The words that she had written in her letter to Prince Doran ran through Sansa's head over and over again. She had been as vague and as careful as she could, but had it not been enough? Had she finally crossed a line with the Prince of Dorne, asking him to help her have her marriage annulled, admitting to him that she wanted to marry again? Of course she hadn't mentioned Sandor - she had known better than to do that - but Sansa had made it clear that she thought it best if she was wed immediately, to someone of little or no standing, so that she would pose less of a threat to the other major houses of Westeros and therefore be in less danger herself. But if Doran Martell had finally decided that she wanted too much of him...

Sansa tried to push these thoughts from her mind, but still they kept her awake at night and distracted throughout the day as she awaited the Prince's response.

Other, darker thoughts came to her as well. Had Myrcella died from her wounds? Was Prince Doran dealing with that, and would the princess's death mean that Sansa could remain at the Water Gardens? What a horrible thing to even think about, Sansa berated herself. What had she become, that she could think of Myrcella dying in such a flippant manner? The young princess had always been a sweet girl, and as much a friend as Sansa could have hoped for when she had been a prisoner in King's Landing.

But she's a Lannister, a little voice reminded Sansa.

Of course, in the end news reached her that Myrcella was alive and well - or rather, as well as could be expected, having apparently suffered such grievous wounds. At first Sansa was surprised to see that Ser Willem had collected Sandor before bringing her Prince Doran's much-awaited reply - until she understood that they were to leave that very day, and that the note did not contain much else in the way of information. She and Sandor exchanged a concerned look, but they dared not speak in front of Ser Willem - not in any detail, at least.

"We must go, then," she finally stated. "I have a few things to pack, but that will take me next to no time at all. I suppose we are still not to be seen, so we should meet at the stables at our scheduled departure time." Sansa paused, wishing for a moment that she could ask Sandor to stay with her - under the guise of helping her, perhaps - but not knowing what Doran Martell had made of her note, or what he intended to say to her the following morning, gave her pause. She looked up at Sandor longingly, then excused herself.

The rest of the day fairly crawled by. Sansa didn't want to leave the Water Gardens - not really - yet at the same time she was anxious to meet with Prince Doran, to hear what he had to say...and to know whether or not he was going to help her.

Finally it was time for Sansa, Sandor, and Ser Willem to depart. They took their leave without fanfare; Sansa did not even get to say farewell to the maidservant who had been so helpful and kind during her weeks at the Water Gardens, but she supposed that it was all for the best. Still, she couldn't help but keep an eye out for the party that would be arriving with Myrcella, and was almost disappointed to not catch so much as a glimpse of them.

The sun was already dipping below the horizon when the Water Gardens disappeared behind them, and as evening waned into true night Sansa huddled beneath her layers of sandsilk robes, trying her best to keep from shivering.

"Fine time to be making us travel," Sandor growled.

"It's all right. I'm - "

"You're freezing." Sandor twitched Stranger's reins, and the stallion immediately came to a halt. Before Sansa could speak again, Sandor had dismounted, pulled her from her own horse, and set her in his saddle. Sandor swung up behind her and wrapped his arms about her. "Take hold of that animal," he ordered Ser Willem, jerking his head toward the prancing sand steed she'd been riding. The young knight eyed them for a moment, but soon did as he was told, and then they were off once again.

Now that she was sharing a mount with Sandor for the first time in what seemed like ages, Sansa realized how much she'd missed doing so. She leaned back against his warm bulk and sighed in relief, already quite a bit warmer than she had been. As she moved around, trying to make herself more comfortable, Sandor murmured, "Careful there, little bird." She smiled, but did as he'd bid her, knowing that this couldn't be quite like their earlier travels together. Not with Ser Willem present. She wondered if Prince Doran would insist that the other man accompany them to Essos. He clearly trusted Ser Willem, and she saw no reason not to do so - yet she yearned for those times when it had just been she and Sandor, and she knew that he didn't care for the handsome young knight. Would Doran Martell insist that Ser Willem be present when they talked of her future, in the morning? Sansa hoped not. Ser Willem had certainly distanced himself from her since their kiss, but she was certain that he would disagree with her plan to wed Sandor...and she couldn't bear the idea of Ser Willem trying to talk her out of it, when the Prince himself would certainly do so in that logical, thoughtful way of his.

Sansa reached out and curled her hand over Sandor's.

"Yes, little bird?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

"Sandor...you won't...argue...with the Prince, will you?"

"Argue about what, Sansa?" he replied carefully.

"You know what I refer to," she whispered. "It's just..." Sansa paused for a long moment, and caught herself chewing on her lip. Doing so reminded her of Arya, so she forced herself to stop and to speak again. "I am certain that convincing Prince Doran to do what I need him to do will not be easy, and...well...you will need to be...on your best behavior." She simply couldn't think of any other way to word it, though she knew that Sandor wouldn't appreciate being reminded of such a thing.

As if on cue, he grunted, "Best behavior? Am I a dog again, then?"

Sansa could tell by his tone that he was half annoyed and half japing. She gave the back of his hand a light slap. "Of course not. I merely want my meeting with the Prince to go as smoothly as possible."

"We've been lucky so far, little bird, but at some point that has to change."

"It already did once, for me," Sansa softly reminded him, remembering the weeks when he'd essentially ignored her and how difficult and lonely that time had been.

"I'll never live that one down, will I?" Sandor mumbled.

She couldn't help but chuckle. "I promise not to hold it against you. If anything it served to make me realize that I never want to lose you...else I may never have had the courage to request Prince Doran's help in...certain matters," she finished vaguely, noting that Ser Willem had turned to glance at them several times during their conversation. Thank gods for the moon, or we would not be able to see a single thing. That would have made this nighttime ride much more treacherous, Sansa knew - though she and Sandor had likely always been in just as much danger in their previous journey...

I was so involved with the idea of having finally escaped King's Landing...so involved with him...that I rarely even considered how unsafe we truly must have been, Sansa mused.

And what of her current concerns? Did they in fact stem from this ride through the dark desert, or were they due to not knowing what lay ahead for them in Sunspear, not knowing what Doran Martell would - or wouldn't - do for her? Again Sansa found herself pressing back into Sandor's chest, tucking her head under his chin but wishing that she could pull his face down to hers and kiss him.

Not now, she reminded herself. Not now, but perhaps soon. Perhaps even as soon as tomorrow...

"What are you doing, little bird?" Sandor suddenly growled. His question made Sansa realize that she was absentmindedly stroking his arm, and where her bottom was pressed against him she could feel that he'd grown hard.

"Sorry," she apologized, trying to keep herself from giggling. "I was...thinking."

"Not about anything ladylike, I'm guessing," Sandor retorted.

"No, not exactly," Sansa admitted, feeling her face go warm as she blushed. But you're not some innocent young lady anymore, anyway...

"Well, stop thinking whatever your thinking and stop moving around," Sandor insisted. Again he sounded more amused than anything, but despite the obvious mirth in his tone Sansa knew that she should do as he said. She sighed in frustration, and Sandor must have noticed - for he tightened his hold on her a nearly-imperceptible bit, as if to say, We won't have to be so careful for much longer.

Sansa could only hope that he was right.