He refused to worry about himself, but he couldn't stop worrying about the little bird.
The litter that had been sent for them was large and nondescript, but once he and Sansa were ensconced inside with the dull golden silks drawn down around them, it was close quarters - and stuffy. Every time the thing rocked from side to side they were practically thrown against each other, and Sandor could feel Sansa trembling throughout the entire ride. He wanted to reassure her, but what could he possibly say? What do you have the right to say, with the way you've treated her these past weeks? If it came to it, he wouldn't blame her one bit for saving her own arse and leaving him to the wrath of the Martells...though if he was honest with himself, he knew that she was simply too good to ever do such a thing.
Sunspear wasn't a big city, yet it seemed to take half a lifetime to reach the Martell stronghold. It wasn't until Sandor heard the gates clang shut behind them that Ser Willem pulled back the silks and gestured for them to exit the litter.
"Come quickly. Prince Doran awaits you in his private solar."
"Both of us?" Sandor asked, incredulous.
Ser Willem's lip curled in distaste. "The moment you appeared on the deck of that ship, rumors spread through the city that a Clegane was about. Prince Doran had word from my lord merely that important guests were being sent to Sunspear, or something of the sort, so if I were you I wouldn't get too comfortable. The lady is one thing; you, Clegane, are quite another."
"Ser Willem, please." Sansa's voice was strained, and Sandor was surprised when she said no more - but apparently she didn't have to, because the handsome young knight bowed his head apologetically and kept his silence as they made their way to Prince Doran's solar.
The man himself was already seated within, awaiting them, and behind him stood a broad-shouldered, white-haired man holding a great axe nearly as tall as he was. That one could be problematic, Sandor knew immediately - but it took just one glance at Sansa Stark for the Prince of Dorne to dismiss his guard. The axeman gave Sandor a look that would have quelled a lesser man, but nonetheless obeyed his master's order.
"Seven save us, you're Sansa Stark," Prince Doran breathed as soon as the door had shut behind the guard.
"I am, my lo - my prince," Sansa corrected herself, dropping to her knees. She avoided looking at either Doran Martell or Sandor as she continued, "And this is my sworn shield, Sandor - "
"Clegane, I know. Even so far south as Dorne, we know of the burned brute whom they call the Hound. But...your sworn shield, my lady? This is a dangerous man, and he is not well loved in Westeros."
Sandor's hands clenched into fists, almost of their own accord, but somehow he found the means to bite his tongue and let the little bird have her say. She rose gracefully to her feet and met the Prince's eyes as she spoke.
"He was only the Hound because of the Lannisters and their hold on him - a hold they no longer have," Sansa reassured the Prince. "Nor is he a brute. He has protected me for some time now...he is the only reason I was able to escape King's Landing and make it all the way here to Sunspear. I cannot say that he isn't dangerous, nor can I speak for those who do not love him - but your man with the axe looked dangerous enough, and clearly you trust him to be your guard. Please understand that I myself have grown to care for Sandor, as any person would care for the man who saved them from a life of torment."
Doran Martell looked from Sansa to Sandor, and Sandor stared right back. The Prince of Dorne had probably been almost nondescript in his younger years, but age and infirmity had made him nearly as grotesque as Sandor was himself. Finally, Prince Doran spoke.
"For your sake, Lady Sansa, I will withhold further judgment about Ser Clegane here. But please know that outside of these walls...I cannot guarantee his safety. In fact, were my brother Oberyn's daughters not locked away someplace safe, I could not even guarantee his safety within my own stronghold." The Prince sighed. "Be that as it may, now that both of you are here I am presented with the quandary of what to do with you."
"If you please, my Prince...Sandor is no knight. And so long as you and yours will not harm him, I believe there is nothing more we could expect. As for myself...I only ask for safe haven, if that is something that you can give. And I hope that I will not have to intrude on your generosity for very long, if you will allow me to do so at all."
Though he knew how frightened Sansa had been not so much earlier, just now she stood straight and tall and proud. She was pale, yes, and she looked tired as well...but she was beautiful, a lady in every sense of the word, and Sandor was certain that no matter how cautious Doran Martell may be, he would in no wise refuse Sansa Stark the help she asked of him.
"Have no fear, Lady Stark. I will not return you to the Lannisters, that is a certainty. However...whether Sunspear is the safest place for you..." Prince Doran shook his head. "I am of a mind to send you to the Water Gardens, at least until we can think of an even more secure place. The Princess Myrcella is here, you know, with her white knight and several Lannister guardsmen. Should any of them recognize you..."
"I do not believe that Myrcella would mean me any harm, and Ser Arys was - "
"Just another knight who beat you," Sandor muttered, and both Sansa and Doran Martell turned to look at him. Sansa's face had flushed red, but the Prince of Dorne looked as thoughtful as ever.
"Does he speak the truth, my lady? A knight of the Kingsguard beat you?"
Sansa was clearly embarrassed. She averted her eyes from both Sandor and the Prince and fixed them on her feet. Sandor knew that he should feel sorry for speaking of the shameful things that had happened to her in King Joffrey's court, but he felt that the Martells should know the things that Sansa had faced - and overcome. It could only make them more likely to help her...right?
"Ser Arys least of all," Sansa finally whispered. "And he...he was the only one who spoke against it." This admission made Sandor's guts twist. He wanted to believe that he would have refused, had Joffrey ever truly insisted that he hit Sansa Stark...but that situation had never presented itself, and now...
Once again Doran Martell looked from Sansa to Sandor, but this time he turned back to the girl before speaking. "I see. Well. Ser Arys is a guest under my roof, and as it stands it is better that he not know of your being in Dorne. If you and your...sworn shield...do not object, I will send you to the Water Gardens immediately. I would save the journey until first light if I thought it safe, but if you leave now and travel by horseback you will reach that place by dusk. I am told that you have one horse on the ship; I will provide you with a sand steed and a complement of guards as well. Ser Willem will attend you; Lord Wyl seemed to believe that the young knight is devoted to the idea of keeping you safe, and the more men you have about you, the better, I think." Again he glanced Sandor's way. "I trust my servants explicitly, especially at the Water Gardens, where there are always children visiting. All the same, it will be best for you to not speak your true names, and to keep to yourselves whenever possible. This is the only way I can even...partially...guarantee your safety. And as soon as a better situation presents itself..."
"I believe that I may trust you to keep my best interests at heart," Sansa noted. She plays these men even easier than she does me, Sandor thought, and not for the first time. He did not care for the idea of Ser Willem attending Sansa as well, but now of all times it was not his place to argue against the idea. He watched the Prince of Dorne, but saw no treachery in that man's sad and pain-filled eyes.
"I am honored that you have placed your trust in me...and in Dorne. Perhaps when the time is right, I will be able to introduce you to my daughter...though I would not suggest that your sworn shield be present at that time. Many people here in Dorne would not care to differentiate one Clegane from another."
"But you do?" Sandor growled. He couldn't help it; the mere idea of being thought of just as his brother would be...
Prince Doran sighed again, his swollen hands worrying at the blanket that covered the ruins of his legs. "I know what it is to be different from one's brother, Sandor Clegane."