Sorry that it's taken me a bit more than a week to get this one up! I really am trying to post at least one chapter a week until this fic is finished. It *is* drawing to a conclusion, and fairly soon at that - I've actually put aside other fics for the time being, because this one has been so long in the writing and I'm ready for it to be completed ;) As always, thanks to all for the kudos and reviews...they are much appreciated!

He held her close for as long as he dared, but all too soon they had to climb out of the pools, dress themselves, and head back to their respective chambers. He wanted to escort Sansa to her room, and it took everything in Sandor to keep himself from doing so. She's safe here, he reminded himself, and if we are caught wandering the halls together, so late at night...

Not to mention with wet clothes and damp hair from their foray into the pools...

Just the thought of what they'd just done made his cock go hard again. Sandor grumbled to himself, frustrated with his own weaknesses. Part of him wanted to tell Sansa that they should abandon this place and run off to Braavos or Pentos or even the Summer Isles, before the weather could keep them from doing so - but then he knew that this wouldn't be what she truly wanted. Were they to cross the Narrow Sea and set up a home for just the two of them, what could ever pull them out of hiding and back to Westeros? Very few things, Sandor knew...and he also understood that Sansa wanted to return to the North, to return to Winterfell and rebuild it and probably raise a family there.

That idea stopped Sandor in his tracks. A family. He'd never thought to have a family, not even before he'd joined Joffrey's jape of a kingsguard. Still, even if Sansa wanted one, the idea of her wanting one with him was laughable at best. If she returned to Winterfell she'd need to marry some Northern lord...unless she never returns to Winterfell, Sandor reminded himself. He would never force her to stay with him - he'd never been that type of man. Not like my father. Not like Gregor. The memories tasted bitter on his tongue.

If he'd believed in any of the gods, Sandor surely would have prayed to every one of them right then and there - prayed for him and Sansa to be given a reason to leave Dorne, and for that reason to force them away from Westeros for good. And though he didn't believe in gods, he still couldn't stop himself from hoping that they would experience just such a reason - and perhaps sooner rather than later...

The next morning dawned much cooler than any before it since they'd arrived in Dorne, and as soon as he found his little bird Sandor knew that the brisk air was doing them a service. Without it he doubted he could have kept his eyes open all day, and it appeared that Sansa hadn't gotten any more sleep than him. Not that he dared comment on or ask about such a thing - of course Ser Willem was there as well, and the young knight would not take even a hint that Sandor had spent a moment alone with Sansa lightly. They'd been lucky this one time, but they couldn't expect to always have it so easy.

Apparently Sansa understood this as well as - or better than - Sandor himself did. Days passed without her pulling him aside or coming to him, and though he wanted to take her in his arms and ask her why, wanted to touch her and kiss her and hold her without worrying about who would see or what anyone at the Water Gardens - or anyone at all, ever - would think, he did his best to follow her lead. Had Sansa not made her true feelings clear several times a day with a light brush of her fingers down his arm or with a meaningful glance his way, it would have been much more difficult...and yet nothing could have prepared him for what did eventually happen.

It was a day seemingly like any other - full of quiet solitude and frustration with his and the little bird's current situation - yet its similarity to the day before it and the day before that was broken the moment Ser Willem appeared at Sandor's side, out of breath, his face lined with concern. "What do you want?" Sandor growled, annoyed that Ser Willem was so busy trying to catch his breath that he apparently couldn't tell Sandor what was wrong.

"We need...to find...Lady Sansa..." the young man gasped. "There's been a raven...from Sunspear...the princess...Myrcella...injured...the Prince...sending her...sending her here!" Ser Willem finally finished his announcement, looking wildly at Sandor as if waiting for the proper reaction.

For his part, though, Sandor's mind was in turmoil. Princess Myrcella had somehow been injured? And because of that, Doran Martell felt the need to disrupt Sansa Stark's peace and send his other little hostage here to the Water Gardens? Of course that would mean that Sansa couldn't stay - though she and Myrcella hadn't seen each other for quite some time, the chances of the little bird being recognized by the princess - or by one of her Lannister guards - were far too high.

And then suddenly it hit him. You fool. You fucking fool.

Gods or no gods, had he somehow willed this thing to happen? It was too soon for Sansa Stark to even attempt a return to Winterfell, and how often in these past days - weeks, even - had Sandor hoped that she never would? "How long do we have?" he asked gruffly.

"A few more days at most. They can't move her right away...her injuries are apparently quite grievous..."

"Injuries? Who is injured?"

Sandor closed his eyes for a moment, clenching his jaw and drawing a deep breath. How long has she been standing there?

Ser Willem started to speak, but Sandor quickly opened his eyes and interrupted the other man with a glare - and then Sandor turned to face his little bird. "Ser Willem received word from Sunspear - Princess Myrcella has come to harm, somehow, and I...I'm afraid that we may have to leave this place. They have to bring her here, and - "

"We cannot stay here if she is here." Sansa's voice was flat, her face nearly expressionless, but he'd seen it fall as soon as he'd mentioned that they would have to leave.

"Don't fret, my lady - Prince Doran will surely find the perfect place for you, somewhere even safer than the Gardens - "

"I'm certain he will," Sansa replied, but her tone was more short than courteous. "Ser Willem, please excuse me. Sandor, walk with me?"

With a brusque nod, Sandor offered her his arm, and as they strode away from Ser Willem Sandor mumbled, "He's right, little bird. Doran Martell will find somewhere for us to go."

"Us?" Sansa repeated, cutting her eyes up to him. She was smiling, but he could see that it was at least partially forced.

"Or you and Ser Willem, if you'd rather," he forced himself to reply. She had teased him and he was teasing her back, that was all...but he didn't feel that this was quite the time. Sansa squeezed his arm, and they walked in silence for some time. Sandor wanted to ask her where they were going...but somehow he knew that right now it wouldn't matter, and that she probably didn't have an answer for him anyway. If that would even be the right question, to begin with. Did he want to know where she was leading him just now, if it was anywhere at all...or did he want to know where they would go in a day or two or three, when they inevitably had to flee the Water Gardens before Myrcella's arrival?

Finally Sansa stopped walking. She pulled Sandor toward an archway where they could look out over the orange trees to the arid landscape beyond. "Sometimes I wish that I had someone telling me what to do," she admitted. "I'm so very tired of running and hiding."

Sandor couldn't help but speak the hard truth. "You may spend the rest of your life running and hiding, little bird. At least you were able to get something of a reprieve here, even if it was only for a short while...and we'll find somewhere to go, a place where we'll be able to stay for longer."

He felt her withdraw her hand from his arm as she asked, "Will we?" Sandor glanced down at her, but she was still gazing out into the distance, looking more melancholy than he'd seen her in quite some time.

"Why don't we go find Ser Willem ." Sandor grimaced at the thought of having to do so. "You can read Doran Martell's note for yourself, and then..." he trailed off, not knowing what to say that could make her feel better.

But after one last, longing look out at the surrounding countryside, Sansa finally nodded in agreement. "You're right. I should read this note for myself, perhaps even send a reply to the Prince. We have a few days...there's no reason to be quite so hasty..."

He knew that she was lying to herself, but for once Sandor couldn't bring himself to point this out. Instead, he silently offered her his arm again. Sansa took it, and he turned them back the way they'd come, hating himself for not speaking with the harsh honesty that she needed to hear.

And hating himself even more for having so badly wanted this opportunity to leave Dorne, when she so clearly wanted to stay.