How did I get dragged into this marriage discussion again?
It wasn't that, given the chance, he would deny spending the rest of his life with Sansa Stark...it was simply that he couldn't let himself believe that such a thing was even possible. He'd once had hopes and dreams...but he'd been a mere stupid child, then - and Gregor had burned away his innocence over a fucking toy knight. Sandor had tried and tried to teach Sansa the ways of this world - the harsh, cruel, lying ways - and yet she insisted on continuing to believe that things would work out for the best.
And sometimes, Sandor admitted to himself, she made him want to believe that, too.
So he took her into his arms and kissed her - because he wanted to, and because he knew that she wanted it as well. But rather than let their embrace proceed any further, Sandor eventually pulled away from her. "We should still be careful, little bird," he warned.
Sansa heaved a sigh. "I know. How long do you think it will take for Prince Doran to answer my note?"
Sandor shrugged. "If he's in a hurry, Sunspear is close enough for a raven to return by tomorrow..."
"That's what I thought..." Sansa replied hopefully. "Still, that gives us quite a bit of time together, doesn't it?" She tried to tuck herself against him, but again Sandor backed away.
"We need to prepare to leave, Sansa. And I wouldn't put it past Ser Willem to still be lurking around. You'd best start thinking about where you want to go from here. If Prince Doran's next letter arrives and I'm not around, you send someone to find me. Immediately."
"Do you really mean to leave me just now?" his little bird pouted.
"Aye," Sandor grunted. "If we're going to be traveling again, we need to be better prepared this time, don't you think?"
Sansa grimaced but nodded her agreement.
"Good. I'll find you tonight for the evening meal, I promise." Guess that's the least I can do. Sandor took her in his arms and kissed her again - a brief but passionate kiss. Before he could succumb to her - as he so often wanted to - he let go of her and mumbled a goodbye before summarily exiting her chambers. Once he'd shut the door behind him Sandor gave himself a moment to take a deep breath, wondering how in seven hells he'd forced himself to leave her there when what he really wanted was to -
No. Don't even think like that. Thinking led to imagining...which led to more wanting than he thought he was capable of handling just now. Instead Sandor decided to do exactly what he'd told Sansa he would do - start planning for their eventual departure. The servants at the Water Gardens had provided them with everything they needed while they were there, but when they left they would require more than sandsilk clothing and a few blankets. They would need better clothes, bedrolls, food, possibly water...and wine. This time, Sandor didn't want to forget the wine. He didn't drink as he had in King's Landing - didn't need to, now that he had his little bird - but he didn't want to have to give it up entirely for weeks on end again.
And anyway, the wine here was too good to pass up.
Unfortunately it would be hours before the kitchens were devoid of servants, but once they were he could ransack them for supplies. He wanted to trust that Doran Martell would provide for them, but if Myrcella was truly wounded so badly that she couldn't be moved right away...
It didn't bear thinking about. Myrcella and Tommen had been good children, and Sandor had almost been fond of them, in his own way. Myrcella especially, for she'd been quite good at standing up to Joffrey...gods, I hope she's all right...
Sandor shook his head to clear it. Stop. Stop thinking about her. It's you that matters, and more than you, it's the little bird. Sansa Stark.
His little bird. His Sansa Stark.
But that was a dangerous path to tread right now too, thinking about what could happen to them - between them - once Sansa put her idea to the Prince of Dorne. Much as he didn't agree with it, Sandor could see that his little bird had set her mind to it, and she would do whatever she could to see it come to fruition. in some ways, No longer wed to Tyrion...wanting to be wed to him, Sandor Clegane...it made little and less sense, but if she desired it, who was he to deny her?
That afternoon, Sandor did what he could to gather some supplies for their inevitable journey...but then he had to sup with Sansa - and Ser Willem, of course - and after that the young knight tailed him, asking question after question about their plans. Sandor grunted noncommittal answers, and was only able to shake the other man by claiming that he needed his rest and shutting himself up in his room. So much for handling this without him, Sandor mused, frustrated...and he wasn't surprised when Sansa showed up at his door early the next morning with a missive from Prince Doran in her hand and Ser Willem by her side.
"Mycella will arrive within the week. The Prince writes that she is out of danger at the moment, but too weak to travel. He believes that we would be safe at Yronwood or Godsgrace, as he trusts those Houses explicitly...though he admits that Godsgrace is geographically safer. He has also offered to send us to Essos, if we would prefer. There is more to that, I believe, but I think he feared to put the rest to parchment."
"Smart man," Sandor said sarcastically. "He already revealed more than enough, naming Yronwood and Godsgrace."
"Which is exactly why I don't believe he wants me to go to either of those places," Sansa admitted. "I've already replied and told him that we would prefer to cross the Narrow Sea."
"Did you? And what else did you say to him?"
Sansa eyed Sandor reproachfully. "That is for my knowledge only," she replied, but Sandor knew at least the basics of what she must have written to Doran Martell - and knew that she didn't want Ser Willem to hear of it. At least not yet. He sure as hells will find out eventually.
"So what now?" Sandor pressed.
"Now...we wait," Sansa grimaced.
But neither of them were prepared to wait as long as they did. The rest of that day passed, all of the next, and the one after that...and still no word from the Prince of Dorne. Sandor convinced Sansa to ready herself as much as she possibly could - to horde blankets and clothing rather than allow them to be taken away for washing, to set aside bits of food that wouldn't spoil quickly and even to hide a jug of wine now and again. After tucking away a third jug, Sansa refused to do so anymore. "They're going to think I'm a...a..."
"Drunkard?" Sandor chuckled. "I'm sure they'll put that off on me, little bird."
"Well, and I don't want them to do that, either!" she cried.
"I wouldn't worry about it," Sandor shrugged. "Not just now, anyway."
Sansa surprised him by agreeing. "You're right. I suppose I'm quite a bit more concerned about the fact that I have yet to receive a response from Prince Doran."
"Doran Martell is notoriously slow and thoughtful. I wouldn't worry about that, either." She didn't need to worry, because Sandor was doing enough of that for the both of them. It didn't help that Sansa still hadn't told him exactly what she'd written to the Prince of Dorne...had she already told him that she not only wanted her marriage annulled, but that she wanted to wed again so soon? And to a Clegane of all people, a member of a family the Martells hated as much or more than all of the Lannisters? That would sure as hells be a good reason for him to not sent a fast reply...
Four days after Sansa had sent her note to Doran Martell, Ser Willem came to find Sandor around midday. "I've had a message from the Prince. In early evening, when it begins to cool, we ride for Sunspear. The timing of our departure is such that we will not cross paths with the Princess Myrcella as she arrives here at the Water Gardens. We are to meet with Prince Doran at first light tomorrow morning."
"We'd best find the little - lady. Sansa." Sandor paused, hoping he had covered up his near-blunder. "She ought to know right away." Ser Willem nodded, and they set off toward Sansa's chambers together, Sandor wondering what Doran Martell meant by making them travel so late in the day, by giving them so little notice...
And so it begins, Sandor brooded.
But the real question was when - or rather, how - it would end...