A/N: Here is chapter 5. I don't think there are any notes for anyone, so...just have fun reading. This guy right here is my favorite character, ever, so...yeah. Oh, yes, there is one note. General Tullius, the commander of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim was replaced by Tywin Lannister who, as a reference for Skyrim fans, is the father of Tyrion who we met in Chapter 2. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut.

Disclaimer: It belongs to George R. R. Martin and Bethesda, not me.

Rating: M for strong language and sexual references.

They echoed. They always echoed. Instead of one scream it was thousands, ringing in his ears like some demented hymn as he fought to get away. The flames hissed at him, laughed at him; licking his face and leaving nothing but ruin in their wake. Smoke filled his lungs and his breath came in desperate gulps between the screams of pain and terror. His begging did nothing and even when he heard shouts from behind, the pain didn't end. It never did.

Sandor Clegane bolted upright in bed, sweating and gasping for breath. No matter how many times he had the same nightmare, it always felt so real. Too real. His fingers mapped out the ruin of his cheek in the darkness and he dropped his hand back down in disgust. Only, this time, the acrid smell of the smoke didn't fade as it usually did and it took him a moment to realize that the screams he now heard were coming from outside his door.

"Bloody fucking hell."

Hastily throwing on his armor, he snatched his sword from where it lay beside the bed and flung open the door, flinching back when the blazing inferno roared and spat in his direction. The inn was in complete chaos; women ran screaming from their rooms while men tried to put out the fire with anything that was available. Somebody yelled at him to help but he only stared, paralyzed by the flickering orange and red wall. A bloody fire. A Gods damned bloody fucking fire. Just my luck.

When his head cleared enough to think rationally, he went straight for the exit. The others could get out on their own. Weaving his way through the shadows along the wall, he watched in horror as a flame lashed out and pulled a man into its burning embrace. Sandor's own cries of pain echoed maddeningly in his head and for a brief moment he wondered if he was still dreaming.

Throwing the door open, he staggered out, coughing up smoke as he stumbled toward the stable. The animals could tell something was wrong. They kicked at the doors to their stalls and screamed out in panic, eyes wide and white with fear. If Sandor hadn't been so eager to get away, he would have set them free. He knew what it felt like to be burned.

Stranger was waiting for him when he arrived and didn't object when his master swung onto his back without a saddle and spurred him forward, galloping out of the stables and onto the dirt road toward Solitude. Sandor steered the horse in the opposite direction and was about to kick him back into action when he heard a voice beside him.

"Please, ser, take me with you!"

The mercenary looked down to see the young bard that had sang for him the night before, standing with lute in hand, her blue eyes wide with terror.

"I don't have the room, girl," he snarled, taking the reins in hand.

"I promise, I...I can pay you. I will. Everything I have. Just take me with."

A window on the second floor shattered and the inferno rushed out, sending a dark crimson glare flaring across the darkened town. Shadows danced across her face and darkened the left side, marring her pretty features for a brief moment. He could feel the heat beating down, becoming oppressive and thick. Swearing viciously, he scooped up the girl and put her in front of him before kicking Stranger in the side and galloping across the nearby bridge, not slowing down until the heat and flame were far behind them.

It wasn't until the lingering memories faded and died that he slowed his horse, letting the poor animal cool down after his frantic ride.

"Thank you," the bard said quietly to break the heavy silence, and then hesitated. "You never told me your name."

Sandor snorted and loosened his grip on the reins, flexing his white-knuckled fingers. "Most people call me the Hound. And who are you, little bird?"

The confusion in her tone was evident. "Little bird?"

Clegane scowled. "Yes. You sing. And you're pretty. Like a little bird."

There was a brief moment of silence before she responded. "Oh. My name is Sansa."

Sansa? Bloody hell... Moving Stranger back up to a trot, Sandor steered him onto the road leading toward Dragon Bridge and stayed silent, glaring out at the countryside. First a fire, now a little tavern bard. And a bloody Stark none the less. Can things get any worse? As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder shook the ground and a cold wet rain began to fall down on them with a vengeance. His frown deepened. Bugger it all.

"The rain should help to put out the fire," the girl chirped optimistically. "It might actually save the inn."

"From complete destruction, possibly," Sandor growled moodily. "But the damage is still done."

Sansa seemed to take the hint and stopped attempting to start a conversation with the grumpy sellsword. He was grateful for the silence, while it lasted.

"Where are we going?"

It took him a moment to realize she'd spoken.

"Hm?"

"I asked where we were going."

"Hell if I know," he scoffed. "Just away from there. Dragon Bridge isn't too far. They have an inn we can stay at until morning."

Turning her head, the young woman looked at him curiously, her eyes displaying the unspoken revulsion at the sight of his burns. "Were you afraid of the fire?"

Terrified. "I wasn't looking for an early grave," he snarled, his dark grey eyes burning with anger at the question.

Sansa looked away from him and scooted forward a bit, moving out from between his legs. "I apologize if I made you angry. That wasn't my intention."

So fucking polite. He grunted and wrapped one arm around her waist when she started to slip, pulling her back against his chest and silencing her protests with a glare.

"How much gold do you have, girl?"

She peeked inside her lute where it was cradled under her cloak for protection against the rain and shrugged. The slight parting of the heavy cloak allowed a brief glimpse at what she wore underneath and Sandor didn't fail to notice that her dresses appeared to be growing too small. "Perhaps one hundred from last night, and then maybe about two thousand or so more that I have saved up."

Sandor frowned and moved his eyes back to the road when she dropped her cloak back down over her chest. That wasn't much, all things considered. "We can use part of that for a saddle when we reach Dragon Bridge and keep the rest for the remainder of our trip." After his initial retaliation to her question, he realized he did know where they were going. He knew exactly where. "I'll collect the money for your rescue when I ransom you off to your brother."

Sansa stiffened against him and stared fixedly ahead, avoiding his gaze. "I...I'm not sure what you mean, Ser...Hound."

"I'm not a ser. And exactly how many highborn seventeen-year-old maidens with auburn hair and blue eyes are there that just so happen to be named Sansa? I may be drunk, but I'm not a fucking idiot."

She ignored his last statement and addressed the question that preceded it. "There could be several..."

"I told you that you were a terrible liar and I meant it."

Sansa was silent for a moment. "And if Robb won't pay?"

Sandor laughed bitterly. "He will. But I'll humour you, little bird, so let's say he won't. I guess I'll just keep you until he does. Might be I'll threaten to take off your head if he won't. I wouldn't of course; you'll fetch a higher price if it's still connected to your shoulders."

Sansa whipped her head around, staring at him in horror. "You're lying!"

"A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. You'd do well to remember that."

She moved away from him as much as she could, but he kept his arm firmly around her. Squirming, she weakly tried to get away and Sandor glared down at her. "Stop that." Riding bareback was hard enough without a pretty highborn girl fidgeting against him. Obeying, she stayed still and sat in a petulant silence, shivering as her rain soaked dress clung to her body.

Sandor rolled his eyes and scowled. They hadn't even been on the road for an hour and he was already regretting his decision to bring her along.

Her silence only lasted for a moment and she sighed heavily. "What's your name? I should at least like to know that about my brave rescuer." Much to Sandor's disbelief, there was no hint of sarcasm in her voice; just cold detachment hidden by a layer of polite courtesy.

Hideous captor is more like it. Just say what you mean, girl. Highborn courtesies were as bloody irritating as the lords and ladies themselves. "Sandor Clegane."

Sansa gasped quietly in realization. "You work for Tywin Lannister."

The whole lot of Lannisters can go fuck themselves with their own swords. And the rest of the Empire as well. "Used to." Sellswords worked for whoever had the most gold. That was undoubtedly the Lannisters, but no amount of money was worth walking onto a burning battlefield. "And besides, you worked for his son until about thirty minutes ago."

Tyrion Lannister was no friend of his father's, and therefore, through association, wasn't exactly on pleasant terms with his Hound either. The dwarf had recognized the former soldier the previous night at King's Landing, he was sure, but apparently, since Sansa hadn't known who he was, the Imp had kept his mouth shut for once.

"I..."

"Exactly."

"You were lying about my brother weren't you? You're going to take me back to Tywin Lannister. I'm sure he would reward you handsomely."

Sandor scoffed. "Use your bloody ears, girl. I used to work for him. I left the Legion. The only reward I'd get if I ran back to Lannister with my tail between my legs would be a swift death. Perhaps with a flaming sword if he or his son Ser Jaime were feeling humorous." And wielded by Gregor I have no doubt.

The pinks, reds and oranges of the distantly rising sun began to peek over the horizon and Sansa seemed content to stay quiet and watch them spread their pastel hues over the landscape. Sandor looked down at her and sighed heavily, grateful for the respite from her questions. The little bird's incessant chirping was beginning to grate on his already frayed nerves. What he really needed was a glass of strong wine. Or a bottle.

Stranger plodded dutifully down the road toward Dragon Bridge and the steady rhythm of his hooves on the dirt set a comforting background noise to Sandor's brooding and a pace that seemed to be lulling Sansa to sleep. One of her hands moved to rest on the arm he had wrapped around her waist and she yawned quietly, leaning back against his chest and attempting to get comfortable despite his armor and the continued rainfall.

Sandor stiffened and shifted his legs, moving Stranger back up to a brisk trot as he spotted the bridge that the nearby town was named for just over the next hill. What the hell do you think you're doing, Clegane? He asked himself irritably. You should drop her off at Dragon Bridge and let her find her own way back to...wherever it is she wants to go. If she could even get anywhere on her own. He glanced briefly down at the girl seated between his legs and stopped breathing for a moment when she put her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes. All rational thought flew from his mind.

Her hair smells like lavender.

...Fuck my life.

"Wake up, little bird," Sandor said gruffly, nudging Sansa with an elbow as Stranger walked slowly through the darkened roads of Dragon Bridge. "We're here."

"In Windhelm?" Sansa murmured tiredly, her head rolling sideways to rest against his shoulder.

"No, not in Windhelm, in Dragon Bridge. We're staying here to get some rest before we keep going."

"Oh." She yawned and stretched, rubbing at her eyes with a balled fist. "Dragon Bridge. I've been here before, with my father and my sister Arya, when we first came to Solitude."

Sandor frowned and looked around for a stable. "Mmhm..."

"That's Four Shields Tavern."

He turned his head and looked over at the building she was pointing toward. "Aye. Right. You stay right here while I go see if they have a room for us." He swung down off his horse's back and took a few steps toward the tavern door before turning back around. "If you so much as think about running away with Stranger, I swear I will hunt you down and—"

Sansa sighed wearily and shook her head, shivering slightly beneath her cloak. "I won't go anywhere."

Sandor just grunted then walked up the steps and opened the front door, calling out quietly into the darkness of the tavern so as not to wake any of the guests. "Is anybody here?"

The only response he got for a moment was silence before the sound of shuffling feet came from somewhere in the back and a disheveled young Nord woman appeared a second later with a lantern in hand. Sandor unconsciously stumbled away from the flame.

"Yes? May I help you?"

"I'm here with my..." Hostage. Because saying that wouldn't alert the attention of the Legion. This girl is more damn trouble than she's worth. "My, umm..."

"Wife," came a quiet voice from behind him.

Wife? Oh...bloody hell.

The tavern's proprietress raised her eyebrows and then nodded. "Alright. We have a room that you can rent for the night. It's ten septims, but you can pay that in the morning if you're staying until then."

Sansa stepped forward and rested her fingers lightly on Sandor's arm, momentarily diverting his attention from the dancing flame in the lantern's glass casing.

"Thank you. We can pay for the room tomorrow when we break our fast. Which is it?"

"That one there, on the right. It's relatively small, but it should do."

Sandor nodded and rubbed his thumb across the pommel of his sword. "It'll be fine."

There was a moment of silence between the three before the older woman nodded again and turned away, walking back toward her room beneath the bar.

When Sansa walked over to their room and opened the door, Sandor followed, running a hand back through his hair and sighing.

"I tied Stranger to a post outside the tavern," Sansa said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and smoothing out a wrinkle in the bedding.

Sandor frowned, but nodded, his exhaustion beginning to set in. "Get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us."

She nodded and sat still for a moment, staring at him. Just as he began to feel uncomfortable, she turned away, setting her lute and cloak down on the floor and then moving to the bed. When she caught his eye again she rolled to face the wall and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders.

Sandor watched her for a few seconds then turned away and closed the door before unbuckling his armor, putting it all in a pile on the floor and leaning his sword against the wall by her things. Sighing heavily, he lie down on the floor between the bed and the door and put his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling in preparation for yet another night of fitful sleep plagued by nightmares. After a few seconds, he heard Sansa stir before whispering quietly in his direction.

"Good night, Ser Hound."

He grunted and rolled over onto his side to face the door. I'm not a ser, girl. I'm nothing but a broken old dog that's running from his past. That's all you'll ever see. He was tempted to voice his thoughts, knowing that she would try to deny what he said, but reconsidered and closed his eyes.

"Good night, little bird." He sighed and tried to get comfortable on the hardwood floor.

One night down and a dozen more to go. It's a long ride to Windhelm...