Soooo...this chapter took me *forever* to write. Part of it was that I was locked in place with a plot I wasn't sure about, and I ended up re-writing it like three times (no lie). The other issue is that real life has suddenly become one big crazy hassle for me as I'm now basically working two jobs and am lucky to have more than 2 free nights a week. Sigh. I will say, be ready for plot twists because changing one thing (or two. or more.) led to changing others...haha.
Thanks for all of the reviews by the way! I promise that this will continue, though it may be along the "slowly but surely" lines due to my current life situation...unfortunately.
The bells were ringing, and Sansa Stark was weeping. Silly Lady Tanda had seen her crying and running from the feast and thought that Sansa wept for Joffrey. Something in Sansa - the part that Sandor had awakened, she guessed - had wanted to rise up and smack Lady Tanda, tell her that she, Sansa, wept for Robb and her Lady Mother and her little brothers and even for Margaery, in a way...but that would have been stupid, smacking Lady Tanda, and instead Sansa followed the plan and made for the godswood.
She waited only a few minutes before Sandor arrived as well. "He's dead," he mumbled. "And we need to leave this place. Now." Sansa held up her sack.
"I'm ready."
"Shouldn't you change? That gown..."
He was right of course; the gown was such a pale color, and not fit for travel at all...Sansa nodded and set her sack down, reaching into it for something more appropriate when suddenly a rustle of leaves startled them. "Who's there?" Sandor growled, and in response Dontos stumbled out from amongst the trees, drunk and wearing his Hollard surcoat - which he'd been told he could never do again.
Dontos stopped short. "You...you did not come alone..." he stammered, looking fearfully at Sandor. Sansa followed the fool's glance and knew that it was now unlikely that Dontos could live to see another dawn.
"You shouldn't have come at all," she replied sadly.
"I...I was to take you away from here," Dontos said, confused.
Sandor shook his head. "She's not met with you in how long, fool? Why would you think she still wanted to leave with you...if that's ever what you truly intended at all..."
"It was, it was, I swear it! My Jonquil, tell him, tell him I promised..." Dontos was bug-eyed and frightened, and fool that he was Sansa found herself feeling bad for him. Again.
"Jonquil?" Sandor snorted, turning to her. Sansa immediately flushed red in embarrassment; oh whyhad Dontos insisted on calling her that just now?
"Please, my lady, please, you must come with me now. I've a man waiting, a boat, we'll take you from here, truly..." The fool's eyes were flicking back and forth between Sansa and Sandor, who merely laid his hand on the hilt of his sword in answer.
"Enough," Sansa heard herself say. "Ser Dontos, there has been a change of plans. I'm still leaving this place, but I will be going with Clegane here."
"Aye, and as we can't have you running about and telling this to the whole of the Red Keep..." Sandor's voice trailed off as he unsheathed his sword, the hiss of metal on leather causing Dontos's face to blanch.
"Lady Sansa, please, don't let him do this...I...I won't tell anyone, I swear, and...oh, I'll be in such trouble if I do not bring you to the boat tonight..." The knight-turned-fool was still stuttering, shifting uncomfortably, wringing his hands together.
"I wish I could believe that you would not tell anyone, Ser Dontos," Sansa frowned. "I'd like to think you wouldn't mean to do so, anyway. But as you're the only one that knows of our plans, we certainly can't leave you to run around the Red Keep. No matter how much I'd like to trust you." She looked up at Sandor, not knowing what to say, what to do.
Quick as a cat Sandor had his hand wrapped in Dontos's surcoat and his sword at the man's throat. "Tell us everything," he growled. "If Lady Sansa likes what she hears, mayhap I'll spare your useless hide."
"I...he...he will kill me if I tell you anything," Dontos blubbered, his eyes wet with tears. Sansa felt almost sorry for him, truly she did, but something in the way his eyes were shifting back and forth between Sandor and the sky made her quite uncomfortable.
"Tell us," she repeated, though in a somewhat kinder tone than Sandor had used. "Everything." After another moment's pause, she added a soft, "Please."
"I...I..." Dontos's eyes were wide and bloodshot; he was frightened, she knew, and she didn't think it would help when Sandor pressed his blade into the drunken fool's throat and a thin line of blood appeared. Sansa was both surprised, and not surprised, when this action finally brought about a response. In hurried stammering, Ser Dontos spilled the entire tale. Littlefinger, the money he'd offered Dontos, the hairnet...gods, the hairnet...Sansa felt sick.
"I thought you were going to take me home," she said, and though she felt sad she was not sure if it was for herself or for Dontos. She knew by the look in Sandor's eyes and by the way he stood, tense with his need to cut the fool down, that Dontos had dug himself an inescapable hole. And really, how could she have ever believed that he had the capability to bring her back to Winterfell? To bring her anywhere, for that matter? Of course he'd been working for someone... "You told me to wear this hair net..." He...he and Littlefinger...Joffrey was dead, and no matter how anyone looked at it, she was involved...
"We need to be going, little bird. Now." Sandor's voice was insistent, and he spoke through gritted teeth. "Go to the stables, I'll meet you there soon."
Dontos was trembling, mumbling apologies and pleading under his breath, yet despite everything Sansa still had to force herself to look away. "Soon," she repeated Sandor's word, before turning and running from the godswood, from him and from what she knew he must do. She wondered if she should have clarified that she meant him to be quick, to be merciful...
He is not one to torture, she reminded herself. Not with what Gregor did to him. Not with what he's seen Joffrey do.But gods, she'd essentially just ordered Ser Dontos's execution...Ser Dontos, who'd seemed such a harmless old fool...
A harmless old fool who was placing you in the hands of a man you barely know, all for a bit of gold. A harmless old fool who gave you a hair net full of poison, poison that killed the king...Sansa would just need to keep telling herself these things, over and over and over again. Reminding herself what her mercy would have led to - moving from one cage to another, going from being a Lannister prisoner to being a pawn of Littlefinger's. Or worse...Ser Dontos could have turned on her entirely and called her kingslayer, with the hairnet as his proof. No, it was better this way. This way, she was taking her future into her own hands, placing her safety into the hands of the only person she had trusted since Joffrey had called for her father's head.
The bells were ringing of a king's death, now, and they reminded Sansa of before, reminded her of it so much that she couldn't abide them at all. She pressed her hands over her ears and ran through the Keep to the stables, doing her best to stay in the shadows and wondering how they would ever get out of this place alive...especially if Sandor was not close behind her...
Yet when she reached Stranger's stall and stopped, Sansa did not even have time to catch her breath before Sandor was by her side, his blade sheathed once again. The only proof of what he'd done was in the set line of his jaw and the angry fire still burning in his eyes, and he said not a word to her as he gently pushed her aside and led his great black destrier out. The animal had been saddled and Sandor's sack of belongings left tucked under the rushes in its stall; and though Sansa wished Sandor would say something, anything, to her, he only lifted her onto Stranger's back, pulled himself up behind her, and spurred the stallion on.
Later, Sansa could not say much of what had happened as Stranger galloped out of the Red Keep, through the narrow twisting streets of King's Landing and then through the Lion's Gate to the Goldroad. Not a few men tried to stop them; the city had been ordered closed, the king having been murdered at his wedding feast. Sansa hid her face as one by one Sandor cut these men down, ensuring that each and every one of them was dead before they moved on. "One dying man left behind, and soon enough Cersei will know that we are together," he explained roughly, after the first kill, the one that left her nearly retching, begging him to leave be, to take them from here without even stopping to take care of these men of the City Watch. She knew that he was right, of course, but even after Dontos something in her was raring up at the near-brutal deaths Sandor was inflicting on these men.
Stop, she told herself. Stop being such a weak little bird. Sansa kept herself awake as long as she could, holding herself up so that Sandor wouldn't have to...but sometime during the night she must have slept, for she woke to the bright light of morning, slumped against his chest, her entire body aching from the ride and the uncomfortable position in which she now found herself. "Where...where are we?" she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes and shifting in the saddle.
"As far from the city as we could get in one night," Sandor grumbled. "I've kept to the road so far, but as it's day now we'll have to take some rest and keep off any well-traveled paths. And...well, I'm not so sure we should continue on to Clegane Keep just now."
Sansa could see that he hated to admit this. "Why...why not?" she forced herself to ask.
"I was there, little bird. I was right there when Joffrey died. They all saw me, and gods know I'm not in favor with many at the Red Keep just now. I took the Goldroad as planned, but we need to think of another place to go."
Again he was right, and again she hated it. "May we stop for a bit?" she pleaded. "I need to stretch." I need to think. Sandor nodded, and soon after he veered off the road, traveling for the better part of another hour before finally bringing Stranger to a halt.
"I'm going to find water," he announced. "Stay here, close to Stranger. He's bad-tempered enough that anyone who approaches won't get so close as to do you harm. Just...keep away from his teeth. And his hooves." With that Sandor stalked off, leaving Sansa wondering how close she was supposed to stay to the destrier if she also had to keep away from numerous parts of the animal's body. Finally she began to pace nearby, as near to Stranger as she dared, back and forth and back and forth, trying to think on where they could go. If Clegane Keep was not an option - and certainly the Riverlands and the North were not, either - where else could they possibly go?
Unbidden, a woman's face came to Sansa's mind. A dark-haired woman, not beautiful but eye-catching nonetheless, and beside her a dark-eyed man with a sharp nose and prominent widow's peak. Why am I thinking of Prince Oberyn and his paramour just now? Sansa wanted to cry from frustration as she finally sat heavily on the ground, burying her face in her hands. She was not clever enough for this, not clever enough by half. She'd never think of a place where they would be safe; they would wander the countryside and eventually be caught and likely killed.
But the vision of Prince Oberyn and Ellaria Sand would not go away. What was it that they had come to King's Landing for, again? Tyrion had not given her details, yet there had been something about Rhaegar Targaryen's queen, Elia Martell...Prince Oberyn's sister...and the Lannisters...the Lannisters...
Sansa sat up. Her little lord husband had not divulged any more than he had to about Prince Oberyn Martell's visit to the Red Keep, but she knew a few things herself. Knew them from the few stories that spread around Winterfell of Robert's Rebellion, before her father had done his best to hush them up. Knew them from when she and Jeyne Poole had snuck around with pilfered books about the last Targaryens and the war that ended their line, wondering about the handsome Prince Rhaegar and his sadly beautiful Dornish wife.
His Dornish wife, who had died at the hands of Lannister men the day Tywin Lannister took King's Landing.
It was a risk, of course - a risk, and a hard journey. Perhaps the Martells would simply hand her back to the Lannisters. Or perhaps they would imprison her and keep her for themselves.
But then Sansa recalled Prince Oberyn's fierce countenance and Ellaria Sand's brave eyes, eyes that looked directly into Cersei Lannister's face and were not afraid.
By the time Sandor returned, Sansa had made up her mind. When he approached, a skin of water in each hand, she stood tall and looked him straight in the eye as she said, "We'll go to Dorne."