Sandor awoke later than he anticipated, getting a good night's rest for the first time in a long time. His sleep was dreamless. Nightmares didn't plague his subconscious. Gregor did not come to him in his sleep. He felt at peace. When he didn't feel the little bird next to him, he was startled awake.

"Sansa?" He called, his voice thick with fatigue.

"Yes?" She nervously chirped.

Sandor pushed himself out of the sheets and saw her sitting by the hearth, needle and thread in hand.

"What hour is it?" He asked as he stretched his arms above his head, then rubbing his eyes.

"Almost noon."

"Shit." Sandor got up to open the window of their dim and musty room.

"It seems that you slept well my lord."

"Aye. Haven't slept like that in ages." He proceeded to unlace his breeches and make his water out the window. Sansa was used to his discourteous tendencies by now, and didn't blush at the sound.

"I'm glad to hear. I had some of your tunics and breeches washed while you were asleep. They were quite tattered so I decided to mend them. I hope you don't mind?" Sansa said, holding one of the tunics up for him to see. He walked over to her and took the tunic from her, looking at the refined needlework, and then at her. Her hair was down, and her curls, although messy from sleep, framed her face in a lovely way. Her features also seemed to be sharper, losing much of the baby fat. Sandor couldn't tell if it was from the lack of proper nourishment, or if she was finally growing into herself. The way sunlight made her hair and eyes shine, and the freshly mended tunic in his hands, made Sandor feel as if Sansa Stark was his wife in truth in that moment.

"You didn't need to." "I missed my needlework, I don't want my skills to be unpracticed, so it was my pleasure. I'll be done with your other tunic and breeches soon." She smiled.

"Okay." He said, putting on his cloak to hide his features. "I'm going to get something to eat, I'll bring you up yours when I'm done."

Sansa only nodded, completely immersed with the task at hand.

Some days were better than others. Depending on Sandor's mood, the long hours of constant riding were tolerable. If Sansa even uttered the wrong word, his mood would sour awfully and ruin the rest of the day's ride. Often she wasn't at fault. She could say something about how it looked like it was going to rain and he would go off on her, telling her to stop chirping, and that he knew it looked like it was going to fucking rain. Or if the weather was nice, and she expressed how she was happy that they weren't getting soaked, he would also go off on her. She was also learning to challenge him during these times. She stopped apologizing for her "chirping" and began to chastise him for chastising her. Sansa also stopped crying as often. The Hound's harsh words were becoming easier to swallow.

Other days were peaceful, filled with friendly exchanges. Sometimes he would compliment her, or teach her how to do something like make a fire or skin a rabbit. These things made Sansa uncomfortable at first, but she knew his intentions were good. On the Kingsroad, her sewing skills useless for survival.

At these times she even allowed herself to admire him, always positioned on his good side. She listened intently to what he had to say to her.

Sometimes they'd stop in a meadow for a while to snack on a spoiling apple or game that Sandor had caught. Sansa would take off her riding boots and let the soft earth tickle her toes and feet. While he sharpened his sword with a whetstone, or polished his helm, she'd make flower crowns or braid wildflowers in her hair. On days like those, the sky was a crisp blue, with tiny clouds peppered across the sky. The grass was a beautiful green, and the wildflowers were a variety of different pinks, purples, reds, yellows, and white. Sandor enjoyed listening to her sing as they did their separate tasks. Back in King's Landing he would chastise her for loving songs about knights and fair maidens, but on such beautiful and peaceful days he welcomed those songs.

There were awkward times. When Sansa's moonblood came, she panicked. Surely, Sandor had packed everything with calculation and consideration for the possible troubles they would face on their journey: cold, hunger, and danger. Feminine problems were overlooked in the equation.

Sansa woke with an ache in her lower back and in her core. She propelled herself forward and looked down to see that the front of her dress was completely stained with blood. She was sticky and smelled, and she didn't know whether or not she should wake Sandor or try to wash the embarrassment out of her dress alone. It was no use.

"Sandor. Sandor." Sansa touched his shoulder to rouse him from sleep. His leg kicked outward and he snarled, "What is it?"

He rose from his bedroll, still bleary eyed from sleep, "What's wrong? Why the fuck are you waking me?"

"I-I uhm."

"Spit it out girl, did you wake me up for nothing?"

"My moonblood came and I don't know what to do." She sniffled, trying to keep the tears at bay. She wished her moonblood would disappear. He looked down at her dress and his eyes widened; he had forgotten about women and their moonbloods. You dumb fucking hound, of course you forgot about something like this. Sandor was amazed how women could go through such pains every turn of the moon. They bleed out for a week straight and don't die. It was beside him to understand how things actually worked.

"What do you need me to do?" He asked, as calmly as possible.

"I need to…bathe, and try to wash the stains out of my dress. I also need…rags to put in my small clothes…" She looked away from him.

"There's a stream nearby where you can wash. I'll find something you can use for rags." She washed herself uncomfortably in a freezing stream as her lord husband stood guard, waiting until she was done so she could change into the last fresh pair of clothes that she had.

For the rest of the week her whole body ached, and they often had to stop so Sansa could relieve herself. In her sleep Sandor watched her toss and turn and groan in discomfort. The only thing that helped with the ache was riding atop Stranger. Hopefully they'd be with her mother before the next turn of the moon.

Eventually, the ache in her thighs and backside lessened, and her feet became harder and calloused. Each day became more bearable, until she didn't mind anymore. But, she never forgot what it was like to have a hot bath or sleep in a featherbed, rather than a bedroll on the hard earth.

A week later they stopped at the Inn at the Crossroad, the place resurfacing many distant and dormant memories in Sansa. It was the same Inn where she, Arya, her father, and his men stopped along with King Robert Baratheon and the royal retinue. It seemed like a lifetime ago: leaving Winterfell and coming to King's Landing for the first time. She was only a girl then. Only if she could have known what was to come. So foolish and stupid, Sansa thought.

She remembered how Nymeria attacked Joffrey, how Sansa lied for Joffrey because she was so moonstruck over him. Even after Lady was killed she still made herself believe that he was the prince she has always dreamed of. She had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

Inside the Inn Sandor made her wear a headscarf along with her cloak to conceal her looks, just in case someone recognized her. Granted two years was a long time, but Sansa Stark's looks were unforgettable. With her hair completely hidden, he allowed her to dine with him in the common room. They heard stories of how Lady Catelyn Stark arrested the Imp, Tyrion Lannister there, and news from Riverrun. Edmure Tully was going to marry one of Walder Frey's daughters because Robb Stark broke the vow he made with Lord Frey at the beginning of the war. He had married some Westerling woman. The Kingslayer was held captive by the "Young Wolf," and the northerners seemed like they had a good chance at winning the war.

"Will we be going to The Twins instead of Riverrun now?" Sansa asked when they were back in their room.

"Suppose so. But this whole wedding doesn't sound like a good idea. The Late Walter Frey is not a man you want as a friend."

"Why not? Uncle Edmure is now the Lord of Riverrun and the warden of the Riverlands. Shouldn't Lord Frey be fortunate that Uncle Edmure is wedding one of his daughters? She'll be Lady of Riverrun and bring honor to her house."

"Is that what you think girl? Open your eyes. Being united to House Tully once may have been beyond belief to the Late Lord Frey, but having your daughters betrothed to one of the strongest and oldest families of all of Westeros is another thing entirely. His daughter was supposed to be Queen of the North, and your brother broke that promise."

"What are you trying to say? I don't understand," Sansa said, her stomach tightening uncomfortably. She didn't like where this conversation was going, or what its possible long term implications could be.

"You really still are a little bird. Can't you see? Uncle to the King of the North won't be enough for him. Uncle to the King of the North and a northern princess just might be what Lord Frey is looking for. Lord Frey is a fickle and greedy man. He does what he pleases and gets what he pleases. Once we reach The Twins, which will probably be before the wedding, your mother will find out that our marriage hasn't been consummated. She'll probably weep and thank the gods, and you'll probably marry one of Lord Frey's sons to undo your brother's misdoing."

For a while Sansa was silent, swallowing his words until they became a pit in her stomach. She was Sansa Stark, supposed to be Sansa Baratheon queen of King Joffrey Baratheon; now she was Sansa Clegane. In less than a week she would be Sansa Stark once more, and then possibly Sansa Frey. Her head spun. No one will ever marry me for love, she thought.

"Why are you allowing me to marry another man? Mother never thought highly of the Freys, and even though you're lowborn, the Freys are only marginally better," Sansa asked.

"Because it's the right thing to do, girl. You should be dancing and singing in happiness that you'll be free from the likes of me soon." He replied, his tone emotionless. There was silence for a long time after that. Even though Sansa didn't want to be married to The Hound, she didn't like the idea of marrying a Frey either. If this war between four kings was a game, Sansa was only a pawn, her birthright her only valuable attribute. She was but a plaything. In all the calculated moves that she was a part of-the death of her father, the alliance between the Lannisters and the Tyrells-her marriage with Sandor Clegane was a miscalculation. It was something unanticipated. Her marriage to him brought her out of the game. That was something Joffrey didn't calculate.

He meant to torment her, but he ended up saving her, in a way. The Tyrells wanted her to marry Ser Loras, the Lannisters would have married her to someone of their choosing to gain control of the North, the Freys also wanted the North. Sandor's surname tarnished hers, which made her less desirable, and as a married woman she was useless. All of Westeros saw her as Lady Sansa Clegane; it didn't matter if her brother was King of the North. Her only asset now was her maidenhead, which was thankfully, and strangely, still intact. It was all she had left.

"What will you do, my lord? After we reach The Twins and are no longer married," Sansa asked, her tone flat.

"Does it bloody matter? Let's just get to the Twins in one piece and then we can talk about it."

"So you already know. Will you fight for Robb?"

"Why would I fight for the 'Young Wolf'? Until recently I was a Lannister man, or have you forgotten?"

"You were never a Lannister man, I know that." Sansa said, placing her hand gently on his forearm. He pulled away.

"You know nothing."

"No, I do know. You never liked being Joffrey's dog, or working for the Lannisters. They made your brother a knight, the same person who shoved your face in-"

"Enough woman. Say anymore and I'll-" It was her turn to cut him off.

"The Lannisters are awful people, and you saw that while others continued to follow them blindly. You stood up for me when I was treated unjustly because you hate tyrants. That's why we're here, that's why we're on our way to The Twins to my mother and brother, isn't it?"

They were silent for a long time after that, Sandor's gaze fixed on the hearth's flames. He would never say yes, but Sansa knew that was the truth.

"So you won't be fighting for Robb, my lord?"

"Most likely not." He'd leave her.

"Would you be my sworn shield then?" She asked, the question just above a whisper.

"What married woman needs a bloody sword shield?" He scorned, looking away from the flames and at her. Illuminated by firelight, his burns looked acutely hideous.

"I don't know."

"What do you want, Sansa Stark, tell me." It wasn't question. It was a demand.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Thoughts swirled around their minds. Nothing could be said, the words turning into smoke.

Notes:

"Once, she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again." & "No one will ever marry me for love" - Quotes from ASoIaF by GRRM. I really want to try to make this fan fiction as realistic as possible, staying true to the books and the HBO adaptation. GRRM is a killer with his quotable quotes, pun intended.

Many post-Blackwater AU's consist of many chapters filled with "life on the Kingsroad" if I may call it that, and I don't know if I necessarily want to write chapter after chapter of snippets of traveling. So for the next few chapters I'll try to condense little "episodes" on the road to The Twins into one or two more chapters. And then off to The Twins we go!

Moonbloods happen guys. And if you have forgotten a moonblood is a woman's period.

Thanks as always to queen-sansastark for editing!