Oh, he was just so...so...awful, sometimes! She'd been awful as well, of course, but only because he'd been so very rude to Ser Willem, threatening to undo the good she'd done. Still, Sansa knew that she ought to apologize to him...yet just now she couldn't bring herself to say the words, especially not after he'd outright offered to leave her. Is that what he truly wanted, then? Could he truly want it, especially now that they couldn't share what they'd shared when it was just the two of them, alone in their travels? She certainly did not want him to feel obliged to stay with her, not if he didn't truly want to do so...

Stop it, stop it, stop it! Sansa did not know why she was thinking these things; she knew, despite his obvious disinclination to say the actual words, that Sandor loved her. They'd had an argument, that was all, and soon they would have a moment alone - just a moment, that's all they would need, and they would murmur apologies and perhaps share a kiss and all would be fine. Sansa took this idea and tucked it away, hoping that when the time came Sandor would have calmed down a bit as well. She did not know if she could bring herself to apologize were he to insist on continuing their argument.

Or even worse, what if he continued to threaten to leave her? That, Sansa knew, she could not stand at all.

"My lady? Are you all right?"

Sarai was at the door, a fine gown draped across her arms. Sansa realized with a start that Sandor was watching her warily from a few feet away; she must have been standing there musing on these things for more than a few moments.

"Yes, I...I'm fine," she lied. "I merely lost my train of thought. But what is this?" She spoke over Sandor's snort, feeling herself tense at the noise and at how he crossed his arms over his chest, and focused on the gown. It was made of a deep blue silk, with some fine embroidery about the neckline and the edge of the skirt.

"It belonged to Lady Wyl, but if it pleases you she would like you to have it. Pardons, my lady, but she says that when you meet Prince Doran Martell, you may want to have something a little...nicer...to wear."

Glancing down at the stained and bedraggled gown she was wearing, and thinking of the only other one she had packed upon fleeing King's Landing, which was in even worse condition, were that possible, Sansa could not help but agree. "How kind of Lady Wyl," she breathed, smiling beatifically. "Please, you must thank her for me, as I fear I will not see her before we leave this place."

"You are correct, Lady Stark. Lady Wyl offers her apologies, but she has household duties to attend to and will not be able to see you off. She sends her regrets along with this gown."

Another snort from Sandor. This time Sansa turned her head in his direction and glared at him, but his only response to her chiding look was a small smirk. With a sigh of frustration she faced Sarai again and gently took the gown from the maid's arms. "I will pack it most carefully, and I will think quite fondly of Lady Wyl when the time comes for me to present myself to Prince Doran and I actually have something proper to wear." Sarai smiled at Sansa, but her eyes flicked to Sandor as she bowed herself out of the room, and it took every bit of self-control Sansa possessed to not snap at him once they were alone again. Instead she did her best to wrap the gown properly amongst her belongings, and when she was finished she muttered, "It is past time for us to leave this place."

"I'd say so," Sandor rasped, and though she tried to pretend it was because he saw how light it had grown, how much of the morning had already passed, Sansa heard the bite of rancor in his voice and once again had to steel herself against it. Without another word to him, she marched out of the room and down the winding tower stairs, until she reached the base where Ser Willem was waiting in the hall for them. The guard offered Sansa his arm, and without a second thought she placed her hand on it, unable to stop herself from imagining how furious Sandor likely was just now, walking along behind her as she touched this knight and even made small talk with him.

"Will you remain at Sunspear long, Ser Willem?" she asked, smiling up at him as flirtatiously as she could manage. For a moment the guard seemed taken aback by her sudden attentions to him, but he quickly composed himself and gave her a winning grin.

"I suppose that depends, Lady Stark - on how well you are received, and whether it turns out that you will be safer somewhere else. That is the only charge I've been given, after all - to keep you safe."

"My mother was Lady Stark, Ser Willem, so you should call me Lady Sansa. And I shall welcome your advice once we arrive at Sunspear; I know next to nothing of the Martells, having only spent brief periods of time with Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria. They, however, were always quite kind to me."

"I should think you have nothing to worry about from Prince Doran, though his daughter Arianne and the Sand Snakes may pose more of an issue. I fear they will not take kindly to your sworn shield, him being a Clegane." This last bit was said quite softly, though it would not surprise Sansa if Sandor had heard Ser Willem's words. She almost glanced over her shoulder at him - almost. She stopped herself from doing so just in time, instead moving her head close to Ser Willem's in a conspiratorial manner.

"I assure you that Sandor Clegane despises his brother as much - if not more than - anyone else in all Westeros. He is quite loyal to me, and if Prince Doran is as thoughtful as everyone claims him to be, my sworn shield should be accepted for what he is - my guard." A part of my life. No, more than a part - all of it, everything that I live for.And now she could not stop herself looking round at Sandor, who met her gaze with angry eyes that had, if she was not mistaken, a hint of hurt in them…which could only be a response to her momentary betrayal.

It made her...sad, seeing that sudden weakness in him. Was she - could she be - bad for Sandor, then? Would handling Prince Doran and his daughter and these so-called Sand Snakes be as easy as handling Lord Wyl had been? She guessed not, yet she suddenly could not help but question whether she was perhaps bringing Sandor to a place where he would be vilified for who he was, regardless of what he was to her, regardless of how much she trusted and needed him...

Once they were outside Sansa quickly excused herself from Ser Willem on the pretense of allowing her sworn shield to accompany her to the ship. At first Sandor merely stiffened when she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, but as soon as they had collected Stranger and Ser Willem's horse from the stables, she was mounted in front of him once again and he had no choice but to surround her with his arms and allow her to lean back against his chest. The guard rode in front of them - thank the gods - and as soon as Sansa was assured that Ser Willem was not paying them any mind she wiggled her arse against Sandor's groin, relishing in his frustrated grunt when his manhood immediately began to harden.

"Stop it, little bird," Sandor warned, his arms stiff on either side of her, pressing almost uncomfortably into her rib cage.

"I will not," Sansa replied petulantly, though she hoped he knew that she was teasing.

"This isn't a very long ride, Sansa. Wouldn't want to spoil things by climbing off this horse with my cock practically poking out of my breeches."

"You wouldn't, maybe," she smirked, leaning to the left and laying the right side of her head against his chest so that she could look up at his face. "But I for one would find it quite amusing."

"And do you think Lord Wyl would find it amusing? What do you think he'd do first, label you a whore or take me aside for...questioning?" The last word came out as more of a grunt than anything else, for in the pretext of straightening her cloak Sansa had reached around and run her knuckles up and down the side of his erect manhood. She knew that she shouldn't be doing it, truly she did, yet she also knew that she wanted Sandor, perhaps even more so now, at this moment, when she knew that he was angry with her. "Little bird, please," he growled, his voice soft, even strangled-sounding.

Sansa looked ahead and saw the masts of the few ships in the small port rising above the low buildings that were crowded around the pier, and with a sigh she forced herself to ignore the warm throbbing in her nether regions and remove her hand from between Sandor's legs. "I apologize," she murmured, though she only partly meant it. Of course she didn't want to get herself or Sandor in trouble; she did, however, wonder how well she was truly going to be able to adjust to not being able to touch or kiss Sandor whenever she wished to do so.

Especially when she wanted to do those things far more often than not.

Regardless of whether or not the time was proper to be doing them.

Like now, for instance.

"Sit farther forward," Sandor ordered. Biting her lip in frustration, Sansa obeyed, and she felt him adjusting himself in the saddle behind her. "Little bird, you'll be the death of me," he mumbled.

And you of me, if I can't stop acting so wanton around you all of the time, Sansa mused...but just then they finally rode out onto the open stretch of ground that lay between the lapping waves and the handful of port buildings. Everything looked so different here, compared to where King's Landing met Blackwater Bay...it nearly took her breath away. Ser Willem was dismounting, and nearby she saw Lord Wyl deep in conversation with a small and weathered man who could only be the captain of the ship that was to take them to Dorne. When he saw that they'd arrived, Lord Wyl lifted his hand in greeting and excused himself from his parley with the seaman.

"Ah, good. You're a bit early, but they should be ready to set sail before the tide goes out." Lord Wyl eyed them both, still mounted on Stranger though Ser Willem had dismounted. "Lady Sansa, is everything all right?"

"Oh yes, yes, of course," she replied, sliding off Stranger's back without Sandor's help. She glanced up at him; he rolled his eyes and followed her lead, though he took several moments to loosen the destrier's girth and, she guessed, to compose himself.

"Captain Yavin Marsh here will see you to your destination, then," Lord Wyl promised with a bow. "And as you already know, I am sending Ser Willem with you as a safeguard."

Sansa nodded. "Thank you for everything you've done, Lord Wyl. Your kindness and your assistance in this matter will not be forgotten."

"Best of luck to you, Lady Stark."

She turned to Sandor. "Best lead your horse aboard, Clegane." She hated to address him so coldly, but at the moment it could not be helped. Soon they were settled on the ship; she in one cabin, Ser Willem and Sandor in another. That doesn't bode well, she mused. Before they went below decks, Sansa made sure to pull Sandor aside. "I am alone in my cabin," she murmured, "and I believe if Ser Willem was drunk enough, he would not notice your absence...for a few hours at least."

Other than a snort, Sandor did not acknowledge her comment. Sansa pretended to ignore his response, and merely smiled at him as if nothing was wrong, as if nothing had changed between the two of them. "I look forward to your visit," she whispered, sauntering into her cabin and hoping beyond hope that he took her hint.