Author' Note: Once again, I apologize for the delay in updating, but I'm not confident in my ability to write action sequences, so I was very slow writing this. On the plus side, I think this chapter could be my best.
Warning: SanSan, Sandor's lustful thoughts, language, violence and horror.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to George RR Martin, and the events of this chapter are heavily influenced by his writing in A Storm of Swords and the Game of Thrones season three episodes The Rains of Castemere and Mhysa.
A Sword with Wings
When Sandor thought about it, he knew he really ought to be ashamed of himself. He wasn't. But he knew should be. Sansa was barely more than a child, and he would be an old man before she stopped looking like one. This was why he typically avoided thinking about it.
Yet, it was hard not to have carnal thoughts whisper in his mind when Sansa continued to invite him to lay beside her night after night. Following her frightening dream a few nights ago, his presence seemed to ward away her nightmares and not even the Little Wolf Bitch could argue about his actions when it made her sister feel safe.
It was fine in the evenings when the three of them were falling asleep. Arya and Sandor each stayed on their own side of Sansa, he'd leave some space between himself and the Stark girls and lay on his back. However, by morning, Sansa would roll over in her sleep and when Sandor awoke he had to try not to enjoy the feeling of the Little Bird snuggling against his chest. When he was ready to get up, he'd then have to be careful not to wake her before either of the girls opened their eyes and made a scene out of the situation.
Sandor couldn't be completely sure without talking about it, but he was almost certain Arya was aware of his lust for Sansa. And like fuck he was going to bring it up during one of the elder sister's daily attempts at conversation, Arya already had enough reasons to want to kill him. However, she couldn't do anything about it, as he made no obvious advances on Sansa, and Sandor was careful to avoid any situations that would leave him alone with the eldest Stark daughter for any longer than a few minutes.
It drove him mad.
On the other hand, he was absolutely certain Sansa was oblivious to his desires. By keeping his distance and holding his tongue, Sandor continued as he always had with her, but things were different now, and it was getting harder not to wonder what she tasted like whenever she opened that pretty mouth of hers.
Yet that wasn't the worst part.
Every once in a while he'd catch himself staring at her, and then she'd look up at him. Or he'd look up and catch her staring at him. Little things. He kept noticing little things like that. Glances or touches. She'd lean against him while they were walking or clutch his arm. Even now, the way she cuddled him while she slept.
It drove him mad.
It had to be his imagination, Sandor told himself that day after day, just an old dog's imagination after going so long without a woman. He hadn't laid with a woman in almost a year. Unlike just about every other man in King's Landing, he detested whores, why pay a woman to pretend she loved him when a flagon of wine was less hard on the purse? Still, every once in a while the Hound found himself waking from a drunken tumble.
Sandor opened his eyes and looked at Sansa, his gaze lingering on her mouth, and the way it was open just slightly. He could probably manage just a quick taste before she awoke, it would be easy to convince her she'd dreamed the whole thing, and today could very well be his last chance-
-Fuck.
He was thinking about it again.
Sandor slowly pushed Sansa off him, being careful not to disturb her. There was a stream not far from where they'd camped for the night, the girls could sleep until he returned from washing his face. Ugh, the one thing that was even a remote contender for worst part of this trip was the lack of proper bedding.
Well, that was one thing to look forward to when they reached the Twins. A bath and wine too, his armor needed to be cleaned and he could probably stand to even shave at this point. Maybe someone there would be interested in buying his sword from him.
Sandor splashed some water on his face and looked through the gap in the trees, their destination lay in the distance, they'd be there by nightfall if they found the road, or sometime tomorrow if not. Having both the Stark girls was too big of a risk for Sandor to dare use the main road any sooner than they needed to.
It was also risky for him to come in with them. His face was too recognizable, he'd be identified as a Lannister man and thrown into some dungeon to await judgment. Even if Sansa and Arya both spoke up for him, it would be better if the girls were identified first. He needed a disguise.
Sandor dipped his hands into the stream and washed his face once more before rising to his feet and returning to the campsite. Sansa was awake and trying to rouse her sister, as he approached, the Little Bird looked up at him and he looked away . He moved passed the girls to the horses and rummaged through the supplies for the last of the dried fruit. He'd finally caught a fat rabbit in one of the snares he set every night. Good thing they were so close to the twins, a decent meal would be welcome too.
They broke their fasts and went straight into practicing with the knives. Sandor stood back to observe before instructing. Arya was a quick learner, he'd give her that. She had the will for it, the anger and passion. Her only real problem was that she was a tiny girl in a world that valued big men as warriors. What she lacked in height and weight she made up for in speed.
Sansa though, Sandor thought was holding back. She didn't want to kill anyone, or fight. This knife business was her last defense and they all knew it. She was graceful though, watching Sansa move was enchanting, like a dancer, even if she left herself open for lots of strikes that could get her killed.
The Little Bird would probably never be a fighter.
Since Sandor never expected her to fight, this was for the best he supposed. Better that she just knew howto kill a man, not how to fightthem. She could hold her knife right at least, maybe it was time for them to stop pretending she'd ever be any good at it. She was better off sticking to her sewing needles and waiting to reveal she had a knife until a man was so close she couldn't possibly miss a kill blow.
After a time Sandor told them to put their knives away and be ready to go. Sansa put hers back on the hidden strap under her skirt, the Hound looked away from her but could still see the pale flesh of her leg from the corner of his eye. For a moment it was tempting to grab the Little Bird and take off with her on Stranger, leaving Arya stranded, he could make it to Wendish Town or Seagard from here.
The Hound shoved that thought aside, and helped prep the horses, recently named Cloud and Storm. They'd reach the road soon, and after that the Twins. Once the Stark girls were reunited with their family, Sandor intended to leave, offer to stay as Sansa's guard be damned. He promised to take her to her family, nothing more.
He couldn't keep this up much longer.
This though sent an odd feeling going through Sandor, almost like pain, he didn't like it so he considered what he needed to do before they arrived at the twins. They'd crossed a hill the day before, and could see the road from it. Get on the road, that was the first thing, perhaps they'd meet someone whom he could get a cloak from.
The morning passed as they had for the passed few days, with the Little Bird talking about this and that between periods of silence, and the Wolf Girl purposely irritating him for one reason or another. Sandor told himself of how he would be glad to be rid of Arya at least, but the thought had little comfort. He supposed he must be warming up to her too, odd as that sounded.
They reached the road with the sun directly above them. "Time for you to stop that chirping Little Bird." He said, and pulled on Stranger's reins to take the lead. Sansa did as she was told, tightening her hold on Arya as the sisters exchanged a nervous look.
Sandor glanced back at them only once and realized he envied their relationship for two reasons. Firstly, for any form of open affection Sansa showed Arya stirred a pang of jealousy out of the Hound due to his growing desires for the elder sister. And now he was forced to admit to himself that he was envious of their relationship just as siblings. Sandor looked away and forced himself to keep his eyes on the road ahead.
It was several hours before they spotted a shape in the distance, as they got closer Sandor recognized the form of a man kneeling over a broken cart. He glanced to the girls and motioned for them to stay while he slid off Stranger's back and approached the old man.
He was given a typical greeting, "Roads have gone straight to hell , haven't they?" The man was trying to be good humored about his predicament, even though it was clearly costing him.
"Need a hand?" Sandor was already lifting the cart when the man responded, not really paying any attention to what he said, a plan flashed through his head. This cart and the old man's cloak were just what they needed to get through the gates of the twins. The old man was not though.
As soon as the wheel was securely in place, Sandor turned on the man -even as he started to say his thanks- and stuck him. Behind him, the Hound heard the girls gasp, and he took a knife from his belt and moved forward. He meant to kill him, couldn't tell anyone he'd seen them that way, but suddenly he was being pulled back.
Sansa had him by the arm, pulling and begging him not to kill the poor old man. Arya dashed in front of him, placing herself between the two of him, "Don't kill him!"
Killing was a necessity of life, Sandor understood, and they'd had no complains the other day when he had killed those Lannister men. Their objection now served only to annoy him and he shook Sansa off his arm, "Dead rat's don't squeak." He responded and tried to push passed Arya.
Once again Sansa grabbed at his arm and Arya pushed his front, both of them trying desperately to make him stop. Sandor yanked his arm away from Sansa once more and this time she ran ahead of him and join her sister in pushing him back. "Please!" They begged "Pleasedon't kill him!"
The 'please' was what finally stopped him, their mercy completely puzzled him. They had no idea who this man was, he could be a Lannister spy for all they knew, or working for Lord Varys, yet the girls pleaded for his life as if he were their own grandfather.
Perhaps he could have ignored oneof them. Sansa he was certain he could convince it was necessary to kill the old man, even if it was a regrettable death. Arya he might have even been able to talk into killing the old man herself, he wagered. But both of them staring teary eyed at him, begging like that?
He didn't stand a chance.
Sandor admitted his surrender by sheathing his knife again. The relief on Sansa's face made him regret giving in. "You're very kind. Both of you..." He told them, and his tone darkened a little, "Some day it could get you killed, or worse."
Sansa didn't seem to know what to say to than and instead just looked at the ground to avoid his eyes. Arya stared at him, trying to be hard. Behind her the old man groaned as he regained consciousness, Arya spun on her heels and picked up a large stick that she bashed against the man's head, rendering him unconscious again.
Her elder sister gasped at what she had done, but Arya didn't say a word as she brushed passed them and climbed in the back of the cart. Sandor stared after her, take a little by surprise at her action. He shook his head with a sigh, "Get the horses." He told Sansa, and went to take the old man's cloak.
After some consideration, Sandor decided to remove their supplies from the pack horse and leave the mare with the old man. Stranger and Cloud could pull the wagon easily enough, they didn't need the third one.
Silence fell over them after that. Sansa must be really nervous if she couldn't manage her usual chirping, and Arya didn't seem to have the will to play the game of annoying Sandor, even when he spoke up once to deliberately provoke the younger Stark sister.
Normally, this was ideal for the Hound, some peace and quite for once was all he'd wanted for days. Yet now, the Stark's combined nervous silence was putting him on edge. A few hours from now they'd be reunited with their family, and he intended to go his own way, perhaps never to see them again. He still had no real plan for what would be come of him after...
Dark clouds shifted overhead, Sandor quickly decided that the change in weather was probably behind the gloomy mood setting on him. The thought of parting with Sansa, and yes even Arya, with his indecision about his future, and to top it all off, it was going to rain. How absolutely perfect.
Seven hells, the girls deserved better than this, they were on their way home, the sun could be shining bright at least. Sandor grumbled to himself as their destination loomed closer and closer. A strange feeling settled in his gut, more than just nervousness, the Hound shifted and looked down the road.
No one else was on the road, and he could see light ahead of them from feast fires. Nothing seemed out of place, but something felt wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but something felt verywrong.
He felt like Sansa was in danger.
That almost made the Hound turn the cart around and head off the road. But he had no reason to suspect anything was amiss, certainly nothing he could explain to Arya, whom he was sure would protest, just a gut feeling that something very bad was about to happen.
Sandor pulled the hood of his stolen cloak over his head when they got close enough. They reached the first tents, a knight and some of his men stood guard, asking the usual questions, 'who are you?' 'what's your business?' 'Who do you serve?' The Hound gave short answers to each one with his face to the ground and punctuated every sentence by saying 'ser', 'm'lord' and keeping a respectful tone that must have made Sansa proud.
The Hound knew knights better than she ever could though. Her courtesies were trained into her, as they were into all high born ladies, and used because she knew nothing else. Sandor used them now because the knight would fall for it. He'd met this man a few times, almost killed him once, perhaps he should have. But the hood over his face hid his scars, and his carefully selected words kept him from taking a second look.
"And them?"
"My sister and my bastard." Sandor answered simply.
"I hope he's not your sister's bastard as well." Some unknown man in the back said.
"I hear that's how kings are made." replied another, followed by a few scattered chuckles.
"Do not jest." Their leader warned, and turned back to him "Why did you bring them?"
Sandor reached behind him and rubbed the base of his spine, "Bad back." He told them, "They're to help me unload if they want to continue living under my roof."
No further questions were asked regarding the girls, but they were still kept longer than Sandor would have liked by this damned fool. At last they were allowed to pass, and they made it through the line of feast tents unmolested. Not much longer now. Only a little further and Sansa and Arya would be returned to their mother. They could enjoy the remainder of the feast, and perhaps he'd even stay day or to. They were safe.
So why was his heart pounding so loudly in his ears?
They arrived at the gates. By this time he was just about ready to start killing any man that tried to stop him from entering. He got off the cart and started helping Sansa get down, when he suddenly paused.
Terrible music was coming from the castle, disjointed, loud, and off key. It was said that Lord Walder's eyes were going, his ears must be too, as well as the whole bloody lot of Freys if this was what they played for a wedding feast. Sandor had been ignoring it, but some melody in the music had caught his attention.
"Something wrong?" Arya asked.
The Hound immediately hushed her, "Listen." He said, and tried to identify what it was he'd heard that had made him stop. Seven hells the musicians were terrible, he almost wrote it off as just his imagination when he heard it again.
Most of the music was so off that the melody was impossible to recognize, but now that he was listening he knew that tune. He turned to Sansa, her eyes were wide and he knew she recognized it too. "We have to get out of here." He growled and hoisted Sansa off the kart and all but threw her onto Stranger.
And who are you,the proud lord said,
that I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
that's all the truth I know.
He'd just cut his horse loose from the cart when Sansa clasped his shoulder trying to use him as a step ladder to get off. "Arya!" her voice made a strange sound, wanted to scream but knowing she shouldn't. Sandor whirled around to find Arya had gotten off the wagon, and just managed to see her disappear around a pile of supplies.
Bloody stupid bitch! He started to run after her when Sansa called out for him, he turned his head briefly, "Stay there!" he barked and chased after Arya, cursing the little wolf bitch with every thought in his head.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
a lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
as long and sharp as yours.
He caught up to her easily enough, but he was not the first. Three men, Freys from the look of them, had her surrounded. Two of them were on foot and the other on a horse They couldn't know who she was, but they definitely knew she was from the north, and that appeared to be all they needed to know. Sandor drew his sword and cut his way through them to Arya.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that Lord of Castamere,
The first man went down due to a fault in his armor, just below his neck, where Sandor was able to slice him through with his own blade once he relieved him of it. He dropped the corpse into the mud with a broken sword hilt still sticking out of his throat.
The memory of how his brother had killed that foolish young knight whathisname at the hands tourney flashed though Sandor's mind. A grim reminder that the same blood that coursed through the Mountain that Rides, was his as well.
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,with no one there to hear
The second man, the one on the horse, armed with a long axe, put up more of a struggle. After blocking a few strikes aimed at his head, Sandor was able to slice the man's leg causing him to drop the axe, and then the hound knocked him into the mud.
The horse reared, trying to trample him like Sandor's would, but this horse was much smaller than Stranger and clearly not trained for combat. The attempt to crush Sandor beneath it's hooves was an act of panic, Sandor thrust his sword into it's belly and it collapsed on top of it's former rider who had been struggling to stand and free a knife from his belt.
Sandor kept the long axe, and looked for the third man, but he had vanished. So had Arya. Damned foolish wolf...War drums were beating now, rather than any foul attempt at wedding themes. Men were leaving the castle and heading for the tents of the Northmen. Sandor regretted leaving Sansa behind as his pursuit of Arya led him further away from her.
He found Arya not much further ahead, the rushing of soldiers to what was now a battle field had slowed her down as she stopped behind piles of supplies and rubble to hide. Beyond the barrels she was hiding behind now, were a group of Northmen who were still feasting, not recognizing the sound of the war drums.
Sandor was still an arm's length away from Arya when men from the castle came forth as casually as if to invite them in for fine ale. He could only watch as the Northmen were slaughtered at their table, Sandor grabbed Arya by the shoulder and hauled her out of a crouching position.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,and not a soul to hear.
She didn't look at him, possibly thought he was one of them men murdering the Northerners "Let me go!" she hissed, her voice was filled with rage, despair and fear.
Sandor pulled her back, "We have to get out of here." He growled again.
Arya still didn't look at him, but must have recognized his voice, "Mother! Rob!" She struggled against his grip, making him to clasp her with both hands. An agonized howl ripped through the night.
He forced her around to look at the bloodied bodies of the recently butchered Northmen, "Look at them." He told her, "Look at them! Do you think your mother and brother are still alive!? It's too late!"
Too late...too late, he was too late. Those words burned in his own ears like some nasty accusation and he dragged Arya back. "Let go! I have to save mother!" Sandor covered her mouth and nose, she bit him and he snarled in pain knowing she had drawn blood but refused to release her.
"Stupid fucking little bitch!" In moments, panic, her struggling, and Sandor cutting off her air caused Arya to pass out, he threw her over his shoulder and started back to where he'd left Sansa and Stranger.
Sansa had gotten off Stranger's back when he found them, not where they'd parted but close enough. Cloud was gone, the wagon still where they'd left it, but they didn't have time to go after the supply pack.
Sandor didn't say a word, just tossed Arya onto the horse, climbed on and pulled Sansa up after him. "What's happening?" Sansa begged, her voice was trembling "Mother? Robb?"
Sandor didn't know what to say, he didn't have an answer. All he knew was that the Freys had betrayed her family. "It's too late." He repeated.
It's too late...too late...
He got them back to the tents, it was truly a battlefield now. Northmen and Freys were dying in every direction, and the camp had been set ablaze. They were surrounded by leaping flames that, to Sandor, seemed much bigger than they truly were. The echo of his of childhood scream rang in his ears. He grabbed a banner from the field and plowed through as much of the chaos as he could.
Fire, screaming, clashes of steel, more screaming, the smell of burning flesh, the shadow of a man being hung from a tree, and still there was screaming. But that was not the worst part.
The worst part was the chanting.
"Here comes the king in the North! Here comes the king in the North!Here comes the king in the North!"
Sandor made the mistake of turning Stranger to see what that was. A group of men marched through the burning field with something raised over their heads. Sandor couldn't tell what it was at first, but when he realized what he was looking at even his stomach turned.
Sansa needed both her hands to keep her sister from tumbling off Stranger's back, Sandor only needed one to hold on to the reigns so he used the other to shield Sansa's eyes from the horror, but there was nothing he could do to cover her ears.
"Here comes the king in the North!"The men chanted as they carried Robb Stark's mangled body like some grim trophy, laughing and dancing as they did. His head had been removed and his direwolf's head sewed on in it's place.
Sansa trembled in his arms and his fingers felt wet with tears streaming over her face. Arya stirred, Sandor tugged on Stranger's reigns to get them out of there, but Arya jumped up slightly and he knew she had seen what they had done to her brother too.
"We have to save mother...!" She moaned, "Please...please, we're here, we have to save mother!"
Sandor ignored her and bid Stranger to run, taking his hand away from Sansa's face when they had turned around. They had to leave, with this much fighting going on sooner or later some fool with blood lust would attack not caring if they were North or not. He could be killed. The girls could be raped then killed.
They had to leave.
As Stranger wove through the burning tents it finally started to rain. Sandor found no comfort in this, as the fires kept blazing. His whole body was shaking, and his chest tightened in panic. In his eyes the flames only seemed to get bigger in the rain. His face burned with the memory of his mutilation, as fresh as if it had happened only the day before.
He was being followed by fire. Everywhere he went, the flames came with him, it was like he couldn't escape.
Sandor couldn't relax even when they burst through the edge of the camp, leaving the flames at his back. He could still smell the smoke and the searing flesh. He could still hear the screaming, the screaming of men, and the screaming of one little boy.
He also heard crying, Sansa's crying, but there was no comfort for her.
They fled into the darkness, Sandor was blind in the blackness, but Stranger seemed to sense where to go. They road all through the remaining night and into the morning. By first light the rain had slowed to a drizzle, now only the dampness of the earth under Stranger's hooves showed any sign that it had rained at all.
They were back where they'd started, three riders, one horse no supplies, no plan. Well enough, Sandor had no appetite anyway. Stranger's running had slowed to a gallop and a trot, and finally a slow tired walk. Sansa had cried herself to sleep, Sandor didn't know if Arya was awake or not, but the sullen silence left him with nothing but the crushing feeling of failure.
He told Sansa he would protect her, that he would get her home to Winterfell. If the Brotherhood was correct there was no Winterfell anymore, so instead Sandor promised to get her to her family. She had no family any more either, just her and Arya.
The last two Starks, and one of the last Cleganes...
He saw a light from a fire ahead, a small campfire cooking a morning meal. The smell of it made Sandor realize he was wrong, he did have an appetite, and he risked getting closer. He heard the men talking before he could see them, loud and obnoxious...and Frey men.
Their loud boasts about their 'victory' woke Sansa, and Arya if she hadn't been already. The little one slid off Stranger, Sansa hissed for her to come back, but Arya crept closer to the men. Sansa started to climb off after her but Sandor held her down and got off first. When she got off Stranger anyway, he motioned for her to stay back.
He had no idea what Arya was thinking, and her voice was much quieter than the one belonging to the man who told her to fuck off. As Sandor got closer, Arya appeared to be handing something to the one that had spoken, but dropped it and her hand went to her belt as he leaned to pick it up. Sandor knew what she was doing then and rushed to get to her before she got she herself killed.
Arya stabbed the man in the neck several times, screaming in pure fury. The other men rose immediately, but Sandor was already there, with their focus on Arya they hadn't even seen him come up and he was able to thrust his sword through the belly of one man with no fight at all.
Two others came at him, one from each side, he had to duck to avoid one, and step back to avoid the other, he wrenched his sword free of the man he'd impaled and cut through the man on his right. The strike split his side, and he went down, not dead but another strike to his neck almost took the man's head clean off and finished the job.
He turned on the third man, rushing to stay between him and Arya when he saw a fourth shape in the corner of his eye running toward Sansa. He was too busy with this man to do anything, as this one was older and more experienced than the other two, the steel of their swords clanged for at least a minute before Sandor's opponent thrust out his leg, catching him in the knee, forcing him down.
The man thought he had won and paused to give a quick shout of victory, Sandor took advantage of his apparent folly and thrust his sword upward into the man's chest. As the Hound rose back to his feet, this sword dug deeper through weak armor, flesh, muscle and bone until the wing-decorated part of his blade disappeared into his opponent's body and the rest of it burst out of his back.
Sandor ripped his sword free and turned to where he heard Sansa's horrified cry. For a second all he saw was the blood on her hands and splattered over her body and he feared the worst, until he saw the knife she clutched, and the man who attacked her fall to his knees.
He returned to her side, with a limp. Sometime during the fight, either when he'd ducked or when he had been kicked, his ankle had twisted and putting too much weight on it hurt. Sansa was hyperventilating and her eyes were wide with horror. The man was still alive, clutching his belly, where she had stabbed him. He was gasping in pain, the wound wasn't fatal, but he'd die without a maester to patch him up. A long slow, painful death.
Sansa placed a blood covered hand over her mouth and tears streamed over her face. The thought Sandor had the previous morning, about how Sansa was holding back and he knew he was right. The Little Bird could take a man's life, but she was no killer.
Not like him. Not like her bloody sister.
The Hound drew forth his sword again and finished the dying man for Sansa. A mercy killing so he didn't suffer as long. He'd told her once that killing was the sweetest thing, and he still believed it, but he found no joy in killing this morning. The deaths of these men didn't make up for the fact that he'd failed to return Sansa to her mother and brother, or that if he had, then she would also be dead. These lives didn't bring back her family.
Sansa turned around and clutched at him, weeping into his chest as the full horror of everything that had happened caught up with her all at once. Sandor stood there and let her cry for a moment, but then pushed her away from him. "We need to go." He said, "If these men are out this far, there may be others."
Sansa nodded tearfully, Sandor took off the cloak he'd stolen from the old man and wrapped it over her shoulders. He turned around then and grabbed Arya, she stood over the man she killed, there was no remorse on her face, and no joy either. She stood at the bloody mess she'd made with no emotion on her face.
She was putting something back in her belt, not the knife, that was already in it's resting place. Something smaller, she whispered something, "Valar Morghulis..." Sandor had no idea what that meant, or if he'd even heard her right, but thought little of it as he reached for her.
"The next time you do something like that, tell me first." He growled and grabbed her by the arm, shoving her over to Sansa and Stranger. Sandor went to the fire next and took the meat the men had been preparing before their deaths, and made a quick search of their bodies for any coins.
These men weren't far from home, so they didn't have much in the way of supplies, but Sandor didn't intend to stay out in the wild a day longer than they had to. He limped back to Stranger and got the girls back on to the great horse and walked beside as fast as he could. He split the food he had stolen and made sure Sansa and Arya and ate it. It wasn't much but there needed to eat something.
The main road wasn't far, they followed it only an hour before they came across what Sandor was looking for. An inn. He was beyond the point of caring who saw them now. Who would believe these two were the missing Stark girls? Arya, with her hair cropped short? Sansa with her torn up dress and darkened hair? He wouldn't believe it himself if he didn't know. Only their own kin would recognize them. And there was no kin left to recognize them.
As for himself, he was the Hound. Deserter or not, there was no one out this far who would want to cross him. So, he helped a boy get Stranger into the stables so the warhorse could rest, and brought Sansa and Arya in with him as he paid for two rooms, baths, hot meals, and wine.
The order would cost, but the girls needed the comforts. He did too. And as long as there was still coin in his purse, he meant to stay...