Obviously he hadn't been thinking when he insisted that Sansa ride with him. Having her share the saddle with him again brought back quite a few memories - memories that Sandor could almost call fond.
And it didn't help that she wouldn't stop wiggling around. Even the slightest movements that she made were close to torture for him right now, with Ser Willem's presence keeping Sandor from touching Sansa in the ways he wanted to.
Which is probably all for the best, Sandor told himself. What would happen if Doran Martell refused to help Sansa annul her marriage to Tyrion, yet sent them to Essos unchaperoned?
In a situation like that, how long would he be able to keep her safe...from himself?
The moon had risen high in the sky and begun to drift back down again before Sandor, Sansa, and Ser Willem finally made their way through the gates of Sunspear. Sansa sharing Sandor's saddle had been all for the best - she had begun drifting in and out of sleep nearly two hours before they reached their destination, a dangerous state in which to be riding alone. There were a few servants waiting to greet them, but Sandor brushed off their help, sliding down from Stranger's back and taking Sansa into his arms. "Just show me where she can sleep," he growled.
"Sandor?" Sansa murmured sleepily, squirming a bit in his arms.
"We've arrived at Sunspear," he told her. "Now go back to sleep. I'll see that you end up in a bed." She blinked up at him and gave him a small, knowing smile, but Sandor merely drew his brows together in response and looked to the servants again. "Well?" he prompted.
Finally one of them broke away from the group and scurried off. Sandor rolled his eyes and followed, and soon enough he was putting Sansa to bed in a small but comfortable room deep within the Martell stronghold. The servant lingered in the doorway as Sandor laid Sansa down and pulled a coverlet over her, and though he considered telling the little man to go away - to leave them - he knew that doing so wouldn't look good. Instead he herded the servant away from the door and shut it behind him. "I'm staying here. To watch over her," he clarified. "Send Ser Willem to sit with me if you feel it necessary, but I'll not leave her unguarded."
The much smaller man opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again...but finally he nodded, and then turned and scampered back down the hallway. Sandor's lip curled in annoyance as he lowered himself to the floor and leaned his back against the door to Sansa's chamber, wondering if there was any way he would be able to fall asleep...or if sleeping would do him much good, considering the fact that Sansa would be roused to meet with Doran Martell in just a few hours.
Ser Willem arrived within half an hour. He nodded in greeting and leaned against the opposite wall of the passageway. Several minutes passed in silence, until finally Ser Willem said, "She's safe here, you know. She doesn't need you sitting outside her door like this."
"Don't assume that you know what she needs," Sandor snarled.
"Fine. But Prince Doran has given you no reason to mistrust him."
"I suppose he hasn't. But my trust is hard won, and if I'm watching over her, I know she's safe."
"Is she, though?" Ser Willem asked, his eyes glittering strangely in the low light of the flickering torches. Sandor glared at the younger man, and finally Ser Willem looked away, mumbling, "You should think about what's best for her."
"And you should think about keeping your buggering mouth shut," Sandor retorted. The handsome knight obeyed, but for Sandor the damage had already been done. He rested the back of his head against the door and closed his eyes, yet sleep would not come - not now that he couldn't stop thinking about Sansa's safety, and about what Ser Willem may or may not suspect in regards to her and Sandor's relationship.
We'll know more after she meets with Doran Martell, Sandor reminded himself...and with that last thought, he finally drifted into a restless sleep...
...only to be nudged awake what seemed like mere moments later. Sandor blinked slowly and looked up to see a white-haired man with broad shoulders towering over him. The man looked vaguely familiar - as did the huge longaxe that he carried. The Prince's personal guard, Sandor remembered, pushing himself to his feet as quickly and nimbly as possible, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"You will not be needing that," the older man said. "I have come to collect the girl for her meeting with the Prince."
"Fine then. But I'll be going as well," Sandor insisted.
The big man's gaze was unreadable; he merely shook his head from side to side. Sandor snorted his disagreement and turned to Sansa's door, rapping on it loud enough to wake her.
"Just...just a moment..." she called softly. He heard her moving about, and when she opened the door she was wrapped in the coverlet and blinking the sleep from her eyes. "Is it time?" she asked.
"Aye. This one says I'm not to go with you," Sandor told her, jerking his chin back to indicate Doran Martell's guard.
Sansa peered over Sandor's shoulder, then furrowed her brow at the other man. "Sandor Clegane is my sworn shield. I go nowhere without him. Surely you understand that?"
"He may accompany you, but if the Prince does not wish him to stay, he must leave."
"We'll see about that," Sandor grumbled, but one look from the little bird kept him from saying any more.
"Come, then." The guard turned on his heel and strode back down the passage. Sansa let the coverlet fall to the floor and quickly straightened her rumpled gown before tucking her hand into Sandor's elbow.
Ser Willem struggled to his feet behind them, forgotten in their haste to follow the Prince's man. "I'll come as well."
Sansa's grip on Sandor's arm tightened almost imperceptibly. "As you will," she agreed, "but I must request that you not try to enter with Sandor and I. Apparently it will be trouble enough for me to keep my sworn shield by my side."
Sandor turned to glance at Ser Willem. The young man's jaw was working; clearly he had more to say...but Sandor turned around and pulled the little bird after Doran Martell's guard, not wanting to give Ser Willem a chance to argue his case.
They met in the same room as before, only this time the Prince of Dorne looked to be in even worse shape - his face more drawn, his eyes almost...haunted.
"Areo tells me that you wish for Sandor Clegane to be present for our talk," Doran Martell sighed once Sansa had greeted him with a low curtsy.
"I do. As I told your guard, he is my sworn shield...he is to remain by my side at all times."
"Or at least at all waking moments," the Prince said shrewdly. What does he know - or think he knows? Sandor worried.
Sansa shrugged, clearly trying to appear nonchalant. "I wasn't aware that was a distinction I must make."
Doran Martell sighed. "Very well. Sandor Clegane may stay. Ser Willem, please wait outside. Areo, the door." The Prince of Dorne waited until the door was shut and barred behind Ser Willem before speaking again; meanwhile, Sandor stepped closer to Sansa, wanting the two men to understand that he would protect her at all costs. Prince Doran's eyes followed Sandor's movement, but Sandor met the Prince's gaze and refused to look away. Finally Doran Martell broke the silence by saying, "First and foremost, I must apologize for having to remove you from the Water Gardens. I assure you that I did not expect to have to do so this soon, or in this manner."
"You do not need to apologize," Sansa insisted. "You've done so much for me, when you could have done nothing. When you could have returned me to the Lannisters. I must ask, though...Myrcella...is she..."
The Prince waved her off. "The Princess Myrcella will heal...for the most part. I'm sure she would appreciate your concern, as she is a sweet girl, but we are not here to talk about her...and of course, I cannot relay your thoughtfulness to her, anyway."
"Of course," Sansa agreed, though Sandor noted that she sounded a bit sad. "And I suppose that we are not here to talk about Myrcella, in any case. You know that I have decided to sail to Essos, but much as I hate to inconvenience you even further, I need your assistance in another matter." Sandor couldn't help but feel proud of her; she kept her eyes fixed on Doran Martell as she spoke, didn't seem at all nervous, and didn't indicate Sandor - or his involvement in what she wanted - in any way.
"Yes...you mentioned that in your message. I did not think it prudent to reply in writing, and besides, I needed these past few days to consider your request. You ask quite a bit of me, you know."
"Is it truly so much more, so very different, from what you've given me already?" Sansa asked quietly.
"I think," the Prince said slowly, looking from Sansa to Sandor and then back again, "that depends on what you left out of your letter, more so than what you put into it."