Sooo somehow I was able to get these chapters down so soon after just posting 11 & 12! I can't promise that I'll continue to be this fast, but I hope y'all continue to enjoy :) And thanks again for reading and for all of the wonderful reviews!
He knew that it was over, no matter what the little bird chirped about marriage, no matter how she grasped his hand or buried her face in his back as they rode. Over, over, over.
Of course, it had always had to end. Some day, some time. Once they were back in proper society there could be no more clandestine trips to a godswood, no more holding her close for warmth as they slept beneath tree boughs or stars.
It wouldn't have been the intelligent choice, it wouldn't have been the right choice, but suddenly Sandor found himself wishing that he'd taken her up on her offer to wait until tomorrow to approach the Wyls. She was right; by the time they reached the gates the sun had disappeared completely and even the purple of twilight had become the dark blue of early night. It was eerily quiet, too, which he did not particularly care for. Not just quiet. Too quiet.
Sansa must not have been able to tell that anything was wrong, for if she'd known that it shouldn't have been quite this silent she would have been quaking with fear. But Sandor's senses were those of a warrior, in tune with his surroundings even when those surroundings were strange or new - no, especially when those surroundings were strange or new. "Hold tight to me now, little bird," he whispered, "just in case." And then he took hold of the reins in one hand and drew his sword with the other just as a rustle of leaves and branches and the soft footfalls of several men reached his ears.
"And who might you be?"
There were a dozen men surrounding them, perhaps more. The one who spoke was wearing the yellow and black armor of the House, so far as Sandor could tell. The dim flicker of the not-so-distant torches stuck in their sconces on the wall that surrounded the unassuming stronghold did not offer the best lighting.
"A guard. For the lady here," Sandor growled, jerking his head toward Sansa. There was no use in trying to hide her or in pretending that she didn't exist; he could sense that there were men behind him as well, and he cursed himself for exposing her so. The little bird squeaked in fright.
"And what lady is that? A lady of the night?" the man asked, and the other guards chuckled.
Sandor opened his mouth to reply, but the lady herself cut off his words. He felt her move, leaving only one arm grasping his waist, as she stated loud and clear, "I am no 'lady of the night', sers. I am Sansa of House Stark, heir to Winterfell, and this is my sworn shield. I come seeking refuge for the night, and passage on the morrow by ship - to Sunspear." And before Sandor could stop her she had slid from Stranger's back, and he saw that her hood was already pushed off her head, exposing her tell-tale auburn locks.
"Sansa Lannister, you mean," the guard replied, eying her suspiciously. The little bird's shoulders stiffened, but after a tense moment she shrugged them.
"Fair enough. However, I was forced into that marriage, and it was never consummated anyway. Hence why I would like passage to Sunspear, where I may seek counsel with Prince Doran Martell and prove as much, in hopes of having that marriage annulled."
Gods, but she sounded the mature, intelligent highborn woman just now. The man who had spoken, the obvious leader, looked uncomfortable, even concerned, while the others appeared to think that there was no danger in these visitors. Many had sheathed their swords; those who hadn't were at least no longer standing at attention.
"Well?" Sansa needled. "Will you bring me to your Lord, or must I wait here all night while you decide whether a young woman and a single man can wreak havoc on your stronghold?" Sandor had to bite back a chuckle, though at the same time he wanted to give her a good smack for her impertinence.
At least until it turned out that impertinence apparently worked with these fools. "We'll ask your...guard...to hand over his sword. One of my men will take his horse to the stables - "
"Good luck with that," Sandor snorted. The little bird turned and glared at him, mouthing the word "Hush".
"As I was saying," the guard continued, obviously annoyed, "your guard must hand over his sword. We'll take care of his horse. No harm will come to you so long as you are telling the truth of these matters."
"And I will be afforded passage on a ship to Sunspear at first light?" Good girl, don't let them forget about that bit.
"That's up to Lord Wyl," was the man's firm reply. For a long moment Sansa remained silent, and when Sandor looked at her he saw that her eyes were narrowed, her lips pursed, obviously considering those words.
"Very well," she finally sighed. She nodded to Sandor and with a low snarl he shoved his sword at the guard, silently reminding himself that the little bird had a knife tucked somewhere about her person, and that he had daggers in his belt and boots. Not as good as sword, these, but they'd make do if they had to. Sandor noted everything that he could about these men, about the walls they passed under, the gates they passed through. Escape, should it be necessary, would not be easy...but he watched them lead a skittering, snorting, kicking Stranger to the stables and marked where the destrier disappeared. The stronghold itself was small, a low main building with a couple of pathetic towers, and by the sheer silence of the place and the few guards who had met them Sandor was sure it was lightly garrisoned.
He'd certainly fought his way out of worse situations.
Though he knew that it wasn't seemly, he laid his hand on the small of Sansa's back as they walked - as much to reassure himself as to reassure her, although he never would have admitted as much. Not out loud. Once inside, they were led to a small hall. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth at the far end of the room, and Sandor's stomach grumbled at the sight and smell of the food laid out on the table. "My lord, you have...visitors. Of a sort," the guard announced. His men spread out behind them, blocking the door. At the far end of the table, seated close to the fire, were a man not much older than Sandor himself, a plain but kindly looking woman of about the same age, and a handful of children - the oldest no more than sixteen, the youngest perhaps the age of Sansa's crippled brother.
"Do we now?" Lord Wyl was curious; he stood and moved toward them and Sansa curtsied prettily for him.
"More refugees than visitors, my lord. I am Sansa of House Stark, heir to Winterfell and a captive of the Lannisters in King's Landing these many, many months. This man swore himself to me and helped me to escape some weeks ago, and I am here to beg for passage to Doran Martell in Sunspear, where I hope to find a friendlier and safer place from which to plan my return to my ancestral home in the North."
Lord Wyl glanced at Sansa, and this one quick look seemed enough for him to assess the truth of who she was. Then he looked to Sandor and narrowed his eyes. "I know who you are, Sandor Clegane, though I must admit that I am shocked to see you in such fine company."
Of course you know who I am, half-wit. Who else in Westeros can boast my size and my scars? But Sandor kept these thoughts to himself and merely grunted his acknowledgement.
"I assure you that Clegane here is now loyal to me and me alone," Sansa spoke up, her voice icy, almost disdainful. "Why that is so, well...to be truthful it is none of your business. But Itrust him, and that is what matters. I promise to not burden you with our presence for very long. I ask only a comfortable place for us to rest, and your help in securing a ship that will take us to Sunspear as soon as possible. On the morrow, if it please you. My lord."
"And what of your husband, Tyrion the Imp of House Lannister?" Lord Wyl replied shrewdly.
"He is no true husband of mine," was Sansa's cold response.
"I am glad to hear it, considering he stands accused of murdering his nephew the king." Lord Wyl was practically smirking now. "Still, I think it best that I send a raven to Prince Doran, and await his reply before siccing you and your dog on his House."
"I would prefer you not do that, in fact." Sansa stood straight and tall, locking eyes with this man who was old enough to be her father - who, judging by the passel of children at the table, had produced some of them before she'd even been born. "Ravens can be intercepted, my lord. And besides, I assure you that we mean House Martell no harm. In fact, I am certain that the Prince would be almost delighted to see me. For sure, he could even call me his prisoner, should he wish to do so. Anything would be better than remaining in King's Landing to be mocked by Cersei, looked down upon by Margaery Tyrell, and beaten by Joffrey's guards."
"King Tommen's guards, now," Lord Wyl said softly, and then he sighed. "I suppose you are in the right about the raven, and having you here for any length of time is more of a liability than I wish to deal with just now. You will have your ship, tomorrow if we can find one, and I will send you and your - sworn shield- to our ruling house. Some of my guards will attend you, just to be...safe...and Prince Doran can decide what to do with you once you arrive."
Sandor noted that Sansa could barely hide her relief, and tried to do so by dropping into another low curtsy. "Thank you, my lord. Again, I request only a comfortable place where Clegane and I may sleep for a while, and some food and drink if you can spare it. I do not wish to be of any more trouble to you or your family."
Lord Wyl gave a curt nod. "Of course. My lady wife's chief handmaiden will show you to one of our guest chambers. Clegane may sleep just outside the door, if he wishes, and - "
"No. Thank you," Sansa interrupted. "Clegane will sleep just inside the door, if you will find a pallet for him. I prefer to keep him close, as he is the only person I have been able to trust for quite some time."
"Very well," Lord Wyl agreed, though not without some reluctance. "Sarai, if you please. And Willem, please attend our...guests...and make sure that they don't need anything which Sarai cannot provide."
It had all gone quite a bit better than Sandor had expected, though now that he'd seen the full power of what he'd once thought of as Sansa's stupid little courtesies, it was clear to him how she had survived this long. Still, to insist he stay in the room with her...that was a bit much. Lord Wyl must certainly think so, anyway.
But what harm could possibly be done? They would be gone in the morning, they would be on the last step of their treacherous journey to Dorne...and he'd best stop being concerned over one night in this place with these people, and begin worrying about what would happen once they were finally in the hands of the Martells.