Hello readers! I just wanted to say that I am *so sorry* for taking this long between updates! Thank you for all for the favorites and story folows and of course REVIEWS :) I absolutely appreciate every one of you, I swear! I wish I could say that I'll start updating as quickly as I used to, again, but unfortunately real life has kicked me while I'm down lately and I just haven't had time to keep up with this. But I promise I won't abandon it completely...
Dorne? What in the seven hells...A million thoughts and questions flew through Sandor's mind, but when it came down to it all he could think to say was, "It's bloody hot in Dorne, little bird."
She cocked her head, just like a damned little bird. "Is that all you have to say about it, then?" She looked partially confused, but also a bit...pleased with herself, perhaps?
"Of course not," he snapped, taking a step back. He had no idea why he was so frustrated, except that this sudden decision of hers made little and less sense to him while apparently making all the sense in Westeros to her. "How are we supposed to get to Dorne, my lady?" Sansa glanced at Stranger, and Sandor laughed. "I think that's a bit too far for him to carry us. And the Marches...the Pass...it's dangerous territory in the best of times."
"I know," Sansa replied, biting her lip. "Or...well...I've heard...some. But we have to try, Sandor. They have Myrcella, and if they have me..."
Having been in Lannister service so long, Sandor well knew the hatred that the Martells harbored for that family. It was no secret, what his fucking brother had done to Elia Martell...if the little bird was right in this, if they could find their way to Dorne despite the perils...Sandor reached up and squeezed one large hand over his temples, feeling the smooth side of his face under his thumb, the scarred side under his fingers. He was breathing heavily through his nose, knowing that he had to make this possible, if only for her...
A soft hand suddenly grasped his, pulling it away from his face, and he looked down at Sansa Stark. She was bedraggled and even a bit dirty, her eyes wide and her brow knitted together with concern, but he wasn't sure she'd ever looked more beautiful. "Will we go, then?"
Sandor heaved a sigh. "Aye, little bird. We'll go."
She smiled then, and he realized that every time she did that she would always look more beautiful than she had any moment before – so long as her smiles were for him. When she wrapped her arms about him he gathered her up, felt her nuzzling his neck with her nose and lips and bent to cover her mouth with his. They were away from King's Landing, they had at least an ideaof some place to go, and just now he needed this, needed her, and needed a few hours' worth of rest. But first...first...
He broke their kiss and glanced at the ground. When he looked back at the little bird, she had a wan smile on her face. "I suppose it's no worse than the godswood," she said softly, and with a growl of appreciation Sandor lowered himself onto the moss-coated dirt, pulling her down with him as gently as he possibly could. Sansa curled herself up against him and his hand found her breast, resting there for a moment as he searched out her mouth with his again. She sighed into their kiss, and the feel of it aroused him much as it ever had.
"Do we have time?" she asked. He could hear how exhausted she was and hated himself for wanting this so bad just now, especially when he knew that a bit of sleep would be the best thing for both of them.
"Not just now, little bird," Sandor admitted, and though she made a disappointed sound he could tell that her heart wasn't in it. "Sleep for a while. Stranger will alert us if he hears or sees anything out of the ordinary." Whether or not they would then have time...but no, he needed rest as much as she did. Sansa fell asleep first, though he knew he would not be far behind, and when he closed his eyes against the glare of the late morning sun Sandor was glad for one thing - that he would be drifting into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
Sandor woke mere hours later, for once glad that he was not used to sleeping more than a few hours a night. He lay there for some time, the little bird tucked next to him. Her mere presence made the hard ground seem far more comfortable than he knew it truly was. He had to wake her soon, he understood...but he also wanted a few moments to think about the long and arduous journey ahead of them.
They would have to travel through the Reach; it was the fastest way to the Marches and the Prince's Pass. He doubted they had traveled far enough west to worry about moving due south; they should be able to avoid Bitterbridge and Ashford. If they could then cut back toward Summerhall and take the Boneway to Wyl, perhaps they would find a ship that would take them to Sunspear. It was their only hope, for he could not foresee them making it through the desert. Especially Stranger.
"Sandor?" the little bird whispered. "You're awake."
"Aye," he replied simply.
"Is everything all right?"
Sandor nodded. "I was just thinking on how we're supposed to get to Dorne," he admitted, gently extracting himself from her arms and climbing to his feet.
Sansa raised herself onto her elbows and looked up at him, chewing on her lip in what could only be nervousness. "And?" she asked.
He shrugged and ran his hand over his face. "No matter which way we go, it will be difficult. But I think we can move south through the Reach, then cut back east toward Summerhall and take the Boneway. If we are lucky we'll be able to catch a ship from the docks of House Wyl's seat, and make our way to Sunspear by sea. Otherwise..." Otherwise it won't work, he thought, but he couldn't say that out loud. Not now. Not to her.
"It's a good plan," Sansa replied softly, and when Sandor looked at her he could see the admiration in her eyes. Only if it works. But he kept that thought to himself, as well.
"We should be going, little bird," he finally admitted. She merely nodded in response, but was on her feet right away and ready to leave not long after. He placed her on Stranger's back and vaulted up behind her, checking the position of the sun before turning the destrier south.
They rode until long after day became twilight, and Sandor was thankful that the moon was full now of all times. He only stopped when he felt they could go no further; Sansa was again asleep in front of him and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. But they were awake with the dawn to ride again the next day, and the next, and the one after that. It continued this way for just a few days shy of a fortnight, at which point they finally reached the ruins of Summerhall. It was twilight when they arrived, and Sandor suggested a stop.
"No one comes here anymore," he promised. Robert Baratheon saw to that when he took his war hammer to Rhaegar Targaryen's chest on the Trident.
The little bird clutched the folds of her cloak in her hands and hugged herself. He could feel that she was shivering, though it did not seem so cold to him. "I don't like it here," she whispered.
"No," he said after a long moment's pause, during which the heavy silence of the cursed place seemed to engulf them, "nor do I. We'll go a bit further tonight."
As they rode away from the ruins, though, Sansa did turn back to look at what had once been Summerhall. "What really happened there?" she asked, her face screwed up in a sort of fearful curiosity.
"No one truly knows, little bird," Sandor replied - but then he found himself continuing, a ghost of a memory spurring him on, a memory of a sad woman and a little boy who'd once loved stories. "It was destroyed the day that Prince Rhaegar was born, by a great fire that killed King Aegon and several others. They say that the king was obsessed with trying to hatch petrified dragon eggs...that he lit a fire that got out of hand." Sandor couldn't help but shudder to think of the type of fire that fool king must have created to attempt such a feat as hatching centuries-old dragon eggs. "The Mad King believed that Summerhall was some sort of...herald, I guess, for Rhaegar's birth. And as Rhaegar grew, he took to visiting the ruins more and more often. Once he was gone, though..."
"No one comes here anymore," Sansa repeated. "How very sad."
"How very ridiculous," Sandor said scornfully. "Dragon's eggs. Fire. Aegon was near mad as Aerys toward the end, apparently...and a sad thing, that, because otherwise I was always told that he was well-loved, as a man and a king."
Seven hells, I don't even sound myself. A fortnight with only this girl as company and I'm telling stories such as I claim to hate. He could feel Sansa watching him, knew that she must wonder what had come over him…yet he refused to meet her gaze as they left Summerhall behind.
Soon the Red Mountains were rising up around them, far taller to their left than to their right. "Where are we?" Sansa finally asked, when they stopped one night and made camp. The sounds of this place were as unfamiliar to Sandor as they must be to her, and he could tell that she was frightened.
"The Boneway," he informed her. "We've another sennight or so before we'll reach the seat of House Wyl, so I'll not have you asking me where we are every damn day." Frustrated with himself, Sandor turned away from her. Why did he insist on being so short with her? He'd even taken to turning away from her kisses when they stopped to rest, though that...that was for her own good. Out here in the middle of nowhere – with gods only knew what ahead of them and the Lannisters or someone loyal to the Lannisters surely close behind – Sandor wasn't sure he could stop himself from taking the little bird, ruining her simply because he could, simply because he was afraid that if he didn't take her soon he'd never have her at all. He sensed her disappointment, of course...but he could not bring himself to explain his decision.
She would try to convince you otherwise, anyway. Fuck, she'd probably offer herself up for the taking, stupid little bird.
But she wasn't stupid, and she wasn't truly a little bird anymore either - least not in the ways that had once led him to give her such a pet name.
"I haven't asked where we are but this once," Sansa suddenly piped up. "Why are you being so difficult these days?"
Sandor couldn't help himself; he spun back around and took hold of her wrists, yanking her up against him and bending so that they were close enough for their noses to touch. "Everything I do is done in the name of your safety, little bird. I'd prefer you to remember that just now, and remember it when you're safe in Dorne under the protection of the Martells and no longer need your scarred old dog as a guard."