said he was brave.

Sandor shoved the thought aside and continued, "There's many men worse than me. Men who like to beat little girls. Men who like to rape them" Sansa stiffened in her seat, obviously remembering what had almost happened to her during the riot of Flea Bottom. Sandor scooted a little closer to her, "Go on, Little Bird. Tell your bitch sister how I saved you from some of them." He commanded into her ear.

Arya turned around surprised, looking passed Sansa to the Hound, "You're lying." She accused.

Sansa spoke with a wavering voice that Sandor recognized as her trying not to cry, "No, it's true. A mob in Flea Bottom. He was the only one who came back for me." Arya finally looked at her and saw the horror on her face.

"They would've taken her if I hadn't found her." Sandor said calmly, "Taken her every which way and left her there with her throat cut open."

"Please stop." Sansa whimpered, she could smell the ground her face had been pressed into, feel the greasy bodies of her attackers, she even heard the whisper, have you ever been fucked little girl?

Then she heard his voice, almost uncharacteristically gentle after he slaughtered the men that had attacked her. You're alright now Little Bird, you're alright...

"And you wouldn't, given the chance?" Arya snapped, without any regard to Sansa's discomfort.

Not that Sandor was any better. "Little Bird, tell your sister how many opportunities I've had to fuck you senseless." He ordered.

"What?" Sansa gasped around fierce beating of her heart.

"Exactly." He said sternly, as if this ended the discussion, suddenly Sandor let go of the reins and wrapped his arms around Sansa's waist, pulling her back against him so her rear was pressed against his groin. Sansa gasped and struggled, Sandor only gripped her tighter to further his point. "Any night out on the King's Road I could've. In any dark corner of the Red Keep, I could've finished what your would-be rapers started if I wished. Or the night we left King's Landing, any other man would've been waiting on your bed just to fuck you and leave. I could've even snuck into your room all the way back in Winterfell if I wanted, had my way with you, and there's nothing you could do to stop me."

Sandor's lips were next to her ear, his nose in her hair, he could smell tears dripped over Sansa's flushed cheeks. The muscles in his belly tightened and he felt heat rising to his own cheeks as she gasped in his harsh grip. He be lying if he said the thought of having Sansa hadn't crossed his mind more than once. The Hound wasn't exactly sure when those thoughts had started, but he was careful never get too attached to his fantasies.

"You wouldn't." She mewled.

No Little Bird, I won't hurt you.

Sandor released her just as suddenly as he had grabbed her, "No, I wouldn't." He said, with that same surprisingly gentle tone he'd used when he had saved her, and again when he promised not to hurt her. Still as soon as she was released, Sansa scooted forward, as far away from him as she could get without knocking Arya off the horse, or falling herself.

Sandor only chuckled and slid off Stranger's back to walk. Sansa had once asked him if he found joy in scaring people, to which he'd responded with the truth: no, he enjoyed killing people. Scaring Sansa though? That was fun from time to time. The way she got flustered when she tried to redirect his cruelties with some courtesy she had be taught and her eyes flickered when she was uncomfortable. It was a delight. Unlike Joffery, however, Sandor knew when the line had been crossed and put some distance between himself and the Little Bird whenever he took the game too far, like just now.

Stranger's ears flattened and he gave an irritated nicker, Sandor stroked his nose to assure the beast that it was alright for the girls to be on his back without him. They'd better find another horse soon, Sandor had no intention of walking all the way to the Twins, and he wasn't hopeful that Stranger would tolerate the girls that long.

There were a few more minutes of silence before the Little Bird started chirping again. Damn the girl for not being able to stay quiet, but bless her for having an almost magical ability to talk about something different between each period of silence, unlike her sister who seemed dead set on turning every conversation into one about the butcher's boy.

It was quiet tempting to leave Arya tied to a tree somewhere and tell Robb and Catelyn where they could find her once Sansa was safe.

The Little Bird chirped about her mother and brother, what she had heard from the Brotherhood without Banners about them and Winterfell. Sandor didn't like what he was hearing, but didn't care enough to change the subject. Although, among the things Sansa said was a plan the Brotherhood had spoken of to sell the Stark sisters to their family in order to fund their efforts. That didn't sound like a bad idea.

He voiced this opinion as an attempt at a joke, the results were -of course- the reason he didn't tell jokes. "I can't believe after all we went through to get away from the Brotherhood, you're just going to ransom us away for money, just like them!" Arya pouted.

"So it is 'we' now is it?" Sandor taunted, "And I only plan to sell one of you. Sansa goes home for free."

"What?" Arya turned her head, "Why are you selling me, but not my sister."

"Because I like your sister." Sandor responded plainly, and his face darkened as he continued "I don't like you."

"Beside, you didn't do anything." Sansa said suddenly, "If you remember, you didn't want to come. I think the Hound's perfectly justified if he wants to be paid a little for putting up with you." She played along with teasing Arya.

"More likely I'd like to be paid for bringing her home in one piece once this is over." He replied, "I'm still going to need more than what you managed to steal out from the Brotherhood when I get you to your family, provided we don't spend it all in next town we reach."

He could appreciate Sansa's attempt to be useful. Stealing money from the Brotherhood? He knew grown men who didn't have the balls for that. She hadn't gotten nearly enough to cover what had been stolen from him. It was a good attempt though, and Sandor let her bask in the pride of her meager accomplishment.

But what the Little Bird failed to realize was that the gold and silver did them absolutely no good.

Sandor didn't know where they were, or when the next time they'd see a place to spend money would be. What good did it do to have some shiny coins when there was nothing to spend it on? Perhaps this was his fault for making such a big deal about his gold, it was more an issue of pride and anger that the Brotherhood had taken what was rightfully his than any immediate need for it.

What they needed was food. He didn't know what had become of the pack horse after he'd sent Sansa off, but without the supplies it had been carrying they were vastly under prepared for the journey ahead. A tavern with cheap wine and even cheaper food would be a welcome sight right about now. Especially the wine, gods, he needed a drink.

While his thoughts were occupied with concerns about what he needed to do, Sandor's concentration broke just long enough to note that Sansa's chirping had continued without him. And she was chirping about him now, trying to convince her sister that he wasn't a monster, by telling her how they had come to be captured by the Brotherhood to begin with.

Her compliments were a little flattering at first, but as Sandor listened, flattery became embarrassment and then quickly gave way to annoyance. She was overpraising him, giving too much credit to his cleverness, and speaking too highly of his honor. Fuck all that. He'd said what he said because it was the truth, and he'd hoped to stay alive, and if not, at least die quickly for mouthing off to them.

Sandor didn't want to hear anymore of this, but wasn't really in the mood to protest, so his face molded itself into his usual dark scowl as he turned back toward the girls. His glower spoke for itself, and ended the discussion quickly. It would only be a matter of time before the Little Bird started chirping again, he knew, she always had something to say. He wasn't in the mood to try and get her to sing though.

The last few days were an absolute blur to him. Sandor wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, a day, a few days, a week, he didn't dare ask. All he remembered was a quickly fading dream of Sansa sitting at his side singing a song to him. It had to be a dream, he was sure. His Little Bird didn't know any songs any more, she'd said, stuck in her cage too long.

While the three of them remained quiet, Sandor took a moment to think about why he wanted to hear her sing. He didn't really, he never cared for songs, and his initial request to hear one, a song about knights and fair maidens...He'd been mocking her at the time, but since then this silly promise of a song had become engrained in his head like a rope pulling a drowning man to shore.

"What do you intend for yourself after this is finished, my lord?" The Little Bird was chirping again.

The question caught him off guard, and Sandor had to think for a moment when he realized that he had no plan for after. His thoughts were focused entirely on protecting Sansa, keeping her alive and returning her to her family. He wasn't thinking beyond that point, as if that was his single purpose in life, get Sansa home even if the act of doing so killed him.

Sandor's silence ticked on beyond the point where he could pretend he already had something in mind, and he answered as calmly as he could. "I don't know...Perhaps I'll go over to the Free Cities... become a sellsword or bodyguard for some rich family." That wasn't a plan, the girls could probably tell he hadn't thought about it until now.

It was odd, Sandor realized, that he was suddenly so determined to get Sansa to safety that he had no regard for his own life to the point where he literally did not see himself living past achieving that goal. Even his life's desire to kill his brother, or at least live to see Gregor killed, didn't seem to matter that much anymore.

"Robb could use all the swords he can get." Sansa offered suddenly. Or maybe not so suddenly, Sandor hadn't really been paying attention. "You could join the Stark army."

"He's a Lannister man." Arya snorted, "Or has been one long enough that Robb would never take him."

"Hate to agree with the Wolf Bitch, but I doubt your brother would trust me on his side even if you did plead for my case." Sandor added, "And I'm tired of taking orders from older families." Actually he was just tired in general, not that he needed sleep, but just tired, like some weight had been bearing down on him his whole life and he'd only just now noticed.

Sansa didn't seem to want to accept that though, "But he'll want to send some men to retake Winterfell." She said, "You brought us this far, we- or at least I- could probably convince him to let you stay on as my guard when we go home."

The Little Bird seemed dead set on this idea of keeping him around, Sandor shrugged but didn't say anything. Living to be Sansa's bodyguard seemed like a much better idea than the complete void of nothing he already had planned. Other than a few protests from Arya about not wanting anything to do with him, the conversation dried up after that.

He wondered what the Little Bird would chirp about next.

It was Arya that first commented about a foul smell in the air, Sandor hadn't noticed it at first, but knew the scent: Something dead. Sansa covered her nose to it immediately, Stranger continued forward as unbothered by the smell of death as his rider, and Arya piped a a curious remark. Sandor didn't share her curiosity, a dead animal probably, carrion left over from some larger beast's kill.

He pushed some branches out of the way and found the source, a dead horse, ripped and eaten at by wild animals. Just like he thought. Stranger continued to be unbothered by it and Sandor was about to press on without a second thought to it, until he noticed the tattered packs strapped to the horse.

The dead mare was the very same one that he and Sansa had brought along with them from the farm. Upon realizing this, he let go of Stranger's reins and stepped over to see if there was anything salvageable from the pack. The bag itself was in pretty decent shape, it was torn at the edges and something had gotten in, but it would hold together.

Supplies were scattered across the ground, most of it unusable now, and all the food had been eaten, but Sandor did manage to find the whetstone, some spare knives and a small pot they could use for stews. Most of Sansa's dresses had been torn to pieces, but he did find one with a hood that she could still wear. There was some good rope, a small fishing net and flasks for water too.

Sandor packed each salvageable item into the bag carefully, looking for one item in particular. Sansa had brought a doll with her when they'd left the Red Keep. She had still been holding it the next day when he told her to look for things around the farm that they could use. He assumed she had packed it into the bag with the things she had found, but it didn't appear to be here now.

He didn't know that she'd left it behind.

It was a small thing, but Sansa had been through a lot of emotional trauma during her time in King's Landing. Sandor knew what that was like, having experience a big deal of trauma himself at her age, and throughout his life, and witnessed it in other people too. An object, a weapon or a toy could end up be an important comfort item. Holding it, or even just touching it, could be as protective as a suit of armor and sword made from the strongest steel.

Sandor had no such thing himself, instead he was quick to bury himself in and alternate persona which had come to be called The Hound. Few people spoke to Sandor Clegane these days, in fact, Sansa was the only one that came immediately to mind- Sometimes he wasn't sure he knew who Sandor was himself anymore.

He couldn't let that happen to Sansa.

If he could help her stay herself, then perhaps there was hope for him...

But there was no sign of the doll. Sandor was forced to give up and simply sling the bag over his shoulder as he returned to Stranger and the girls. "Oh stop that." He growled to his horse, who had his ears flat, was baring his teeth and padding the ground. Stranger didn't seem to like being left along with the Starks.

Well, he may not have found the doll, but the supplies Sandor managed to recover would come in handy. When they stopped to camp he could set some traps and maybe catch a rabbit, or put that fishing net to use.

The rest of the day was spent in periods of silence or sudden, short bits of conversation. Sansa and Arya reminisced about Winterfell and good times they'd had with their family. Sandor occasionally and a word or two to say on something, but kept mostly to himself. He hated the way they said the word 'Brother', like it it was a good thing. Sandor had more emotional attachment to his horse than his brother, and anytime he had a remark about his own upbringing the word came out of his mouth like curse. The girls quickly learned not to ask about his family.

The sky started to darken, Sandor helped the girls off Stranger and had them gather firewood while he made snares. Probably wouldn't catch anything in time for an evening meal, but he hoped by morning they'd have something for breakfast. With Sansa in his company, he was certain Arya wouldn't go running off. After they had a fire going, Sansa lead Sandor to a pond she had found, there were small fish swimming around, and not many of them, but if they could catch a few, it would be better than going to sleep on empty bellies.

That night was the first that Sandor slept away from Sansa. The sisters were cuddled together for comfort, Sandor sat against a tree, he could hear them whispering, but didn't listen in. He was angry, suddenly, that Arya was now with them. He wanted it to be just him and Sansa, if only for a few more days. He seethed in silence against the tree.

Sandor already acknowledged the fact that he harbored some desires for Sansa. The fantasies that he tried not to attach himself to, were never immediate, he always imagined encounters occurring years into the future, at times when she was married to Joffery.

"You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday when you're queen, and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved king."

He was gentle with Sansa, far more than he was with anyone else. Sandor was no great romantic, but surly after a few years of the king's cruelties and the Hound's hateful defenses, his bed would seem welcoming than Joffery's. The Queen and the King's Sworn Shield, a secret, forbidden passion that rivaled those told in the songs she loved so much...

If she ever wanted to, at least.

No great romantic indeed. That was the best he could do. A slow, half-thought out seduction plan that only might work. She could always find comfort in someone else. Some one better suited to her.

The Hound was used to not getting what he wanted, it wouldn't wound him terribly if she never accepted his desires.

Ugh, why in Seven Hells was he thinking about this now? They were far from King's Landing, far from Joffery, and far from his fantasy. Even if Sandor stayed to be Sansa's body guard, he doubted he'd ever have...Fuck!

Sandor pulled his knees to his chest and faced away from the girls. He closed his eyes, but sleep evaded him most of the night. The whispering of the girls ended and the fire died out, the only evidence Sandor had that he dreamed at all was a brief dream of unsheathing his sword so Sansa could kiss it.

Morning's light hit his eyes, Sandor figured he wasn't going to get any sleep before they needed to move on. The shadow of trees covered the girls, but Sandor let them sleep while he checked the traps he'd set the night before. Nothing, disappointing.

He returned to the campsite, got the whetstone from the back and drew his sword. The blade and been reforged like new, and he'd never say it out loud but the engraving was beautifully added. He hated it, but this pretty, well made thing was bound to catch a few eyes, perhaps he could sell it or trade for something less memorable.

That was his real problem with it. It was memorable. If he was seen using this sword the design was something that could be described, exaggerated, and remembered. People already knew him on sight because of his burn, or if he had his helmet, there was only one like it. He didn't need this pretty sword too. Especially not when he was protecting the two most wanted girls in the Kingdoms with it.

That was the perfect premise to a heroic song he didn't want any part in.

Sandor ran the whetstone along the blade, a lifetime of doing so made him deaf to the sound it made until Sansa and Arya were awoken by it. The Little Bird offered him morning pleasantries which he acknowledged with only a nod. The Wolf Bitch asked if there was anything in the traps, he didn't reply, which was answer enough.

Sandor continued sharpening his blade while Sansa took Arya over to the pond to freshen up. He thought she just meant to wash their faces and hands or whatever, but he put his sword away and they hadn't returned he had to check. He found they'd undressed and were actually bathing. His gaze lingered on Sansa, she was submerged to her chest so he couldn't actually see anything, but Sandor caught himself staring and backed away before either of the girls did.

When he was out of sight he called, "Are you girls done yet, or are we waiting for the sun to get high?" Sandor could hear them splashing. He stayed out of sight until they were both dressed, Arya had no change of clothes, but Sansa had switched to the hooded dress.

Her hair was wet, but Sandor noticed the water dripping off it wasn't exactly clean, the dye he'd used on it was cheap and already starting to come out. They'd have to get more or forget about dyeing it. "Come on!" He urged, leading them back to Stranger.

It must've been great to be a horse, oats and carrots were a nice treat, but Stranger could get by just grazing. Sandor's stomach growled and he considered staying at this campsite a little longer in hopes of catching a rabbit, but he didn't trust that the brotherhood wasn't looking for them. Better get a move on.

Sandor helped the girls onto Stranger's back and hushed the warhorse when he protested, and again walked along beside. The anger he'd been feeling the night before, in addition to his lack of sleep, made him more irritable today than he had been the one before. The Little Bird's chirping got on his nerves quickly and the Hound silenced her with a few barks.

Days of riding were taking it's toll on Sansa though, and she slid off Stranger's back, opting to walk on the opposite side of the horse for a while. Stranger's ears were still laying flat but the perked up a little once Sansa was off. Huhn, and here Sandor thought his horse was beginning to like her. At least she stayed quiet now.

"Can I see your sword?" This question came from Arya, not Sansa. "The One Gendry made you?"

Sandor felt a conflict of not wanting to humor her, and not wanting to start another fight. Eventually he drew his sword without comment, intending to let Arya have a quick look at it, and put it away, But Arya took the sword from him for a closer look.

"It's beautiful." She said, Sandor didn't reply with more than a disinterested grunt, he almost told her to keep it, maybe that'd make her like him. "Have you named it yet?"

"What?" Sandor turned his head sharply to her, "No! Why would I name it!?"

Arya looked at him like he was the idiot, "All the best swords have names."

His thoughts went immediately Joffery and his sword 'Hearteater'. Stupid name. "You mean only cunts name their swords." Sandor growled

"My friend Gendry forged this sword." She said, with narrow eyes "I think he'd like it to have a name."

"Then he should have kept it and named it himself." Sandor snorted.

Sansa looked over the horse for a look at the blade, "What if you call it Lightbane?"

He couldn't believe Sansa was going on this naming business too. "It's a sword." He replied, "If I drop it on the battlefield, it's not going to come back to me just because I gave it a pretty name."

"You should call it Flamestrike," Arya said, "Since it was forged from the sword that caught fire."

"It didn't catch fire, it was just hot." Sandor argued, "And I'm not naming it."

"Bloodweep, you like blood and making people cry, don't you?"

"What about Steelwing, for the design?"

"Or Redblade, and people will wonder why it's called that until you throw it into the fire and then pull it out red-hot."

"You could call it Silverwing. That sounds nice."

"He's not nice. Name it Bloodfire. Even you have to admit that's a good name."

"Are you girls listening?" Sandor took his sword out of Arya's hand and slid it back into it's sheath, "I am not naming this sword." He was getting rid of it the first chance he got, but he wasn't going to say that. He'd never hear the end of it from the Wolf Bitch.

That seemed to end the discussion. The girls fell into a disappointed silence which lasted far longer than any so far. The sun was high when they stopped because of another smell that wafted to their nostrils. Unlike the day before, this was not the stench of decay, but the inviting aroma of a hot meal.

If they weren't going a second day without food, or had some rations, Sandor would have pressed on. But the scent made his mouth water, and Arya looked around as if trying to find the source herself. Even Sansa cast a hopeful glance his way. Hmm, maybe her courtesies could be put to use in convincing whoever was out there to share their meal.

If not, the damned sword was still good for something.

The group remained cautious as they neared the source, through the break in the trees Sandor could see the cook fire, and the outline of a wagon. He heard some voices and the prattle of uneasy horses. He gripped the hilt of his sword, getting a little uneasy himself. Sandor let go of Stranger's reigns and motioned for Arya to get off.

He broke through the cover of the trees first and came across a very familiar sight. Lannister banners. Shit, he thought and tried to warn the girls to stay back, but it was too late, the three of them were spotted. "Hey, you!"

Sandor gripped his sword as one of two men called out to them. They were obviously part of a larger group, foot soldiers at best, cannon fodder more likely. Behind them a wagon with a cage, three weakened prisoners inside staring at them with hardly any life in their eyes. Where were the rest of the soldiers?

"Hold on, is that...?" The second man stood from the fire and a pot that smelled like everything good in the world, his eyes narrowed in a squint, "Oi! It is! You're the Hound!"

Neither of them made mention of the girls, Sandor's grip relaxed on his sword, but only slightly. "Aye. I am." He said when the men failed to grab for their swords. Seemed news of his desertion hadn't reached this far yet. Good.

Or not good.

The men looked as excited by his presence as foolish girls did with the knights in their shiny armor. Oh, Seven Hells, they were admirers of his. That would mean he would have to talk to them about the work he'd done for the Lannisters, and pretend he cared about discussing it.

However, it did mean he and his companions were invited to join them for lunch. "Oh, where is Rodgers?" The first soldier, a dark haired lad who couldn't be more than sixteen who had introduced himself as Frandric something-or-other almost bounced on his feet, "The Hound himself, sharing a meal with us. He won't believe us if he doesn't come back."

"Eh, he went to find some place to piss." The other man replied, brown haired and probably closer to twenty, but still as giddy. Sandor hadn't caught his name, but he was pretty sure it had begun with a 'C'.

"And the rest of your caravan?" Sandor asked, casting a glance to Sansa and Arya, I do the talking, he commanded silently.

"They're a day ahead of us." Frandric answered passing him a bowl of rabbit stew, which he passed to Sansa, who passed it to Arya. Sandor gave the second bowl to her too, and accepted the third for himself. "Where we headed?" He asked his companion.

The other man shrugged, "Rodgers would know." Sandor took a bite of the stew, and couldn't bother to be polite about scarfing it down. "And where you off to? Some business for the King?"

"You could say that." Sandor replied, half of his bowl was already gone and he shoveled another spoonful in his mouth to avoid having to speak. Well, courtesies had their uses.

"And who are you two?" Frandrick asked, addressing the girls, Sansa had her mouth full as well to dodge the question, but Arya had to answer.

"I'm Arry. Arry Waters, his bastard." She looked the men straight in the eye when she said it, a far better liar than Sansa, she nodded to her sister, "She's some nobleman's daughter, he was asked to take her away from King's Landing because of the war. Father wants me to live with her until the fighting's done."

Sansa finished her mouthful and added, "My name is Jolee." She used the same name as before, the one he'd told her might have belonged to his sister, at least it was consistent. Sansa did not look at them when she spoke, but they didn't ask questions. Either the lie was convincing enough, or they were just that stupid.

They were offered another bowl of stew and Sandor dodged answering questions about the girls and where they were going with short, meaningless answers. He was curious about the wagon, and what they were doing, but his curiosity was not enough to overcome how much he didn't want to talk to them, and only the stew kept Sandor from just leaving.

"Aye! Save some of that stew for us, eh?" One of the prisoners in the wagon called.

"Shut it!" Frandric hissed, and continued to try to press Sandor into talking about the things he'd done, people he'd killed, the battle said to have gone on not that long ago.

Conversation dried up quickly when Sandor refused to discuss it, leading to an awkward silence which Sandor hated the most out of any unwanted conversation. Sansa set down her bowl, "Thank you for sharing your meal with us, but the King will want his dog back as soon as possible, and we don't want to keep you from-"

She was interrupted by the approach of the third man, "Is that stew ready to eat yet, because I'm about ready to bite off my own-" He stopped mid sentence when he saw the Hound, Sandor braced himself for another round of over enthusiastic greetings, but Rodgers glanced behind him to Sansa and Arya.

And Sandor realized that he knew Rodgers from King's Landing.

The boy must have been someone's squire before the war started, he obviously had to have been there recently enough to recognized the Stark girls. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sandor couldn't let them be identified and he had his knife drawn and thrown before Rodger could say anything.

The blade caught his throat, there were startled gasps all around, Sandor drew his sword as Frandric and the other man rushed to their companion's side. He saw the man's lips move, and thought he could read the name 'Stark' on them. No words were spoken by the other two, swords were drawn and in a moment they were fighting.

They almost seemed to think they could take him on if they both attacked at once, but Sandor was far too skilled for them. The man who's name Sandor never caught was the first to fall, when he sidestepped a frontal assault and knocked him to the ground with the butt of his sword.

Sandor stepped on his back to assure he wouldn't get back up while he fought off Frandric. For all his praises about Sandor's swordplay, Frandric could barely hold one himself, he was disarmed in a few strokes and knocked onto his backside with a single punch. Sandor then buried his sword into the man on the ground, through the heart, before he turned to Frandric and sliced him nearly in two.

With the Lannister foot soldiers dead, they couldn't stay here. Sandor sheathed his sword again without wiping it off and turned to the girls, noticing first that Sansa had drawn her knife, and second she wasn't using the correct grip.

"You're holding that wrong." He told her as he stepped back toward them. There wasn't time for a lesson though, and Sandor pushed her toward the horses tied to the wagon. "Get two of those horses and get to Stranger." He instructed.

Sansa nodded, but didn't move, "You should call it Firebird." She said, going on about that business of naming his sword again.

Before Sandor said a word about it though, she tugged for Arya to come with her and help with the horses. Sandor went to the bodies of the men he'd killed and searched them for anything that might be of use, a map or a parchment with their orders, he didn't like that there were Lannister men out this far.

He found key's to the prisoners cage, which was good enough at least be a distraction, to hide who had really killed these men. Sandor waited until Sansa and Arya were out of sight before he released them. The men were desperate for food and immediately ran over to the fire to finish off the stew. Sandor climbed into the wagon to continue a search for anything of use.

Inside, he found some dried meat and fruits, a bag of horse feed and carrots. Still wouldn't last more than a week if properly rationed, but it was better than continuing with nothing, Sandor grabbed it and returned swiftly to the girls. He tied the two horses they'd brought together and put the pack on one after he helped them on to the other. Sandor hopped back on Stranger and lead the way through the clearing and into another section of forest.

They didn't stop until nightfall. The new horses were military bred, but not as disciplined as Stranger, Sandor had to tie them to a tree to be sure they wouldn't run off in the night. There was a stream nearby that Sandor used to wash his face and clean the blood off his sword. Of the names he had heard today, 'Firebird' was the one that least bothered him, but he still wasn't calling it that, even if Sansa and Arya seemed to be in agreement that it was a great name.

Firebird...Sandor was certain he'd heard of something by that name...He sat away from the girls again, he told them not to build a fire since it might attract unwanted visitors. The sisters huddled against each other while Sandor thought about that name...Firebird, why did it sound familiar?

He closed his eyes after a while and it came back to him slowly. Some mythical being he'd read about or someone told him of as a boy. Unlike dragons, there were no stories of men battling them, or riding them to battle. They were said to burst into flames when they died, only to be reborn from their own ashes.

Sandor couldn't help drawing the parallel with what had become of his blade...It would it be a pretty fitting name if he weren't so against the idea of naming it. He still didn't even intend to keep it.

Sansa's sudden scream woke him when Sandor hadn't even known he was asleep. He jumped up, hand on his sword, it was too dark to make out details, but the moon was still bright and round, showing nothing but Arya scrambling back from her flailing sister.

The Little Bird appeared to be having nothing more than a nightmare, but Sandor dashed to her side as if she were hurt. "Wake up!" he growled grabbing Sansa and shaking her, "Wake up! Little Bird wake up, it's just a dream!"

She beat his chest, "Mother! Rob!" She cried.

"Sansa!" He shouted, and at her eyes snapped open, glimmering in the moonlight, wide with terror. She clutched at him crying, and he did his best to comfort her until Arya returned to them and Sandor passed Sansa over to her.

"Just a bad dream, Sansa." Arya said, stroking her sister's hair.

"It was so real..." Sansa sobbed.

"What happened?" Arya asked, Sandor felt like he shouldn't be part of this, but he couldn't seem to move away, he needed to hear what was upsetting her.

"I saw Mother, and Rob..." Sansa wiped tears away from her face, but they were only replaced with fresh ones. Sandor took a cloth from his pocket and wiped her face, only to meet the same results.

"Sansa..." Arya urged.

The elder Stark sister calmed after a few moments, and whispered out so quietly that Sandor wasn't sure he'd heard her right. "They were dead..."