He came for her two days after the bread riots.
Sansa was getting ready for bed, dismissing her maids a half an hour beforehand, taking the alone time to study the map of Essos she had copied down in the library. She still didn't know which of the Free Cities they would head to. Pentos, as the closest one, was the logical choice but its relative closeness to King's Landing was also a disadvantage. Were she to be recognized, the message would reach the Queen in a matter of days and every harbour in Westeros would be closely watched for when Sansa came back. No, a more distant port was a better option. Braavos, as the largest of the ports was a possibility but Myrcella had been sent there on her convoluted way to Dorne. The risk of being spotted and apprehended was too great. In the end, it all came down to chance.
Sansa rolled up the parchment and slid it into the binding of a story book she had been using as a hiding place when someone knocked on the door. She recognized the short and sharp noise and she hurriedly unlatched the bolt to let the Hound in. He was dressed in his dark grey armour, not the usual white of the Kingsguard and he was frowning heavily.
"You need to pack quickly, little wolf," he started as soon as he entered and closed the door behind him. "We have to leave tonight."
"Leave?" Sansa repeated. "But I thought we agreed-"
"Stannis' fleet was spotted by Massey's Hook. The Imp plans to close the river on the morrow. Tonight is the last chance for us to leave by ship."
Sansa stood still for a moment longer before she forced herself to move. It was a good thing she had been impatient and already started choosing things she would take along. She pulled out a satchel that usually held her sewing, knowing that taking a chest along wouldn't be possible. She would have to leave the majority of her dresses - silk and velvet and samite - behind, their splendor too conspicuous for a girl on the run. Instead she packed several simple cut dresses from wool for the cold weather and a couple more made of cotton if they were to end up somewhere further south where it was still warm. After a short deliberation she decided to take one of the more fancy dresses as well. She added a nightshift, several changes of smallclothes and her toiletries, all too aware of the man waiting impatiently by the door. The heavy wooden casette with her jewellery was put on top of the dresses, along with the book containing her precious map before she tied the satchel closed and turned to the Hound.
"I'm ready," she declared and saw as the burned side of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile.
"You want to leave dressed like that?" he nodded at her dressing gown and Sansa flushed with embarrassment.
"I'll change," she spoke quickly and the Hound took the satchel from her hand.
"I'll wait outside. Don't forget your cloak."
Changing and braiding her hair in what was a record time for her, Sansa took one last look around her cage, viciously hoping she would never have to see it again. There was only one thing left to do. Taking the map of the Riverlands, she lit one corner on fire and dropped it in a brazier, watching as the parchment curled in the heat, the edges darkening as the flames consumed their due. Deeming it sufficiently destroyed but still recognizable, Sansa blew on the parchment until it stopped smoking and she regarded her work. Yes, anyone seeing it would think it was an inept attempt to destroy evidence.
Sansa smiled, blew out the candles and the lantern and walked out the door to her freedom.
Sandor wasn't prone to impatient shifting when having to wait. Years of guard duty taught him to stand still as a statue when needed but the little wolf was taking too long. When she finally cracked open the door and slipped into the corridor, he let out a sigh of relief.
"About time," he spoke gruffly. "C'mon girl, we don't have much time."
"Why?" she asked as she pulled the hood of her cloak up to cover her bright red hair. Good, she didn't need to be told that.
"The ships that want to catch the morning tide will be leaving around midnight. Did you give any thought to where you want to go?"
She shook her head, following him towards the back corridors that usually only the servants used.
"Not Pentos and not Braavos. Beyond that, I have no idea."
"We'll have to take what we can get," he warned her and she nodded solemnly.
"I know," she said, her tone even. "It can't be worse than here, though."
He didn't reply to that. After all, why repeating things that were true? They both kept their silence after that as they descended the back stairs to the ground level, the lower they went, the more noise coming from around them. Sansa drew the hood further into her face.
"Servants don't get to sleep as much as nobility," Sandor told her to explain. "The washerwomen will be leaving soon. You'll slip out among them. I'll wait for you outside the gates."
She looked up at him, considering before she nodded. As they came to the last landing, he handed the satchel back to her and pointed at a group of women who were gathering before the back gate of the Holdfast.
"Keep your head down and follow the group. Don't tarry and try not to look scared. Act like you belong there."
She kept nodding but he could see she was getting nervous. Taking a quick look around and seeing that there was no one close, he tipped her face up so their eyes met.
"You are a wolf, girl, remember? They are just sheep. Do you understand?"
Her answering nod was still far from confident but she wasn't shaking as much and he took it as a good sign. He pushed her towards the washerwomen.
"Go. I'll wait for you outside."
He watched until he saw her join the rest of the women and then went across the yard towards where he had left his horse. There was no way in seven hells he was leaving Stranger behind. The horse was coming with him, his one condition that he would insist upon if the girl protested. He mounted the black courser and set off at a leisurely pace towards the main gate and the drawbridge. Balon Swann held the guard that night, his newly named brother-in-arms after Greenfield had been killed. He was a little more than a boy but seemed more decent than the rest of them. Not that it counted for much.
"Good evening, Ser," Swann greeted him and Sandor gritted his teeth. Will those idiots never learn?
"I'm no ser," he rasped, pleased by the involuntary step that Swann took back at the treatening tone, "and the evening will be good once I have a flagon of Arbor red in my stomach. Let me pass."
"Why are you going on a horse?" the man questioned bravely and Sandor gave a nasty smile.
"It's my night off and I plan on getting drunk off my ass, boy," he explained. "Walking back to the fucking Keep would be a bother. Now, are you going to let me pass or do I get to start my night by beating the shit out of you?"
He knew that Swann wouldn't take him up on that. Sandor's reputation preceded him and even the supposed elite of the Seven Kingdoms would think twice before challenging him. And Swann was obviously getting attached to that pretty white cloak already. He wouldn't want to spoil it. He stepped aside, letting Sandor pass.
"Smart boy," Sandor told him as he passed him by and nudged Stranger into a canter. He crossed the bailey, having much less trouble with the guards at the main gates to the Red Keep itself. They were used to his nightly excursions into the city and let him through without asking any questions. He circled the keep until he came upon the gate that servants used. A long line of washerwomen was walking out as he arrived and he scanned the group for the tall girl with hooded face. He found her at the back of the group, walking slowly as her head moved from side to side. He walked his horse closer until she spotted him. She separated herself from the women and walked towards him, still keeping her face down. Smart girl. Some of the women glanced over when he reached down and hoisted her up behind him but they averted their looks just as quickly. They must have assumed he had arranged this meeting with one of the servant girls, paying her a good coin for keeping him company for a night. He would be hardly the only man to do so.
"Any trouble?" he inquired as she settled herself comfortably behind his back.
"No. The guards didn't even bother to check us and the other women kept their distance, too."
"Good," he told her and waited for the inevitable question.
"Is this your horse?"
"Yes," he replied. "I'm taking him with me."
He felt her nod against his back, her satchel bumping his leg as Stranger carried them down the streets towards the harbour.
"What's his name?" she asked curiously and Sandor smirked.
"Stranger," he said and barked out a short laugh at her scandalized gasp.
"But that's..." she stammered.
"Blasphemy?" he offered. "Spare me, little wolf. He's a fucking war horse. He's almost as deadly as me. He can kick in a man's head or chew off his fingers before the bugger knows what happened."
"He's so dangerous?"
He could almost imagine her wide eyes as she digested the information.
"Just don't try to touch him and you'll be fine."
She fell silent but he felt her move even closer to him, as if afraid that Stranger would be able to bite her while she sat on his back, safely out of reach. The quietness of the streets around the Keep gave way to the bright lights and noises of the taverns and an occasional brothel, the bustling humanity belying the impending siege. Sandor led the horse down to the wharves where several galleys and cogs were moored. He watched the ships for the signs of movement. Most of them were quiet and dark, their crews ashore taking their pleasures in the winesinks and brothels of the city. But there were several that swarmed with sailors and oarsmen, even dock workers carrying the various cargo aboard.
Sandor spotted a man leaning against a corner of the tavern, obviously taking a break from drinking if the retching sounds were anything to go by. Good, he would be too drunk in the morning to remember them.
"Hey, you," Sandor called out when the man straightened and attempted to stumble back into the tavern. The man turned and squinted up at them as Sandor moved so that the light was behind them, casting the horse and his two riders into a shadow.
"Yes, m'lord?"
"Any of those ships leaving for Essos tonight?"
"Who's askin'?" the man said and Sandor flipped him a silver coin which the man managed to snag from the air, though it was a close thing.
"A stag."
The man looked at the coin and then grinned up at Sandor, revealing a mouth with almost half of his teeth missing.
"Always glad to serve, m'lord. There be Titan's Fist that go to Braavos," he pointed at a large galleas. "And those two be headin' for Pentos, the Sea Beauty and Happy Merman," the two ships were small trading cogs. "And Rhoynar Queen, over there," he pointed at a massive galley with two rows of oars. "She be sailin' to Tyrosh, I thin'."
"Any other?"
"Not tonight, m'lord."
Sandor nodded and nudged the horse away, the drunkard already heading back into a tavern to spend his silver. With the cheap wine they served, he wouldn't remember his name come morning, nevermind encountering Sandor.
"It seems it will be Tyrosh, little wolf," he said to the girl sitting behind him. "Is that alright with you?"
"Yes," she spoke. "It's not like we have a choice."
"We could always risk a Westerosi harbour," he reminded her but Sansa shook her head.
"No, I don't think it would be safe."
"True," he acknowledged. The Rhoynar Queen loomed over them, her deck a hive of activity, the commands in a strange language being shouted as it prepared for sailing out. Sandor had Stranger walk up the gangplank, the well trained horse keeping his balance easily on the swaying wood. Some of the crew stopped what they were doing and stared at them but Sandor ignored them as Stranger walked on board. A large man with a bushy beard strode importantly down from the upper deck as soon as he spotted them.
"We seek passage to Essos," Sandor told him before the other man, obviously a captain, could speak up.
"We?" the man said. "Who would be we?"
His Common Tongue was heavily accented but otherwise fluent and in the light of the lanterns Sandor could see his beard was dyed green.
"Me, the girl, the horse and the silence," Sandor replied and the captain nodded.
"Aye, never let it be said Favio Tymis turned away people in need. Four seek the passage, four will pay for the passage. A dragon each to take you to Tyrosh, another dragon for Lys, two dragons for Volantis."
"Agreed," Sandor said and pulled out five golden pieces from his pouch. He could feel Sansa stirring behind him and he reached down and squeezed her knee to keep her quiet. "Another dragon and the girl gets her own cabin."
The captain took the coins and gestured towards the deck with a wide smile behind his dyed beard.
"Welcome to Rhoynar Queen, my friends."
Tyrion Lannister had a queer feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong that day. He expected trouble at the harbour, of course, once the captains realized their ships were to be impounded and used in the upcoming battle but this was diferent. Of course, it might have been the fact that Varys was breaking fast with him, the eunuch eating almost daintily while providing Tyrion with some interesting tidbits from King's Landing. Tyrion himself only played with the food on his plate and when a young servant maid entered hurriedly, he pushed the plate away almost gratefully.
"What is it, Laila?" he asked the girl whom he recognized as his own informer amidst Sansa Stark's Queen provided retinue of handmaids. "Something wrong with Lady Stark?"
"She's gone, my lord," the girl panted out. The poor girl must have run all the way to his solar to inform him. "Lady Sansa's not in her room."
"Are you sure?" Tyrion was aware of Varys watching eagerly and wondered if this was news to the Master of Whisperers or not. He looked surprised, to be sure, but the man was a capable liar.
"Yes, my lord Hand. Her dark cloak is gone and so is that book she was reading recently. Even some of her dresses. The ordinary ones," the girl supplied. Tyrion frowned.
"Thank you. Wait outside and send me the guard."
The girl obeyed and Tyrion quickly ordered the guard to close down the Red Keep and have it searched for the girl. A futile gesture, he knew, but Cersei would arrive in all her angry glory soon, her own informers scampering to her just as fast as his own had to him and he needed to be able to tell her he was taking steps to find the Stark girl. Varys didn't move from his spot the whole time and Tyrion turned to him angrily.
"Did you know about this?"
"You mean Lady Sansa's escape attempt, my lord?" Varys folded his hands across his ample stomach. "I did not, otherwise I would have interferred. As you very well know, my lord," he added. Tyrion forced himself to calm down. Varys had already spoiled several other attempts at escape by some of the other noble hostages in King's Landing. Still, it was hard to say if Sansa Stark's escape wasn't part of some elaborate plan of the eunuch. To what end, Tyrion had no idea.
"I didn't expect it of her," he admitted. "She looked resigned to the idea of staying here. And she knew I planned to send her back to her family."
"Why should she trust a Lannister, my lord?" Varys pointed out and Tyrion glared at him, unfortunately having no reproach to his words. No, Sansa Stark had every reason to distrust Lannisters, even those who meant her well. Tyrion poured himself a full cup of wine, trying to steel his nerves for the inevitable confrontation with Cersei who would certainly blame him for this.
"You should start looking for her as well," Tyrion commented when he saw that Varys was not moving from his spot.
"And for her accomplice, of course," Varys added smoothly, Tyrion blinking as he realized that the man was right. Sansa Stark was a girl of twelve, far from her family and friends. She wouldn't have courage to escape on her own. Someone must have helped her.
"Bugger it all," Tyrion cursed. "We'll have to do a head count of all the servants, find out who's missing-"
"If I may interrupt, my lord," Varys spoke up. "I don't think you should look further than the Kingsguard."
"Kingsguard?" Tyrion repeated and then he finally understood. "What aren't you telling me, Lord Varys?" he asked, his voice dropping dangerously.
"Two nights ago, one of my little birds witnessed a private scene between Lady Sansa and a member of the Kingsguard."
"Who?" Tyrion asked, dumbfounded by this revelation. A Kingsguard knight was the last person he could imagine helping Sansa Stark or her trusting them to do so. They had all at one point or another beat her at Joffrey's orders. No, Tyrion frowned. That wasn't right. According to his information, one member of the Kingsguard had never touched the girl with an intent to harm her.
"Sandor Clegane, my lord," Varys told him and nodded sagely.
"The Hound?" Tyrion repeated disbelievingly. He couldn't imagine that the large brute who had been Joffrey's sworn shield for years would have any contact with the Stark girl beyond occasionaly escorting her. Or that she would allow him any further contact beyond that.
"I know," Varys sighed. "I have to confess, I never meant to disclose their encounter. Blame it on my soft heart. But it was the day of the riots and as my bird informed me, Lady Sansa was thanking him for saving her life earlier that day. Apparently, she got overwhelmed by her memories and started crying and he comforted her. Who was I to begrudge her that? Or to despoil such a tender moment by talking of it?"
Putting aside the weird image of the Hound comforting anyone, much less the soft and timid Sansa Stark, Tyrion focused on Varys' implications.
"And based on this one information, you believe that he was the one who helped her escape?"
"Who else, my lord?" Varys said. "The members of the Kingsguard and her handmaids are the only people who have had regular contact with her other than the royal family. If she was to seek help, a skilled warrior would be her best choice."
"I can't believe that," Tyrion mumbled to himself. If the Hound was indeed the one helping her, Sansa Stark was as good as gone. With Stannis approaching from both land and water, he couldn't spare the sufficient amount of men that would be able to overwhelm the Hound and take the girl back. Nevermind that he now lacked a seasoned battle commander to lead the sorties.
"My lord?" a guard entered carrying a scrap of parchment. "We found this half-burned in Lady Stark's brazier."
Tyrion looked down at the singed parchment. He recognized the lines and dots covering it. A map of Riverlands, with Riverrun circled and underneath in a clear, feminine handwriting a single word.
HOME
"Damn it all to seven hells," Tyrion muttered. Sansa Stark was gone.
