Hello girls!

I had originally planned to post this chapter and the final one at the same time but I changed my mind in the end and decided I'd rather give you something to chew on while you wait. I warn you though; after this one they'll only be the final one remaining. It feels so weird to think about it!

I hope you'll all enjoy this one and I'd really like to get your take on it.

Thank you for reading!

Sandor

The thick mist of sleep that had enveloped his consciousness had taken its sweet time dissolving. Sandor usually didn't linger in bed but the dreams that had crowded his night had been too perfect to leave without a combat and therefore, he had willed with all his might for sleep to swallow him again but that wasn't a fight Sandor's skills could win. Lying alone on his pallet, the foggy memory of his ordinarily so shy little bird finding her way to his chamber with no other wish than to be fucked senseless had quickly come back to him. In all likelihood, Sandor would have ended up believing the whole thing to be a buggering delusion if not for the small drop of blood that stained the linens where Sansa had lain. Under the dawning light, its dark brownish-red hue had reminded Sandor of the petal of a dying rose. The little bird's precious maidenhead, lost over rough linens in the dark of the night with an even rougher man, he mused, thinking back on that morning while staring at the pouring rain outside the small hollow where he hid at the base of a rock formation. About a fortnight had passed since that twice-blasted day when he had had no other fucking choice than to leave the girl in her family's care.

The course of the night had not taken long to come back to him. In a succession of images, each more arousing than the last, every detail of the blessed hours Sansa had been his had flashed through his mind and never stopped. Even now as he travelled through the Riverlands, the little bird's unexpected visit occupied his every thought. The memory of that soft and frail naked body brushing against his, of those plump lips, pink and parted as they cried in ecstasy, of her eyes rolling when she reached her peak, of her firm teats in his hands and of her cunt so tight but also, so fucking perfect around his cock… all of those and much more were now apparently all he could think about for longer than a few minutes straight. The girl had been so sweet and eager, wrapping her thin arms around him and breathing his name in gasps of pleasure while spreading her pretty white thighs as widely as she could, wishing naught more than for his cock to thrust as deeply as it could into her… And she told you she loved you, dog, he repeated to himself before snorting and spitting into the wall of rain that fell before him.

Unsheathing his sword, the man began his daily ritual of cleaning the cold steel. The sharp sound of the blade as the whetstone brushed over its edge was soothing as a lullaby to Sandor's ears. The maintenance of his weapons was as much an obligation as a pastime to him; he had always enjoyed the process and would undoubtedly have found the nights pretty damned long without the activity to occupy him. That and also the knowledge that the very blade he worked upon would slaughter anyone stupid enough to get in his way was intoxicating. Being battle ready at any buggering given time had been second nature to Sandor ever since he could recall, a habit he would certainly never lose but lately the importance of the deadliness of his weapons had dramatically increased in his mind, for he was on a mission of his own choosing for the very first time in his life.

Little bird. I'm coming for you.

Sansa

Although dawn was now well past, the shy autumn sun was so faint that Sansa might have believed night was still upon them had she not been awakened several hours ago. Having only ever known summer, she already missed the season so terribly. Every day that went by was noticeably shorter than the previous one to the point where she now had to wonder if Old Nan's stories of the Long Night were not true after all. The idea was more than frightening to say the least.

Still, with or without sufficient daylight, life had to go on and thus, the usual morning preparations had been unfolding for a few hours now. It always took an awfully long time for the column to be ready to depart and therefore Sansa and Dacey Mormont had taken up a habit of strolling around the camp to pass the time every morning. Today was no exception and through their walk, they had found a small clearing filled with apple trees but the hopes they had had at first had quickly grown as sparse as the sunbeams.

"They're wrinkled and rotten in this one too," Dacey commented, disappointment and disgust in her voice.

The fruits that hung in the nearest tree were all brownish and small. The two girls had now inspected each and every last tree they had found but not a single one of their apples had appeared to be edible.

"Is the season really over so soon? Autumn is hardly done yet," Sansa complained to the emptiness before her.

"Well, perhaps the trees will bloom again in a few weeks and more will grow before winter comes but we'll be far from here by then," the tall girl answered, wrinkling her nose at the spongy feel of an apple under her forefinger. "These ones are well beyond lost. Even my horse would turn his nose up if I offered him one and that says a lot as he's usually such a glutton!"

Smiling sadly at her friend's jest, Sansa distractedly caressed the trunk of the nearest tree. "Still, I'm surprised all of them have already gone foul. Only a few weeks back, we had the nicest apples –it was lovely! - but we were still in the Westerlands then. The seasons must be different up here in the north of the Riverlands…" Sansa regretted, sighing deeply.

"We? You and the Hound, you mean?" Dacey asked, raising an eyebrow.

I really should stop mentioning him so often. I forget myself! Sansa mused, blushing at her inadvertent slip. It was hard for her not to mention him. She was constantly compelled to speak Sandor's name as if by doing so, she might somehow be able to bring him back. "Yes, that's what I meant," she murmured, willing her tone to sound casual.

Dacey eyed her with suspicion but didn't utter any comment. Instead, she turned around and gazed in the camp's direction. She was garbed in breeches, high boots and wore thin leather armour and looked very fierce, Sansa reflected, especially with the long dagger that hung at her hip.

"I can't wait to hear the horn blow to call us to leave. It's already almost past mid-morning, by the gods! " Dacey muttered, exasperated. "It seems as if we'll never get to the Twins. I still have a hard time believing we're now only a couple of days away."

Sansa nodded her agreement although the older girl's back was to her. She was growing extremely weary of all the constant travelling and the break that would represent her uncle's wedding would be more than welcome. The journey north was far more difficult than she had presumed. It was queer; although her time with the Hound had lacked all the comforts she presently had, her sleep came far less easily these days. She may sleep in a tent over a cot and eat meals that were varied and warm three times each day, yet those details were now totally meaningless to her. Sansa might as well have laid over rocks and fed on earth and she would not have felt any worse. Life had been so much more pleasant while she crossed the Westerlands with Sandor. Every hour she had spent with him by her side had been as exciting as the grandest of tourneys in comparison to the boring day-to-day routine her reality was now made of. Sighing, the girl sat on a large boulder – the only passably dry surface that surrounded her – and brought her knees to her breasts, gaze lost before her.

Sandor had been right to prefer travelling light, Sansa had shortly come to realise. The party she was with these days was composed of thousands of men at arms, servants and camp followers of all sorts and such a large group advanced painfully slowly. The weather wasn't helping either; showers of rain were drowning them most of the time and the road beneath their feet was extremely muddy and slippery. Regularly, a horse would slip and fall. The column sometimes had to wait more than an hour before the beast was fully examined and then either saved or killed. Sansa was heartbroken every time the latter was decided. Her tears did come terribly easily these days...

Sansa shared a tent with her mother and therefore she had been forced to muffle the sobs that had shaken her every night since the morning Sandor had left Riverrun. Her pillow was always so wet by dawn that she had no doubt her handmaiden had noticed something odd but the woman had thankfully kept silent so far. Sansa had used the excuse of the hardship of the travel to explain the redness of her eyes and tautness of her face whenever someone had mentioned how tired she looked and everyone had always apparently bought her story. Were they all truly that blind to how grieved she was over the loss of her one true love? Was it not as evident as the sun on a glorious summer's day how distraught and empty she felt? Although she should have been thanking the gods that her family had not guessed the true reason for her state, Sansa was nevertheless utterly annoyed that none of them could divine the nature of her distress. She felt as if her heart had been cut in two and one half stolen from its place but no one seemed to either notice or care. They had believed her lies with no questions asked. The Hound would not have been fooled so easily. He could smell lies miles away and always knew how to see right through me. Sansa missed him so…

Life was so dull without him by her side. No one spoke like him in their camp, or if they did, they would never dare in Sansa's presence. The men that surrounded her were treating her with so much reverence that it annoyed her to no end! She was like a beautiful object to be admired from afar for fear of breaking or spoiling it - too fragile and too pure to be touched. Sansa almost snorted at the thought. If only they knew…

Most of all, however, Sansa missed being the centre of attention, the one thing that mattered in someone's eyes. Sandor had always made her feel so important and desired; naught else captivated his interest more intently than her presence. Ever since her time in King's Landing, he had always been completely captivated by her, or so he had told her but Sansa had no difficulty believing his word where that was concerned; it was something she had felt herself even before she could understand it.

Against anything she might ever have foreseen, she had grown in time to love the Hound too, to a point where she had been willing to grant him the one thing a maiden can offer once, a gift meant for her lord husband alone. The last night they had shared had been so magical, intense but also…dirty and bestial. The reality of what occurred between lovers was kept secret from maidens; she would never have expected most of what had transpired between them. At the memory of their lovemaking, Sansa's eyes still grew wide with shock but the flush that would creep all over her skin was not caused by shame… There was something else, far stronger and more profound that vibrated through her anytime she let her mind wander to that night of passion. She had tasted the forbidden fruit - had been soiled by its flavour - and would never recover…

Every moment of her last night with Sandor, Sansa had relished. She kept turning the events over in her mind, wishing for their bodies to mingle once more, to be one as they had been, as they were meant to be joined. Her only consolation was that she had had the chance to live them, to decide on her own the ending to their love story. As tragic as it was, their romance was as beautiful as the saddest and most touching song she had ever heard. Too highborn for the man she loved, Sansa had sacrificed her purity for the sake of showing him how much he meant to her and with the gesture, she had proved to him that naught would have stopped her from being his if not for the duty she had toward her family, people and land. A tear rolled down her cheek at the thought and Sansa swiftly wiped it away, fearing that Dacey might notice.

"Do you think everything will go well with the wedding?" Dacey suddenly asked, still staring toward the camp.

The cloud of her thoughts instantly dissolving around her, Sansa frowned at her friend. "Why should there be any problem?"

Dacey turned her head back to gaze at her. "Well, I heard the Freys were vindictive bastards for one." Grinning at Sansa's gasp, the tall girl continued. "I'm only repeating what others have told me!" she justified with amusement. "Even without that undeniable fact, you can expect that a man who's been promised to become grandfather to a king will not be too pleased when the terms of the contract are changed and his daughter ends up being betrothed to a mere lord instead."

"Edmure is not just any lord though. He rules over the whole Riverlands now that my grandfather is dead," Sansa promptly retorted.

"Still, that's not the same as a king, is it?"

Sansa had to agree. With a sigh, she reflected for the hundredth time on Robb's decision to marry Jeyne. The cost had been exceedingly high for the North and its allies but at least it had allowed her brother to follow his heart. A pang of jealousy stabbed her at the recollection.

"This is going to be some tense wedding. I'm not certain exactly what to expect but the atmosphere at the honour table won't be too jolly, believe my word on that," Dacey predicted, tone low and brooding.

Smiling, Sansa raised her chin from her knees and wolfishly glanced at her friend. "Especially if the bride is as ugly as Edmure believes she will be. He keeps complaining to whoever stands in his presence long enough that he'll end up marrying a maiden so hideous that the Tully bloodline won't ever recover afterwards."

Both girls giggled at the foolish notion. It was good to laugh - Sansa had missed it – but the melancholy in her was rooted far too deeply to vanish completely, even for the shortest of moments. She almost felt guilty, as if allowing joy to seep through her gloom without Sandor by her side was the same as being unfaithful to him. The idea made her instantly lose her smile and she leaned her chin over her knees again, lowering her eyes to the soaked ground.

Dacey had turned her attention in the camp's direction again. From where they were, Sansa could hear the distant echo of orders followed by the loud booming sounds of carts being filled. As she saw them, the workers and soldiers were as small as ants and worked with the same meaningless and pathetic ardour the bugs did while building their sand castles.

Shortly engrossed in her reverie once more, Sansa didn't even notice the dark, towering shape that was taking form in the bushes at her side. When the shadow finally reached her, she jumped and jerked her head up, barely managing not to gasp aloud as she realised who it was but thankfully bit her tongue just in time. Sandor! Heart pounding madly, she raised both hands to her gaping mouth. What is he doing here?

Pressing his forefinger over his lips, the man bade her to stay silent and Sansa obeyed, trembling. Despite what was customary for him while travelling, the Hound had removed his armour and only wore a studded leather jerkin over dark woollen garb instead. It was good seeing him but Sansa's joy at his unexpected appearance was too tainted with fear that he'd be caught and executed to be pure and agreeable. Most of all however, she was exceedingly confused. Had he really followed the column all this time and passed Robb's sentries at the risk of his life only to see her again? This was insane!

An old piece of cloth stretched tight between his raised fists, the Hound was slowly approaching Dacey and Sansa's breath caught in her throat when she realised what he was about to do.

The older girl heard her and immediately turned around, a jolt passing through her and her eyes widening when she came face to face with the Hound. Losing no time, she reached for her dagger and took a step back but Sandor was faster. In an instant, he had her arms under control but Dacey briskly kicked him in the thigh instead with so much force that he almost lost his hold on her.

"Sansa!" she yelled, her eyes wild with fear and anger. "Run!"

Completely petrified by what was taking place, the young girl was as immobile as a statue, watching in horror as the man she loved fought against the sole friend she had made in years. "Stop it! Both of you!" was all she managed to squeak out.

Gathering speed, the Hound threw his arm back and hit Dacey over the head with the side of his hand. At the impact, the girl became soft as a rag and fell to the floor. A heartbeat later, Sandor was crouched over her, tying the piece of cloth he had carried over her face and unrolling the long rope that had hung at his belt seconds earlier. Why did he have to hurt Dacey? Sansa anxiously wondered but then almost instantly replied to her own question. She would never have let him talk to me and would have called for help.

Not feeling the least bit better for knowing the answer, Sansa instinctively braced herself and rose from her seat. "What are you doing?" she asked, increasingly more dumbfounded and uneasy.

"Tying her up. She was stronger than I assumed. A second later and she would have alerted the whole buggering camp," the Hound rasped flatly while circling the long rope all around Dacey's body.

"But… but why?" Sansa whispered, her voice as small as a child's.

Raising his gaze from his work, Sandor looked at her with a certain annoyance. "You think I'd leave her like that?" he asked lowly, with the tone of someone irked at having to state the obvious. "We'd be caught moments from now. I didn't truly hurt her; she's sure not to sleep for very long." With that, he returned his attention to his knot.

"We?" Sansa wondered out loud, taking a step back from him.

"Aye. You and I, little bird," the man replied, rising to his full height and slowly approaching her. "Now hurry up. We can't afford to lose time."

Taking another step back from him, Sansa felt her eyes grow even larger. "Where do you plan on taking me?"

Smirking, Sandor snorted at her question. "Anywhere far enough that they won't take you away from me."

At hearing his reply, Sansa's heart almost stopped beating from the force of the confusion that was hitting her. Butterflies filled her stomach as she finally realised that the Hound had followed Robb's army and passed through his sentries –the gods only knew how! – with the sole purpose of having her for himself but shivers quickly went down her spine as her surprise mixed with consternation and horror. What would her family think? What about Winterfell and the North? she wondered, dismayed but then another disturbing thought shook her. He came to abduct me.

Seeing her terrified expression, Sandor sighed and halted. "Wasn't that what you asked for when you came to my bed that night? You gave yourself to me - all warm and eager - I didn't ask for it. Although, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you… and still do, even more now that I've tasted you." The Hound's eyes roved over her curves as he said his last sentence, his gaze burning with lust.

"I didn't ask for anything," Sansa breathed out, shivering like a leaf.

"Aye, you did," the man retorted almost angrily, taking another stride toward her. "You told me you wanted to be mine and asked me to take you."

"But it was only for the night!" she exclaimed.

"Only for the night," Sandor mocked bitterly. "You thought I'd fuck you and then leave you for another man to take even after you offered yourself so bloody willingly to me?" His scowl deepening, the man narrowed his eyes at her. "You even told me you loved me… or perhaps you were lying?" His tone was threatening on the last sentence.

"Oh no, Sandor! I would never! And I still love you-" Sansa cried out with conviction.

"Then why the fuck are you whining so much?" he cut her off, both irritated and confounded. "Shouldn't you want to be with me if you did?"

Throughout the last two weeks, Sansa had prayed to the Seven more than a hundred times to find a way to reunite her with Sandor once more but never had she envisioned or wished for things to happen in such an abhorrent fashion. "Sandor," she began, voice trembling. "I… I do want to be with you but I can't leave my family, I… I have to follow them home. You can't abduct me like that-"

"But I don't see any other fucking way!" he exploded, something like sincerity piercing through his fury. Daunted, Sansa took a step back but Sandor swiftly seized her upper arm with a firm but gentle grip to prevent her from going any further. "I'm sorry if this is not how you had envisioned leaving your family's nest but I'm a pragmatic man and my goal is to have you, no matter the cost and manner," he resumed more calmly. "You wouldn't have stayed with your mother forever anyhow. Women never do. Where marriage is concerned, you females are bigger travellers than men to be sure." Softly, the Hound brushed away the tears that were starting to roll down Sansa's cheeks with his free hand. "At least with me, you know with whom you're going and as you told me yourself you wished to be with me, I figure I'm doing you a favour really even if you don't agree just now." With that, he turned around and began leading her out of the clearing.

Offering no resistance, Sansa let him drag her through the woods, drowning in a sea of thoughts while at the same time unable to comprehend any of what went through her mind. Her heart was adrift between two shores, filled with sorrow and confusion as to how she should feel. Shouldn't Sansa be happy to be with Sandor again? She had missed him so much as to believe she might die from the hole he had left in her soul and therefore, to realise that he had never been truly far from her - perhaps just a few miles behind at all time – was beyond dumbfounding. He wanted her enough to risk his life creeping into Robb's camp and would have been ready to brave any danger only to get his hands on her again but at the same time, his intentions were still to steal her away from her family, the North and her destiny against her will. This was not something he was supposed to do! What would her brother's men think when they found Dacey tied up on the clearing's floor, when she told them that it was the Hound who was responsible for Sansa's disappearance? Robb will send men after us and if they get Sandor, they'll kill him, the girl reflected, panicked and wishing naught more than for him to run free.

On the other hand, if the Hound was fast enough, Sansa would never get to see her family again and to honour her father's memory by fulfilling her duty. Neither option was to her taste; Sansa belonged in the North with her family but she couldn't bring herself to scream for help either as this would likely sign the Hound's death warrant. Why can't he understand that I love him and will always do so but that I can't forsake the life that has been planned for me even before my birth? A Stark can't act always as she wishes. This is not right! Sniffing, Sansa glanced up at the man. He was staring straight ahead and striding so fast that Sansa could barely keep up with him. Anger suddenly shook her as a new thought formed in her mind. In the end, Sandor's no better than Mother and Robb, she decided, frowning. He thinks he knows better than I what I want and prefers to overlook my feelings and choices as if I were only a foolish child who's own free will couldn't be trusted, Sansa mused, barely seeing anything through the tears of rage that welled in her eyes. On a whim, she shrugged off the grip the man had on her upper arm and fled from him.

"Where are you going, Sansa?" she heard him growl from behind, not daring to turn back to see if he was following. He would, she knew it.

Skirts bunched up in her hands, Sansa ran faster than she would have ever believed possible, jumping over sodden dead trees and turning around bushes with the speed of a flying bird. By some miracle, she managed to avoid all the obstacles in her path without tripping so much as once. Taken by surprise by her sudden flight, the Hound had apparently been slow to follow, for she could barely hear him behind. Perhaps she would be able to reach camp before Sandor caught up with her and then, the man would resign himself and turn back to the depths of the woods where he came from. Is it really what I want? she wondered, exasperated by the conflict that burned in her core. Tears blinding her, Sansa suddenly lost her footing and slipped down a slope she hadn't noticed. It wasn't truly high - mayhap seven or eight yards - but once she had rolled all the way down, the shock dazed her for a second or two. When she turned round, she could hear the Hound approaching dangerously and only had time to crawl behind a thick oak tree before the man reached the top of the slope.

For a moment, the forest was silent and still; all Sansa could hear was the sound of her own ragged breathing. It was as if Sandor had mysteriously vanished into thin air, as if he had surrendered that easily and left but Sansa knew better than to believe such nonsense. Her back pressed against the trunk, the girl struggled to calm the frantic beating of her heart, biting her lip and tasting the salt of her tears while waiting for something to happen. The ground was soaked beneath her; its wetness seeping through her cloak and gown and the coldness she felt at the contact only added to the increasing shivering of her body.

"The little bird is hiding," the Hound's hoarse voice cut through the stillness of the woods just as Sansa was starting to wonder if he had not in fact truly decamped. Jumping down the slope, he began strolling toward her and Sansa could have sworn she could feel his heavy footsteps vibrating through the ground as he approached. "It's no use, Sansa. You know I'll find you, wherever you are. Have you forgotten that hounds are the best at finding their quarry?" The man sniffed loudly. "I can already smell your scent from here. I know you're near"

How did it ever come to this? Sansa wondered, lowering her soaked face to her quivering hands. Lovers weren't supposed to chase each other in such a way and the Hound was meant to be her protector, not her assailant! Although, there had been another time, Sansa remembered, near a river in the Westerlands where she had run from him in a very similar fashion but it had all been a game back then. It seemed like a lifetime ago although only a few weeks had passed since. She had been thrilled to be caught back then but now…

An unexpected jolt of strength suddenly overtaking her, Sansa hurriedly shook herself and looked around her in search of a way to flee. Spying some thick bushes not too far before her, she crouched before literally jumping into them, hoping against all hope that Sandor wouldn't notice her moving in the near darkness. It was pointless, evidently. Crawling on all fours through the branches and leaves, Sansa listened as the man strode toward her.

"I've seen you, Sansa," he warned her lowly.

The loud creaks of crushed branches resounded from behind Sansa, growing closer with each passing second, until strong hands caught her by the waist. Against all logic, she struggled for an instant but the man was quick to raise her to her feet and immobilise her against his body.

Sighing, the Hound took the time to breathe in a few times, his large chest heaving up and down against Sansa's head. "I got you, little bird," he muttered, tightening his grip around Sansa's elbows and pulling her so that her back was pressed flush against his torso. "Now, will I need to tie you like I did that friend of yours? I'll do it if you don't give me any other damned option, believe me," the man hissed into Sansa's hair with a calm anger that froze her to the bone.

Breathless and unable to utter a sound, the girl promptly shook her head.

"That's the good little bird I know," the Hound murmured, some trace of irritation still lingering in his voice. "Give me your word you won't try to flee again."

"I won't. I promise," Sansa managed to voice, sniffing and staring at the ground.

No words could have possibly described how terrible she felt at that instant. The notion that she had just fled from Sandor as if he meant nothing to her was starting to dawn on Sansa and with it, an intent rush of shame flowed over her. She already regretted her actions but at the same time, guilt consumed her at the prospect of abandoning her family without giving them even a single word of explanation. On both sides, she felt like a traitor; a disloyal lover and a miscreant daughter at once. Had anyone ever been as torn and miserable as she was?

Grunting in approval, the Hound raised a hand to Sansa's hair and caressed the long curls with his fingers. "That's much better now," he said flatly. "I won't bind you but I'll not take more chances than I need to either." As he finished his sentence, he turned Sansa around, bowed and hoisted her over his shoulder.

In the blink of an eye, she was raised high and from there, she could see the camp from afar even better than previously, especially once he had climbed the slope again. In the distance, it seemed as calm as it had been before; no one had likely realised her disappearance yet. How long would it take for her fate to be known? What would her family's reaction be?

The Hound strode through the woods for a long time but Sansa couldn't have guessed if it had been an hour or two - or perhaps less - when they reached Stranger at last. On their way, they had briefly passed by the dead body of one of Robb's sentries, lying on the ground, a sword wound going from his neck to the middle of his chest. Horror-struck, Sansa had voicelessly stared at the poor soul as they moved away and hadn't been able to free her mind of the image since. With each of his movements, she could feel Sandor's solid muscles contract beneath her and once in a while, his thick arm would readjust the unyielding hold he had on her. He was so strong; no man could ever possibly withstand him. Sansa sighed deeply. Never would she have imagined the idea might one day lose some of its old appeal to her.

"You… you did this? You killed the sentry?" she finally managed to ask weakly once the Hound had settled her into his horse's saddle.

"I didn't have much choice if I wanted to get to you, did I? I killed a couple of others too but I did it all for you, pretty bird." His lips stretching into a joyless half smile, Sandor stroked Sansa's face and dried her tears with calloused fingers. "Don't cry, Sansa. Chances are they'd have died fighting in the war anyhow."

His excuse only managing to make her feel even more terrible, Sansa jerked her head away from his touch and began sobbing but the Hound cupped her cheek with a hand and tenderly pushed back the wild curls that fell over her eyes with the other.

"Hush, Sansa. Shhh," he whispered as softly as he could. "I know you don't like bloodshed but - by the seven hells, girl! - there was no other damned option and believe me, there's not a fucking thing I'm not prepared to do for you," the man rasped, the intensity in his voice growing as he went. "I promise you though that this'll be the last you'll ever suffer. I'll take good care of you – treat you like a queen from one of those buggering ballads you love so much - and keep you safe until the day I die. You won't ever lack for anything once this is all over, you have my word on that."

While a part of Sansa wanted to be touched by what he had just told her, another was too stunned by the whole situation to be moved by his declarations and promises. Sandor had killed for her before, that was true enough, however these sentries had not deserved their fate. They were good men, working for the North, only guilty of having stood between the Hound and her. Besides, how could he pretend being so devoted to her while he had not heeded her demands moments earlier when she had begged him to leave her to her family? If he was indeed truly willing to do anything for her, then shouldn't he be ready to sacrifice too? The hypocrisy of the Hound's words made Sansa frown even more deeply and she defiantly turned her head away from him.

Grunting in displeasure at the gesture, the man glared at her for an instant but then abruptly swung himself up behind her. Sansa could sense frustration oozing from him but he nonetheless stayed silent, perhaps in an attempt to respect the distance she was putting between them although she doubted it was truly the case. After all, it was a little late to show regard now that he had chosen to ignore her feelings and made her his prisoner for real. I'm his in truth now, Sansa reflected, not certain of how she should feel about the knowledge.

The rest of the day's ride was long and awkward. In some ways, Sansa kept wishing she had it in her to break the silence and reach out to Sandor, touch the arms that flanked her and find the comfort she desperately thirsted for in their strength. It wouldn't be hard; all she'd need to do was to swallow her pride and address him again. If she smiled at him and leaned into his torso, Sandor would undoubtedly lose no time wrapping long and heavy arms around her and perhaps even kiss her neck and caress her face. He'd be glad for any sort of exchange with her, Sansa knew it. In fact, a sign from her was all he was waiting for; she could feel it in the way his attention was constantly drawn to her, by how he watched her every movement. Sandor was obviously dying for her to talk to him and welcome his touch again… but she couldn't. Not after what he had done. Just thinking back on how everything had unfolded was enough for Sansa's anger to be awakened all over again. She longed to make him understand how indignant she was at his actions, how wounded she felt that he had not considered her more. For now though, she pressed her lips together in a thin line, hoping that by the action she might prevent the words that threatened to leave her mouth every now and then from spilling free. She'd make the Hound pay for his deeds by ignoring him if that was the only weapon she had against him.

It was pitch dark when they finally halted in some small clearing by a creek. Sansa had seen hundreds that were similar since she had left King's Landing, slept in dozens and highly doubted she might know how to differentiate this one from any other she had visited. Fearful that smoke might alert one of the squads that were certain to have been sent after them, Sandor hesitated before starting a fire but finally settled for an extremely small one, one so tiny in fact that Sansa would have sworn no heat was emitted from its flames at all.

It was staggering how identical their situation was to the one Sansa had grown accustomed to before their stay at the Braxs' castle. She almost felt as if she had turned back time, having once more only one set of clothing to call her own and a single bedroll to share with the Hound. Albeit, sharing was the wrong word as the old thing was far too small to accommodate them both. Sandor would need to sleep elsewhere, perhaps leaning against a tree as he had done previously. The weather was colder than it had been a few weeks ago however and Sansa was beginning to worry that he might catch cold with only his cloak and no blanket as she settled her bedroll beside the fire but she hastily chased the thought away. Sandor was the sole one to be blamed for their current situation and she therefore shouldn't pity him if he lost some of his comfort for her. He had made all the decisions that had led them to this clearing freely and knowingly and that alone was enough to justify her indifference toward him.

Sitting on the bedroll with her legs pulled up to her breasts, Sansa watched the Hound with a glare as he watered and brushed Stranger. Anytime he turned his gaze to her, she swiftly averted her eyes from him and tried to pretend as if she didn't notice his attention. Evidently irritated, the man was becoming increasingly tense, working in short, fast movements while his mouth twitched more and more persistently. Shutting her eyes, Sansa tried to convince herself that she didn't mind the hostility between them and that she had the force to bear the tension that hung so heavily in the air or it might be cut to pieces with the Hound's sword. It was pointless but she couldn't surrender so soon either. Not after what he had done.

The saddlebag was settled not far from Sansa and some pieces of the Hound's armour peeked out of its pockets, their dark, unpolished steel barely reflecting the flames of the fire. He probably removed his armour to move faster and more quietly when he came to fetch me, Sansa surmised while staring absentmindedly at a large plate. At some point, the hue became as dark as the night and Sansa grew taut as she realised that the shadow that loomed over her was none other than Sandor. He was just a step from her but she didn't raise her gaze and acted as if she hadn't noticed his approach.

"You're hungry?" he asked after a moment.

Stubbornly, Sansa kept her stare on the ground and shook her head, lying even though she knew it was not worth trying with him.

"I don't believe you. You ought to be starving after such a long ride," the Hound replied sternly. Taking a place on the ground beside her, he stretched an arm towards the saddlebag and fished out a large loaf of bread and some hard cheese. Once he had cut a few pieces with his dagger, he handed them to Sansa while watching her with relentless eyes. Glancing at his offering for a second, the girl quickly turned her head around in silent refusal, circling her arms even more tightly around her legs. "No. You eat," the Hound insisted while snatching her hand from its place and forcing the food into its palm.

Sighing, Sansa conceded without a fight as she was indeed hungry but tried to hide her eagerness by nibbling very gently at the food. She could feel Sandor's gaze intently boring into her but she made a point of not looking back. He nevertheless seemed satisfied by his small victory.

"That's much better," he rasped through a mouthful of bread.

They ate in silence and without moving much until the food was all gone but even then, Sandor didn't shift from his place by Sansa's side. He stayed there and stared at the fire for a while – almost as if he were waiting for something. Propped on a hand and with his legs stretched lazily before him, he was sitting so near Sansa that she could feel his warmth radiating around him and his breath coming over her face, neck and hair when he glanced down at her. The arm that supported his weight was settled just behind her back and shamelessly touching her. It seemed as if with each passing minute, Sandor was leaning even closer to Sansa to the point where she was now feeling the hardness of his leather jerkin against her arm and back and his hair brushing over the side of her face. In reaction, the girl only curled even more deeply into herself and lowered her chin over her knees.

Either oblivious or unconcerned about Sansa's unspoken message, the man began nuzzling at her neck and hair. "Little bird," he murmured in her ear.

Hardening under his touch, Sansa tried to shrug him away but the Hound grabbed her by the waist, cupped her jaw and turned her face to him. "What is it, Sansa? At least speak out, by the Seven Hells!" he commanded, his face darkening when she didn't reply. "Stop sulking, girl! I've already told you I was sorry for all the shit I've put you through today. What more do you want from me?" he asked with a sincerity that angered Sansa even more.

Hundreds of retorts passed through her mind at that moment and she yearned to scream them all to him at the top of her lungs but settled on keeping silent and avoiding his gaze instead. His face only an inch from hers, the Hound waited for a few heartbeats. Out the corner of her eye, Sansa could see his scowl deepening even more.

"Why won't you look at me, Sansa? You know that's the one thing I've always wanted from you," he muttered lowly in a tone of both reproach and wrath. Snorting, he added with derision, "It's even the first damned thing I ever asked of you."

The recollection of those faraway times gave Sansa pause. He had indeed chided her many times and more about the reluctance she had to look at him back then, straight in the face. While she was in King's Landing, she had been too frightened of him, of his terrible scars and raging eyes, to gaze at him longer than a glance but things had changed in so many ways since then. If now Sansa was so tenaciously averting her eyes from his, it was for much different reasons - based on the sorrow he had caused her himself - but she nevertheless couldn't stop a jolt of remorse from stabbing her core at that moment. Hesitantly, she began raising her eyes, very slowly, until she was staring right at him. He seemed angry but his expression softened when their gazes met and something like surprise passed over his features at her sudden responsiveness. Their faces were so near one another that their noses almost touched and Sansa breathed in deeply at the warm and strong feeling their closeness triggered in her. Her restraint forgotten for a few seconds, she let Sandor's eyes absorb her and willingly fell into their grey pools. As always, they gleamed fiercely, reflecting all the strength and determination that made him such a fearsome man but under the layers of control, Sansa glimpsed a spark of fear and anguish, the ghost of something like vulnerability that lay deeply hidden in his soul and that had been born solely by her. He was wounded and it was her fault, she realised with a twinge. The culpability she felt nearly brought her to melt into him and kiss his pain away but she stopped herself just in time.

Why should I feel guilty and ashamed when I am the victim in this and Sandor, the sole architect of our current situation? she wondered, shaking herself. Was he disconcerted that she hadn't jumped into his arms after he had knocked her friend out and tied her up, killed three of her brother's men and stolen her away from her family against her will? Biting her lip, Sansa felt tears forming in her eyes and running down her cheeks.

"Stop weeping, little bird," Sandor murmured softly, his thumb brushing the tears away and his face approaching as if he was about to kiss her.

"I have every right to cry," Sansa replied in a whimper, frowning and jerking her head down to prevent his lips from meeting hers.

Seemingly glad to finally hear her voice after hours of silence even though she had just refused his kiss, the Hound gently lifted her chin and approached her face with his again. "Sansa, I did all this for you. I couldn't possibly let you go after that last night we spent together-"

Pushing her palms against Sandor's chest with all her strength, Sansa managed to free herself from his grip but the force she used added to his sudden loss brought her to fall on her side. Hastily, she crouched and backed away from him. "How can you say you did all this for me when I never asked for any of it?" she cried out.

Losing no time, she stood and took a step back but the Hound was quick to jump to his feet and take hold of her once more.

"You said you wouldn't try to flee from me again, remember? You gave me your word," he hissed, hands locked tightly around her upper arms.

"I was not fleeing. I just… I just need space!" she almost yelled, trying to free herself from his grip. She struggled shortly without result as Sandor only tightened his hold on her, pulling her flush against him. When Sansa was resigned that he wouldn't let her go, she resumed speaking. "You act as if what you did was normal, as if it was nothing! You can't do that, Sandor! You can't expect me to behave as if naught happened when you have just kidnapped me!"

The Hound snorted, his scowl deep as ever. "See, that's exactly how I feel too. You came to my bed, gave yourself to me as no woman has ever done before… you even told me you loved me, by the Seven bloody buggering Hells!" At that he snorted again before lowering his face closer to Sansa's. "You truly believed I'd let you go after that, act as if naught – as you just said - had ever happened? Find myself a hole to hide in, fuck my hand and cry for the rest of my life? That's not who I am, Sansa. I'm not the kind of man to lick his wounds, feel sorry for himself and do nothing about his condition. I'm a man of action and I'll certainly not let my chance pass under my nose when I see it. And you're more than just a mere chance, Sansa. You're everything I want… and you even want me back."

"But this is just not right! Things are not supposed to happen in such ways!" Sansa complained, head tilted back and gazing straight at him.

Eyes narrowed at her, the man snorted a short dry laugh. "Who says how things are supposed to happen? Huh?! Tell me! Those stupid songs you love so much again, I'd wager?" he answered to himself even before she had a chance to open her lips. "Here's some bloody news for you, little bird. We're living in the real world and I'm certainly not made of the same fucking stuff as the witless heroes of your twice damned songs. I'm not going to sacrifice myself for the sake of something as inane and futile as honour and I'm certainly not going to surrender and let the damsel in distress have her buggering happy ending with anyone but me, even though I'm the fucking villain in this story."

"But…" Sansa breathed, eyes wide and filled with tears, at a loss as to what she might answer.

Firmly stroking her upper arms with his fingers while not truly loosening his hold on her, the Hound added more calmly but with undeniable finality, "You've sealed your fate, Sansa. You offered yourself to me and I'm not giving you back. Ever."

The confidence with which he stated his last sentence served to convince Sansa that she would never see her family again, that she'd be the Hound's forever. Confused as to how she should feel, her weariness became suddenly impossible to bear.

"I'm tired, Sandor. Let me go to my bedroll. Please," she asked weakly, eyes lowered to the ground.

Narrowing his eyes at her, the Hound hesitated for some time as if he feared that by removing his hands from her, she might fly away into the sky. They couldn't stay like that – standing in the darkness of the wood – forever though and therefore he finally let her go, watching from his place as she slid under the blankets. Without a word, Sandor found himself a tree on the other side of the fire once Sansa was settled and leaned upon its trunk. Both of them stayed silent and distant for the rest of the night and while Sansa's sleep came with difficulty, cold and shivering as she was, she never dared call for him.

And now, a little message:

You girls have no ideas how much I was excited to finally write that scene. I've started this whole fic mainly because I wanted to bring SanSan in a place where Sandor would kidnap Sansa and it wouldn't be too much out of the blue but still, I didn't want Sansa to be happy to be abducted. If she were after all, it wouldn't be an abduction anymore.

Anyone who had read my other fic 'Moon Gates' might have noticed that I have a really unhealthy obsession about the Hound kidnapping Sansa… I don't know why, it's just something that I truly enjoy reading about, writing or imagining. I know, I'm wrong.

Anyway, I hope I haven't shocked anyone with this. I'm waiting anxiously to get your comments. :)