A/N: Snow is the bastard surname for those from the Winterhold region (and Waters is for Morthal; probably should've mentioned that when Gendry first showed up, sorry 'bout that). And the Knight of Flowers is Loras Tyrell, who I think I mentioned earlier, and if not, who is mentioned at one point in this chapter. He's never going to come in so he's not that important, just letting any Elder Scrolls fans know that it's the same guy. Also, in case you forgot since Sandor's last chapter, Sansa told the innkeeper that they were married, so that's why she refers to him as her husband. You didn't miss a shotgun wedding or anything. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut.

Disclaimer: Not mine. It's George R. R. Martin's and Bethesda's.

Rating: M for language, suggestive themes, and the consumption of alcohol. In other words, rated M for Sandor.

When the sun had risen high enough to cast its rays through the window of the room she was in, Sansa sighed and stretched, opening her eyes after a few seconds and looking up at the ceiling. The roof was made from thatched straw and above the bed, two deer heads were mounted on the wall.

Sansa frowned. This isn't King's Landing. Where am I?

Her question was answered a moment later when she looked sideways to see Sandor Clegane standing a few feet away and fastening his sword belt around his hips. He turned to face her when she yawned and slid his sword into its scabbard.

"Good, you're up. We should have enough gold to break our fast, buy a saddle, and get you some new clothes, but we'll need more for the rest of the trip, so I'm working today. And you're coming with."

Sansa blinked and slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Why do I need new clothes?"

The Hound looked over at her and raised his eyebrow; the only one that remained. "Your gowns are too small, little bird. Any man with eyes won't be able to keep them off of you."

It was true. The morning before, when she was trying to lace up the bodice of her dress, it wouldn't tie all the way to the top and she had noticed that her breasts had been getting more attention from the male patrons than usual. The fact that the Hound had noticed made her blush.

"Oh."

He looked at her for a moment longer then snorted and shook his head. "Come on. Go get us something to eat."

Sansa nodded meekly and stood up, smoothing out her sleep-rumpled dress before following him into the common room where most of the other guests had already gathered. She was acutely aware of the stares aimed in their direction, but Sandor didn't even seem to notice, walking straight up to the bar where the proprietress stood.

"How much for food?" he asked gruffly, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

The Nord woman looked at him and crossed her arms. "Well, that would depend on the food you intend to purchase, ser."

He's not a ser, Sansa thought bitterly. He could never be a ser. No knight is as cruel as he is.

Before he could respond, Sansa stepped forward and put on a polite smile. "Two green apples and a sweet roll, please."

The other woman raised her eyebrows and glanced toward her captor for confirmation. He grunted.

"That would be eight septims, m'lady."

Sansa placed eighteen coins on the counter to pay for their food and the room and took the food when the innkeeper returned with it, smiling warmly and thanking her.

When she turned back to the Hound, she frowned. "It wouldn't hurt to use proper manners, you know."

Clegane scowled and led her over to an empty table, sitting down beside her and snagging a worker to order a bottle of wine.

"Fuck your highborn manners. I'm not here to be nice to these people."

Sansa sighed and tore the sweet roll in half, handing the bigger side to the man beside her. "They know who you are."

The Hound took a bite of the pastry and responded as he chewed. "Do you think I don't know that, girl? You can't look like this," He gestured toward the left side of his face. "And travel unnoticed. That's why we're leaving here today before the sun sets." Taking one of the two apples, he stood up and looked over toward the bar.

"I'm going to go ask about the work around town. Don't you even think about doing so much as smiling at anyone. I'll be watching you."

With that, he walked back to talk to the innkeeper and Sansa sighed, sullenly chewing on her own apple.

She would be happy about returning to her brother if she was traveling with anyone but the man with whom she currently kept company. As if his burns weren't bad enough, he insisted on being vulgar, rude, and rather terrifying. If she wasn't scared of what he'd do to her, she would try to run.

Before she could so much as look at the door that led to her freedom, the Hound returned with a bottle of wine in hand and tugged her roughly to her feet.

"That girl over there is going to arrange for your new clothing." He paused and took a long drink of wine. "I should be back within the hour, so don't think about trying to escape. If you finish before me, either wait in the room, or come and find me. I'll be down at the mill we passed on our way in."

Maybe this girl can help me get away, Sansa thought, glancing over to where she was waiting. "I won't try to run, my lord. I promise."

Sandor put his thumb beneath her chin and raised her gaze to meet his, grunting when she lowered her eyes. "Still a hopeless liar."

He released her from his grip and waved her toward their room, raising the bottle of alcohol back to his lips. "Go on and get fitted, little bird. I'll see you again before too long."

When he didn't move away, she nodded and walked slowly over to where the young Breton was waiting. As she approached the doorway she glanced back over her shoulder to see if he was still watching her, but he was gone, so she turned back.

"Good morning, m'lady. I'm Julienne."

"I'm..." Sansa hesitated for a moment. The Hound won't want me to use my real name. "Uh...Catelyn...Snow... Or, I was, but now I'm Catelyn...Clegane..." Why did I ever say we were married? "My lord husband and I were just recently married. I'm still getting used to it."

Julienne nodded and closed the door behind her before taking out a dagger and laying some various types of fabric across the bed. She gave her a knowing look. "I imagine there's a lot to get used to with a man like your husband."

Sansa flushed to her chest at the insinuation and was saved from her stammering when the older woman spoke again, hardly noticing Sansa's embarrassment.

"How did he get the burns? If m'lady doesn't mind my asking."

"No...No, that's alright. He...uh..." I really should ask him about that. "There was an accident. With a mage. It was a rather unfortunate incident. I'd prefer not to speak of it."

The older girl nodded and bowed her head politely. "Of course, m'lady. Do any of these fabrics strike your fancy?"

Sansa looked down at her choices and ran her fingers along some pretty grey wool with white trim. "They're all very nice, but I'm afraid that my lord husband and I are leaving this afternoon, so making a dress is out of the question."

It's been so long since I've had a new gown.

"Oh. Well, if m'lady doesn't mind waiting, I can go see if Faida has anything that might fit you. She's more your size."

Sansa smiled. "Of course. That would be fine."

Nodding, the Breton took the fabric back and hurried out, leaving Sansa alone in the room with her thoughts.

If I were anything like Arya, I would already be out of this situation. She always knew what to do in times like these. Sadly, she only found herself missing her little sister when she was caught in some sort of problem. They hadn't gotten on well as children and Sansa doubted that Arya even missed her at all.

She heard the door open and close again behind her and she turned to face Julienne as she spoke. "Just this one, m'lady. But it looks to be your size."

It did look roughly the right size, although if Faida was the innkeeper as she suspected, it wouldn't be a perfect fit. Sansa had wider hips.

"You can call me S—" Catelyn. I'm Catelyn now. It's my mother's name; it shouldn't be hard to remember. "Cat. You can just call me Cat."

"As you wish. Do you think this would fit you?"

The dress was simple, but pretty, made from a light blue fabric and stitched by an obvious expert. "Yes. I think it should, but it couldn't hurt to try it on just to be sure."

Julienne nodded and started talking about people around the town to pass the time while Sansa got undressed. "You know, Faida and Gaius Maro were romantically involved, but then he got murdered. Right in the middle of Castle Dour. Just like that. And nobody saw who did it."

Once, Sansa may have cared to hear all the latest gossip. Once, she would sit in one of the windows of the College of Winterhold with her friend Jeyne and spend hours talking about nothing but men like Ulfric Stormcloak or Loras Tyrell. Now, she couldn't care less and what Julienne said barely registered.

After a few more minutes of mindless chatter, the Breton woman stepped back and smiled. "You look lovely, Cat. I'm sure your husband won't be able to keep his eyes off you."

Any man with eyes won't be able to keep them off of you. Sansa suppressed a shiver.

"I'm sure. Thank you for your help, Julienne. I'll just..." She looked around for a moment then sighed. "Go...find my...husband."

Julienne nodded and smiled, bidding her farewell and recollecting all of her supplies as Sansa retrieved her lute from its place against the wall and walked out into the town, breathing in the cool morning air.

I could go back to King's Landing. Tyrion may be a Lannister, but he's always treated me well. If I return, he'll be in my debt, and everyone knows that a Lannister always pays his debts.

She looked out toward the road they'd come from, but her feet refused to move. Instead, she felt her body turn, seemingly on its own accord, and she started walking toward the mill by the bridge. Somehow, she couldn't make herself leave, but it wasn't the Hound's threats that made her stay. It was the thought of being with her family again, and perhaps...something else as well. Something she couldn't identify, but that kept her there all the same.

As he had said, her captor had found work chopping wood for Horgeir, the mill's owner. He glanced up as she approached and frowned when she sat down on the bench beside the chopping block, but didn't pause in his work.

"I got a new dress."

Wood chips flew as the axe crashed down.

"Aye, I can see that."

Sansa nodded and chewed on her bottom lip, trying not to focus on the muscles in his large arms when he placed a new log on the chopping block and raised the axe. He was a giant of a man, tall and broad, with deeply tanned skin that was covered in coarse, dark hair. He wasn't at all like the men Sansa had fancied in her youth, slender and refined like the Knight of Flowers.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

This time, he stopped and turned to face her, disbelief evident on his unscarred features. "Would I like you to sing for me?" He shook his head. "Bloody hell. Do whatever the fuck you like."

In a brief moment of spite, Sansa raised her lute and played the beginning chord of Age of Oppression. The Hound just snorted derisively before returning to his work. When she saw his reaction, she stopped playing and frowned. Her attempt didn't quite have the desired effect. Instead, she began The Dragonborn Comes, which earned no reaction at all.

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes."

She stopped and looked at him for a moment. "Do you believe in the Dragonborn?"

The axe struck home and sent both sides of the log to the ground where Sandor bent to pick them up. "I don't believe in much of anything, little bird."

His yellow tunic clung to his muscular chest and she could see sweat beading along his hairline, but when he exhaled, she could also see his breath in the air.

"How sad."

He met her gaze for a moment then grunted and picked up the last piece of wood from the pile Horgeir had set out.

Sansa realized with surprise that she did feel sad for him. Suddenly, she didn't feel like singing any longer.

The Hound seemed to notice when she set aside her lute because he raised his eyebrow and wiped the sweat from his forehead with one of his sleeves. "Did you forget the rest of the words?"

"No. I just..." She trailed off and shrugged, avoiding his eyes. I don't know what I believe anymore either.

Sandor stared at her for a moment then hefted the axe over one of his broad shoulders and squinted up at the sky.

"We should head back to the Four Shields," he announced after a moment of contemplation and a final swing from the axe. "We can get some food for the road and then look at a map to see just how far we have to travel."

For once, Sansa found herself agreeing with the Hound. She did want to know how far Windhelm was when traveling on horseback.

They traveled back to the tavern in silence, his brooding, hers timid, and when they reentered the cozy warmth of the common room, Sansa relaxed slightly, going to order some food while the Hound retrieved a map.

"Two slices of salted beef, a bread loaf, an eidar cheese wedge, and...a bottle of Nord mead please." She heard heavy footsteps behind her and Sandor passed her a rolled piece of parchment before looking down at Faida.

"Add two bottles of wine to that order."

Sansa looked at him in horror. Divines, he's going to get drunk.

"We just ran out of wine. Will ale do?"

Sandor looked displeased, but grunted and nodded nonetheless.

"That would be seventy-seven septims please."

Sansa handed over the gold and took the food the Hound hadn't as he settled down at the farthest table.

"Give me the map."

She gave it to him and looked over his shoulder as he spread the map of Skyrim out across the wood surface. After a moment, he frowned and she raised her eyebrows. "What is it?"

"We'll have to pass through at least one major city to get there." He tapped Dawnstar with his finger then moved it down to Morthal. "Maybe two if that fork in the road gets us there quicker. Those stops may delay our journey, especially if you're recognized."

Sansa looked down at the map and stared wistfully toward Winterhold. If only I could just go home. See Jon again. And even Arya, if she's there. And still alive.

"If we make good time and all goes well it should take about a week, more or less, to reach Windhelm."

Although that was seven days more than Sansa had hoped for, it wasn't all bad.

"And then you can be rid of me."

Sandor glanced over at her before looking back down at the map and opening a bottle of ale. "Yes, little bird. And then...I can be rid of you."