Author's note: Sorry for the delay in finishing this chapter, I've had midterms and finals and this chapter was pretty emotionally hard to get through.

Warning: Depressing content, dream sequences, alcohol, mild sexual content, like attempted sexal content.

Disclaimer: the song Sansa sings to Arya in this chapter is The Phantom Agony by Epica, I use it for the purpose of this fanfiction only. Once again I use it because I know nothing of songwritingand I will stop usingEpica when the band stops being perfect.

A Sword with Wings

Night after night the dream always began the same. Sansa had other dreams, of course, but each night she was plagued with the same one at least once.

It always started with the heads on spikes. She wore a pure white dress, it never seemed significant on the first nights, but later it would change, Joffery was there, speaking cruel words, but his voice was muted and hard to hear, especially when her father began to speak. The first time she had the dream, this was where she woke up, dazed and confused, for her father had spoken to her, not in the common tongue, but through reciting an old Valyrian poem Septa Mordane had taught her long ago.

After a few nights, the dream continued, to the burning battlefield outside the Twins. Her father's voice continued to speak, continuing the poem as Sansa fled the flames, her dress turned black, and a piece of fabric that trailed behind her caught fire, this happened in dreams before, but she didn't realize that until she awoke.

She ran from the battlefield, the fire, and the horror of what she knew she would see if she turned around. Unfortunately, Sansa could never escape, sometimes she would peek over her shoulder to see if she had out run the mob, and see them with their torches, and Robb's mangled body.

However, if she managed not to look, something worse always awaited her. If she didn't look, Sansa eventually ran intoher. Sansa hadn't seen what had become of her mother, but if they killed Robb they certainly would have killed mother as well. Sansa would run, and Catelyn would appear, a bloated bleeding corpse and grab her. Hold her in a frightful embrace that Sansa couldn't free herself from, and then Catelyn would force her around, make her look at Robb.

On nights like this, she looked passed Robb while her mother clutched her shoulder and saw Bran and Rickon. They were walking away, but both seemed to alive and well. She called for them, but they couldn't hear her, and her mother's grip prevented her from running after them. Once, Rickon turned around and Sansa though she heard him shout her name, and he tugged at Bran's shoulder.

And this night the dream changed suddenly.

Mother was gone, and she stood in an empty space. The ground shook and a large bird flew out of the ashes, the same bird from other dreams as well. The one Sansa had suggested naming Sandor's sword after.

The Firebird.

It floated in front of her for a moment and then sang the most beautiful note she had ever heard. It turned and flew off, Sansa knew she was supposed to follow it. She was lead away from the emptiness to a calm quiet castle. The Firebird disappeared and a new creature stood in the distance.

It was a dog, Sansa could see that, but there was something strange about it, that she couldn't see until she got closer. It had three heads. The one closest to her began to bark furiously, the head farthest from her lashed out and tried to bite. The center head though, was still and whimpering.

She felt an enormous sadness for the center head and approached the dog despite the protest of the other heads,. In the strange space of the dream, she had no fear of them, the closest head barked and barked, thefurthest bit at her arm, but it's teeth went through nothing. She stroked the middle head, hushing it reassuringly. Sansa continued to do so until the barking head quieted, the biting head began to lick, the the tail that belonged to all three began to happily wag.

She could see herself and the three-headed dog as clearly as if she were a bird looking down at them. The black dress she was wearing blended into the dog's fur, making them appear to be one being, but for her red hair and the bright fabric of the dress's tail which looked like a flame. Something about this seemed right. Wolves howled around them, but Sansa felt safe, like she was home.

Then she was somewhere else again.

She was in two places at once, the kind of space that only exists in dreams. Part of it was the tavern of the inn, she was having a drink while ignoring some nameless man that was trying to talk to her. At the same time, she was also in the stables, eating oats.

A young boy came in to the stables, just as a man entered the tavern. In both places the new figures approached her, and she growled warily. Both of them began to speak, talking over each other so it was impossible to hear what the other was saying, but both made her mad. In one place she rose to kick the boy, in the other she reached for her sword to run the man through.

Sansa woke up with an angry shout. Arya shrieked as she was startled awake by her sister's sudden outburst, and was at her side the instant Sansa's shout became a sob.

"Was it the nightmare again?" Arya asked, Sansa only nodded, "Tell me about it. Sansa, tell me about it.Sansa. Sansa please talk to me!"

After their discovery at the Twins, Sandor had brought them here, to this inn, and all three of them had their own ways of dealing with the situation. Arya had become angry, prone to violent outbursts, and running off into the wood, rain or not. Similarly Sandor isolated himself with wine and his sword that led to most people learning quickly to leave him alone. Sansa on the other hand, stopped talking.

Sure, she kept up her polite courtesies, saying good morning to the innkeeper and his wife, telling them thank you when they offered her pleasantries, and even offering her own small help around the inn. But she stoppedtalking.

Sansa withdrew from everyone, words hung in her chest unable to make it to her mouth. It seemed the more she wanted to talk to some one, the harder it was to speak, as was the case with Arya now. Sansa desperately wanted to tell her everything, but the words just wouldn't come, making Sansa start to cry in frustration.

Her lack of response was then misinterpreted as a lack of desire to respond, which caused Arya to become frustrated and start to cry angry tears before she got up and stormed from their shared room. Sansa remained where she was seated on the bed sobbing for a moment until she could calm herself enough to dress and go down the stairs and break her fast.

Sansa wasn't sure how long they'd been at the inn, a week at least, her moon blood had come and gone since their arrival. Sandor had emptied his purse to pay for an extended stay, and won coin in bets to continue paying. In addition, Sansa's help around the inn had gotten them in the innkeep's good graces so he sometimes offered her free meals.

She opened the door and checked the hall before she left. Sandor drank heavily in the evenings, and almost never made it to his room another door over, and often in the morning Sansa found him passed out cold outside the room she and Arya shared. The fact that the Hound's room remained paid for, but unused, probably contributed to their prolonged stay.

Thunder cracked above the inn, close enough to make the hall shake. Perhaps the weather played a part too. Since they'd arrive it had been down pouring almost constantly, making the muddy road impossible to travel so the innkeep recommended that most travelers remained until it cleared up.

These unconditional kindnesses were a pleasant relief from the world of King's Landing, where Sansa had been constantly told to trust no one, and expected to pay for even kind words.

Sansa quietly entered the small dining area to find a fresh body on the floor, and the Hound cleaning his sword nearby. Two men carefully scooted closer to take the dead man away. Sansa didn't get a good look at his face, but she recognized the sigil embroidered on his coat.

The two towers of House Frey.

Emptiness filled, her. She wanted to hate the man, whether he was a Frey himself or just one of their men carrying out their orders, he had been involved in the massacre that had killed mother and Robb, he had to. But at the same time she saw another dead man, faceless and far away. The man she killed escaping King's Landing, and felt terrible for the loss.

Sandor sheathed his sword and turned away without greeting her. The emptiness Sansa felt turned into pain. She wanted to talk to Sandor. Talk to him about something, anything. But all that came out of her mouth was a very difficult "Good morning" that he replied to with a grunt around a full mouth.

He pushed a plate of breakfast cakes to her. Sansa accepted it with a polite thank you to him for sharing it, and to the innkeeper's wife for preparing it. The cakes were dry, and crumbled easily, Sansa couldn't eat them without something to wash it down, Sandor passed her a cup of wine.

It was the sour red kind he liked, very different from what the queen had her drink, it left an odd but not unpleasant aftertaste and went well with the cakes. Though Sansa didn't drink excessively, she found herself with a taste for this sour wine and some nights joined Sandor in the tavern for a drink or two.

While Sansa broke her fast, Sandor groggily began to talk. It seemed they had switched places, for once she had nothing to say, and Sandor couldn't stop talking. Sansa wished she could answer him, but all she could do was listen, not that Sandor complained.

"He wanted me to go back to the Lannisters," Sandor was saying, referring to the man he'd just killed, "Says the king would take me back. 'Fuck the king,' I told him. Fuck the king and fuck the Lannisters. Fuck them all."

Sansa nodded while Sandor rambled and noticed a few people looking their way. During their first few nights here, it became clear that the inkeeper's family, and most of their patrons, were Stark supporters. After what had happened at the Twins, the Freys were unwelcome so no one protested if Sandor killed one or two when they visited the inn, but they'd all been wary of the Hound, of course, so as often as he could, Sandor spoke of how much he hated the Lannisters.

And little by little, Sansa's fear of being recognized disappeared. The men and women here wouldn't turn her back over to the king, more likely send her up North to reclaim Winterfell. She already heard people whispering about the missing Stark girl, the queen in the North, they called her. But Sansa wanted nothing to do with that.

She, like the Hound, was done with kings and queens.

Sandor too, was a reason she didn't want that. She sat close to him while he continued his usual morning grumbling. There were rumors about them, Sansa didn't know if Sandor heard them, rumors that they were lovers, someone even once thought Arya was their child, just as Sandor had predicted. Sansa's emptiness had consumed her to the point where she no longer cared to protest even if she could manage to left all the protesting as Arya's responsibility.

It seemed a little strange to Sansa, that she did not mind that these people thought she was Sandor's lover. It seemed not that long ago that the brotherhood called her his whore and she had been blushing like crazy despite that she'd suggested being his wife first. Even when Sandor had told her of how songs would twist them to lovers, Sansa's face had turned red and her heart beat at twice it's usual speed.

Now nothing.

The thought of being Sandor's lover didn't make her blush or squirm. It did not seem like a thing that wouldn't happen even in dreams. Sansa found herself listening more closely to Sandor speaking, even though she had heard this same hateful speech day after day, leaning toward him more. He was so hateful, did he even know how to love?

As this thought went through her mind, the door opened and the Innkeeper shouted, "Hound! Your horse has kicked another squire's head in. Control that beast of yours or get it out of my stables."

The Innkeeper was generous, but unlike his wife, seemed to have limits. Though those limits were easily deflected as Sandor stood and turned around, hand on his sword, glaring at him. The man instantly regretted speaking up and backed a step away as Hound advanced toward him.

Fortunately for the innkeeper, Sandor walked passed him with little more than a deliberate rough bump of their shoulders to tend to Stranger and the squire that had been attacked. Sansa hoped the boy lived, but wouldn't be surprised to find out he didn't. The circumstances struck her as odd though.

Just before she awoke she'd dreamed of being in the stables- no, being in the stables and here in the tavern at the same time. In both places she had been prepared to strike a figure that was bothering her. And Sansa woke with Sandor have just killed a Frey man, and now Stranger too had attacked someone.

An uneasy feeling settled in her chest.Just a dream, she told herself,like the Firebird, your family and the three headed dog, just a dream. Somehow this wasn't reassuring

Sansa felt so weak, defenseless and directionless. She wished Lady were here. Since beginning her travels with the Hound, her desire to have her wolf at her side had ebbed, but now she wanted Lady more than ever.

"I will take that if you're done ma'am." The innkeeper's wife said, tapping her finger on the plate of cakes Sansa had barely touched.

She nodded, "Thank you."

The older woman smiled at her, "You know young lady, why don't you join me and the women this afternoon?" she offered, "Perhaps sitting in a room with a bunch of crones may bore you, but I think it'd be better than sitting around being sad all day."

Sansa didn't know what to say, even if she could manage to say anything. She merely nodded and the innkeeper's wife continued, "No use trying to hide it, I know who you are and what you're doing here." Sansa's heart stopped for a second, "You must've had family up at the Twins, am I right? It's alright to be mournful, just don't let it consume you. Was it a brother, or your father?"

After a moment Sansa realized the woman didn't know who she was as in actually knowing that she wasSansa Stark, she struggled to answer. "B...Both..." Tears stung at her eyes. No, her father hadn't been at the Twins, but the Lannisters had taken him and Robb, "An...And m-mothertoo." She added.

The older woman's eyes softened even further, "I'm terribly sorry my dear." She told Sansa, but Sansa wasn't done.

"And my...littlebrothers..." She was almost ready to break into sobs now, "They... were North...when...when..."

"When the Iron bastards invaded." Sansa found herself swept up in a much needed hug. "I'm so sorry dear." Sansa let a few tear drops dribble over her cheeks, but refused to let herself sob in the middle of the tavern. "Why don't you go back up to your room now. I'll come and get you when we're ready. Have you ever sewn before?"

"Yes!" Sansa exclaimed, Arya had never gotten why her sister enjoyed the simple pleasure of sewing and stitching, but Sansa leaped at the chance to do something as familiar and relaxing as gossiping with the women. She didn't know if she'd be able to make herself speak again, but she longed to listen.

"Alright. Up you get." The innkeeper's wife said, "I'll come get you, but don't feel bad if you change your mind little lady."

"I won't." Sansa replied, "Thank you." She ran back up to her room with surprising energy for how miserable she had been when she had come down.

She got to her room and shut the door. She was already crying again when she got to her bed, but the sob spell wasn't near as long as usual. She fell asleep for a moment, not long enough to dream, at least not a long one. She saw the Firebird, but the door opened and it vanished as she startled awake.

Arya stood in the doorway, dripping wet, covered with mud and leaves. I must have been passed noon, when Arya ran off like that she never returned any sooner. It wasn't uncommon for Arya to leave and come back like this, but Sansa could never manage to ask what her little sister had been doing. It occurred to Sansa that Arya was herlittle sister, but this morning, and many morning since the Twins, Arya had taken the role of elder sister while she had done nothing but sob over dreams.

Theyhad switched places too, like she had with Sandor, and Sansa hadn't even noticed.

Alright, time for you to stop that.Sansa told herself,You managed to talk even briefly to the innkeeper's wife. You can talk to your sister.

Easier said than done. Arya still seemed angry about this morning, and that was almost as intimidating as Sandor's anger. Her mouth dried up and her tongue felt heaving, the weight of unspoken words put a weight on her chest that made it difficult to breathe. But at last words came out of her mouth, weak and much quieter than Sansa hoped. "Do you dream?" She asked.

Arya turned around, thankfully she had be heard, but her sister didn't seem to believe what her ears had picked up. "Do you dream?" Sansa asked again, stronger this time, it didn't hurt as much now.

Her sister's eyes were wide with disbelief, but she approached to sit on the bed beside Sansa. "Yes, every night."

Sansa touched Arya's hand gingerly, "What about?"

"I dream about Nymeria, mostly." Arya answered, a stab of longing for Lady hit Sansa hard, "I dream about running along the river as her. I met that old woman again, the one with the owl. She always knows who I am. She keeps telling me she's waiting..."

Arya suddenly stopped talking, but Sansa could tell there was more she wanted to say. "What is it?" She asked.

"I saw mother once." Arya replied, tears formed in her eyes, "I saw her in the river, and I pulled her out. I tried to bury her, but Nymeria's paws...I just...I couldn't...make a hole big enough..."

Suddenly Sansa was the big sister again. Arya turned and sobbed into Sansa's chest, the elder sister cried too, but let her tears fall silently so that Arya could have this moment to cry. "We should have gone to her!" Arya sobbed, "We could have saved her!We should have saved her!"

Sansa rubbed Arya's back, the way mother always did when one of her children was curled up crying in her lap when they were small. The familiar gesture seemed to calm Arya. "We couldn't." She said softly. Arya started to protest, "She was already dead when we got there. Robb and mother were both dead the moment they walked through those gates. We would have been dead too, if they knew who we were."

Arya cried harder, Sansa hugged her close, the younger Stark beat the bed with her fist as she sobbed. Sansa didn't know what to say so she started to sing instead.

"Do we dream at night
Or do we share the same old fantasy?
I am a silhouette of the person wandering in my dreams

We are afraid of all the things that could not be
A phantom agony"

Sansa had learned this song a long time ago for the burial of someone she couldn't even remember, the lines came to her as if she'd sung in every day of her life though she had only practiced it a few times since.

"Teach me how to see and free the disbelief in me
What we get is what we see, the Phantom Agony

The lucidity of my mind has been revealed in new dreams
I am able to travel where my heart goes
In search of self-realization

This is the way to escape from our agitation
And develop ourselves
Use your illusion and enter my dream..."

Arya's tears started to slow as Sansa finished up the song. Shecradledher sister's head against her until she stopped crying. Arya looked up at her and wiped her face. "What about you? Your nightmares..."

She almost seemed afraid to ask, afraid that Sansa would close off again. Sansa almost did. Words caught in in her chest making answering a struggle, but Sansa managed to tell her sister about the beginning of her dreams, about their father's head.

After that she couldn't stop talking, she went through the entire dream, from father to mother and Robb, to Brandon and Rickon walking away including the part where Rickon seemed to hear her calling for them. Sansa told her about the Firebird and how she'd dreamed of it before, and paused to confirm that this was indeed where she'd gotten the name for Sandor's sword.

Finally she got to the new parts, about the three-headed dog, the tavern and the stable. "And this is the strange part." Sansa said, ignoring a comment about 'the rest of it isn't strange?' and continued, "When I went down this morning, Sandor had just killed a man, and I found out Stranger had attacked someone as well."

Arya was quiet for a long time. "Wereyouthem? Or did you just see them attacking people?" She asked,

"It was me, but not me." Sansa replied.

"Like my dreams with Nymeria..." Arya mused, but before any further comment could be made on the subject there was a knock at the door.

"Young lady?" The innkeeper's wife called, "If you still want to join the women for sewing today."

Sansa glanced at Arya, not sure if she should leave now, just when they were finally talking again, but Arya gave her a quick nod, letting her know it was alright with her. "Yes, I'm coming, just a moment."

She stood from the bed and went to the mirror to run the brush through her hair. The dye was almost completely faded from her hair, and roots that had grown since it had been dyed retained their original color. But though she had a bath here at the inn, the soaps and oils could never untangle her hair the way the kind she used as a highborn could. Sansa's hair was almost as dirty and wild as Arya's was no matter how she tried.

But at least she remained unrecognizable.

She spent the rest of the afternoon with the women of the inn. The innkeeper's wife,Abagayle, her name was Abagayle, introduced her to her sisters Audrei and Amylia, Amylia's daughter Norah, and granddaughter Emlie, as well as cousins Lisbeth and Isbell. Sansa introduced herself as Jolee, falling back on the fake name.

Emlie was the closest to her age ten and eight years, but she spoke like a much younger girl. Not peasant speak, just childish, Sansa dared not ask if there was something wrong with the girl, but she clearly was not as fast a thinker as she should be. Emlie could really sew though. The other women had modest skills, as would be expected of lowborn families, but Emlie was almost as good as Sansa was at needlework.

Sansa was almost silent aside from theoccasionallaugh at something one of theolder women said, and trading sewing techniques with Emlie. Abagayle must have told the women that she had lost family at the Twins for no mention of it was brought up. Or had it simply been long enough ago that it didn't matter anymore? Evening came far too soon, and the group broke up to prepare the day's final meal.

Sansa finished up an embroidery she was adding to a torn up blanket for Emlie. The girl likednightingales, so Sansahastened a simple bird on to the blanket as a gift. The food was ready just as she finished and presented it to Emlie, who smiled and laughed and kept the blanket wrapped around her all the rest of the night.

Sansa shared a meal with them as well, growing comfortable enough to tell the women half the truth of how she had ended up here. She gave them the same story that Sandor had told the Lannister soldier days before their arrival at the Twins, that she was a nobleman's daughter the Hound was supposed to escort to her family, although she changed some details. She was obviously Northern, so she had been sent as abargainingchip to make one of Robb's allies defect.

"What horrible people." Emlie commented.

"Yes, that's why Sandor was leaving them." Emlie blinked at her confused, Sansa wondered just how many lowborn people didn't know he had a real name. "The Hound." she clarified.

Emlie made a small whimpering sound. She was afraid of him, like most people at the inn, but Sansa wasn't really in the mood to explain how Sandor wasn't all bad and instead finished her meal and excused herself as being 'tired'.Abagayle took that to mean she was also becoming depressed about her family again.

Sansa had to go through the tavern to get back to her room, she thought of stopping for a cup of wine with Sandor, but as she approached she found her usual seat had been taken. Sansa knew a whore when she saw one, and even if she didn't the woman was not dressed nearly warm enough to be anything else. She was trying to talk to Sandor, he kept turning away only to have her touch his arm and make him turn back again.

To her own surprise, Sansa felt no small amount of anger toward the whore. Sandor clearly didn't want her there, but that wasn't all. That seat beside the Hound, that washerplace. No one else should be sitting next to him, let alone a woman he didn't want to talk to.

Sandor finally stood up, "You really think I'm gonna pay agold dragonto have you suck my cock for five minutes!?" he snarled,making a grab for his swordthough he was already too drunk to be much of a threat, the mere act of reaching for it was enough to make the whore back off.

Sansa found herself at his side, not taking the now vacant spot, but instead tugging his arm, "Don't!" She cried. Sandor turned to her surprised, and she was well aware of the fact that this was the first thing she'd said to him since they'd arrived, beyond a few pleasantries.

Knowing that, Sansa wondered if she could muster up the strength to talk to Sandor as she had with Arya, and Abagayle and the others? She tugged on his arm again, "Let's go." She said.

Sandor didn't argue, and tried to walk on his own, but he kept stumbling and bumping into people and chairs. He laughed at himself each time he did, but Sansa wrapped one arm around his waist to help guide him back to his room, certain that he would never make it up the stairs on by himself.

They made it to the door to Sandor's room, and he was still quietly laughing at his own drunkenness. Sansa opened the door for him and he stumbled over to the bed, it was only then that she realized Sandor wasn't laughing, he was sobbing.

"Sandor?" She called softly, daring to take a step closer to him.

"I'm a fool." He rasped, somewhere between a laugh and a sob at his own self realization.

She blinked and crossed the room to sit beside him. "You're no fool." She tried to reassure him.

"Iam!" Sandor laughed, and after a moments pause began to mumble, "...Take you with me outta King's Landing...How did I ever fool myself into thinking that I could save you?"

Then he was sobbing again.

Sansa didn't understand where this was coming from. Save her? In what way had he failed at doing that? Sansa put her hand on his burned cheek to wipe away a tear, and make him look at her "Youdid." She reminded him, "You told me you would get me out of King's Landing and you succeeded."

He responded with a laugh more bitter than any so far. "And look where you arenow." He pushed her hand away from his face, "As I recall I also said I'd take you to Winterfell. To your family. There is no Winterfell anymore. And your family...It's just you and Arya now."

Tears burned in Sansa's eyes, true, that was all true. "But none of that is your fault." She told him, "Winterfell would be burned to the ground, my mother and my brothers all murdered if I was here with you or back at King's Landing. It's not your fault."

"But you shouldn't have had to see...that." Sandor grumbled.

A tear did slip over her cheeks then, she knew what he meant. The sight of Robb's body the head sewn on flashed in front of her eyes, and the chanting, she could still hear the blood thirsty chanting.Here comes the king in the North!

Sandor began to quietly sob again, pain gripped Sansa's heart, making it impossible to speak again. She wanted to comfort the Hound, this sensitive side of him that only seemed to exist when he drank too much. Sansa needed to tell him that she did not hold him in blame for what happened, or for the what she had seen. Yet no words came. A song maybe?

Suddenly, the Rains of Castamere became the only song that she could remember once again.

"I'm a fool..." Sandor moaned again.

Then, without thinking Sansa leaned to kiss him. Sandor was turning away from her as she did, so she missed his mouth, but the contact of her lips against his cheek was enough to make him freeze. Sansa lifted her hand to his chin, turning his face back to her. She kissed him again, on the mouth this time to make sure he knew what she'd meant the first time.

The two of them were frozen like that for well over a minute, with her lips locked against his, holding his face so he didn't turn away. Sansa's lips quivered, she pulled away when she needed air but had barely taken a breath when Sandor came after her.

It was nothing like her dreams, Sandor's lips were hard, his mouth demanding, but the kiss wasn't unwelcome. Sansa fell back from the force, clutching Sandor's shirt for support but only pulling him down with her. Their lips broke apart momentarily, but Sandor was kissing her again in only a heartbeat.

Heartbeat. Oh, her heart was beating loudly. Fear? No, Sandor was strong and she'd never be able to fight him off, but she it wasn't like she was trying to. Sansa's arms went around his neck, and when his tongue slid into her mouth, hers met it.

A scene flashed in her mind, of herself and her childhood friends sitting with their feet in a pond together, talking about romantic poetry and dreaming of hansom knights as they giggled and splashed each other.

The Hound was no knight, and certainly not a handsome one, but Sansa realized that she didn't care about that. He was right, the love songs and poems she had always adored were silly things that taught her nothing about real love. Sandor did not taste like a sweet cake, or honey, the way poems exaggerated, Sansa doubted she did either. They tasted like flesh and saliva flavored only with a hint of the sour wine Sandor had been drinking.

He touched her, caressed her. Her clothes were a barrier he couldn't quite get through, but occasionally his rough palms slid across bare skin. Their breath grew ragged, Sansa started to sweat. He was trying to undo her bodice, she wanted to help him with that, but their hands just got tangled so she gripped his back.

If only Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel could see her now.

Then, suddenly, it all stopped. "Sandor...?" Sansa asked breathlessly. He didn't reply, his face was buried in her neck and Sansa struggled to lift him off her to discover he had passed out.

Too much wine.

Sansa let out a loud disappointed sigh that would have caused a serious scolding from Septa Mordane. At first, she tried to wake him up, but Sandor didn't budge no matter how much she shook him. Her heartbeat began to slow after a time and she settled for sleeping with his arms wrapped around her.

No nightmares haunted her that night. Only, strange dreams of being entangled with Sandor mixed with that almost real dream of being in the stables...The deep hooting of a far off owl was disturbing the horses...

Morning came after an restful eternity. Sandor was still asleep when Sansa rose from the bed. She'd wanted to wait for him to wake up, but hunger finally made her crawl out of his arms. She kissed his cheek before she left and felt oddly giggly. Though Sandor had passed out before anything more than kisses and rough caresses had taken place, Sansa felt like it had.

There was a small amount of guilt, she wondered if that was normal, but mostly Sansa felt elated, wicked and rebellious. She broke her fast with a mischievous grin. Did the people around her know what she and Sandor had almost done? She doubted it and tried not to giggle. She was such a bad girl, but again found herself not caring.

Sandor still hadn't come down when she finished eating. There was some ruckus coming from the stables, the boy in charge of feeding the horses refused to go anywhere near Stranger for fear of having his head kicked in. The war horse was used to her and she'd fed him before, and so Sansa volunteered to accompany the boy.

And it was out in the stables when something happened that confirmed there was truly something amiss.

Everything was fine perfectly normal. Stranger was practically eating oats right out her hand, the stable boy had just finished brushing the other horses and approached to give it to Sansa so she could groom Stranger. The war horse seemed to misinterpret the boys intention, either as a threat to himself or the girl feeding him and went suddenly ballistic.

Stranger reared, the boy pushed her back and started to run. Sansa tripped over her skirts and ended up in a pile of hay. The door to Stranger's stall was open so the black beast charged out of it, after the boy. She rose from the hay, "Stranger,no!"

What happened next, Sansa couldn't describe. One moment she was in the hay, the next she was reared for an attack. Her front legs were kicking out, the boy just out of reach, confused Sansa dropped and the stable boy ran passed. She turned her head, and there she was. It was strange sight to see herself sitting in the hay, Sansa almost thought she was dreaming the whole thing, she'd wake up any second still in Sandor's arms.

Instead, she was back in her own body in a blink. Stranger seemed as confused as she was, and trotted back into his stall. Sansa couldn't even begin to comprehend what had just happened. She sat where she was, wanting to wake up for several long minutes before it became clear that she wasn't going to.

Her first thought then, was to go to Sandor and tell him about it. After what had happened between them the night before, surely he wouldn't think her mad and leave, would he? She rushed through the inn, up the stairs to his room and flew through the open door and was halfway to the bed when she realized it was empty.

He must be in the tavern, she'd run passed him. Sansa rushed back down but he was not there either. His heart tightened in her chest. No. She lost father, mother and her brothers, Sandor couldn't leave too. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Sansa grabbed Emlie as she passed through the tavern again, "Where's Sandor?" She asked, "Have you seen the Hound?"

Panic must have been evident in her voice, or perhaps in the way she was trembling. Emlie didn't have an answer and after how well they'd gotten along yesterday, Emlie began to cry because she couldn't help her friend.

Abagayle heard them, though and was able to calm them both with an answer."My husband organized a hunting party this morning." She said, "We are running low on good meat for stew. The Hound went with. They will be back in a few days or a week."

Relief washed over Sansa immediately, but she couldn't help feeling a little bit hurt that Sandor had left without saying anything to her.He was too drunk last night,she tried to assure herself,and you left early, he probably just doesn't remember.

Though the mystery of where Sandor had gone to was solved, that still left Sansa with the very obvious problem of who did she talk to about what had happened in the stables? Arya wasn't at the inn, gone off into the woods to do whatever it was she did before the rain began, not to return until the gods knew when.

Sansa joined the women for sewing again. It eased her nerves a little, but she was too frightened to concentrate, her hands shook and she kept dropping things. The fact that something was bothering her was apparent to the other women, but she dared not speak of it and instead pardoned herself from their company claiming to just be feeling ill.

She returned to the room she shared with Arya, her sister would be back soon, and Sansa could tell her about the stables. Sansa sat on the bed, back against the wall, wrapped in furs. She wondered, after a time, if it had actually happened. And if it did, could she do it again?

Curiosity was more powerful than fear. Could she do it? Sansa's heart beat quickened. She had no idea what she had done the first time, or if she could replicate it, and made a promise to herself that if she couldn't do it, then she wouldn't worry about it because it was just her imagination anyway.

Sansa closed her eyes and tried to imagine being in the stable, being in Stranger's body. What was the horse doing now? Was he sleeping, or eating hay? Her head began to spin, her heart began to pound so loudly she felt a headache coming on from listening to it.

Was it working? She thought she could hear men from the tavern laughing at something. The whole experience was really uncomfortable and she was starting to feel sick from the attempt.

A chill came over Sansa suddenly. She gripped at her fur blanket but it was no longer there. Something wet dripped onto her nose, making her eyes open. She wasn't in her room anymore, but she also wasn't in the stables. She was outside, out in the woods, she could still hear the men laughing and heard footsteps approaching her. She froze instinctively.

"When was the last time you were on a hunt, Hound?" A man said, and a hand touched her shoulder.

Sansa lurched forward suddenly and vomited all over the floor. She wiped her mouth with her hand. Herhand. She was back in her own body, wiping her mouth with her own hand. Sansa vomited again, and again.

What in seven hells was all that?

Earlier when she had been in the stables, she'd found herself in control of Stranger's body, and she'd only barely convinced herself that trying again was a good idea.Thatwasn't Stranger, though. That was...That was.

"Sandor...?" She was so frightened and confused.

When Arya returned an hour later, she saw the vomit on the floor, and Sansa curled into a ball, wrapped up in her fur blankets, sobbing and refusing to speak all over again...