A/N: I think everything in here is self-explanatory, so just read and enjoy. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. It all belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Specifically, the second to last sentence is GRRM's.
Rating: M for strong language, violence, sexual references, and the consumption of alcohol.
"My lord...please, wake up, my lord."
Sansa hesitantly shook his shoulder and then flinched back when he shot upright, his hand scrabbling for the sword on the floor beside him as he swore viciously. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on her and then he scowled, dropping his sword and pushing his hair angrily back from his forehead.
"Gods damn it, girl. Don't do that."
"I'm sorry," she apologized meekly. "But...I was afraid."
The Hound narrowed his eyes and then snorted. "Did you want me to hold you until you fell asleep again?"
Sansa blushed and shook her head, grateful that the room was still dark. "No, my lord. It wasn't a nightmare. Do you...do you remember the boy I was dancing with last night?" She was surprised to find herself thinking of him as a boy, given that he had been older than she, and yet, in comparison to the Hound, the term seemed appropriate.
"Which one?" Sandor grumbled irritably, standing and pulling on one of his boots when he noticed that she was dressed for travel.
"The first. The dark-haired Imperial."
"Aye. What about him?"
"I think..." She hesitated and then began again. "When we returned to our room, he was back out drinking with a few other men. The way he looked at me..."
Sandor glanced up sharply at her words and seemed ready to say something when she continued.
"I think he recognized me, my lord. Or if not, he knew who you were and might've heard of our escape."
"And so now you've woken me so we can do what exactly?" He sounded annoyed, but not quite angry.
"Leave. Run."
"From a lad who can't be more than nineteen."
"When did you kill your first man?" Sansa countered. The Hound scowled in response but didn't argue further. "I also believe he might be a soldier for the Legion. His armor looked familiar. Please, my lord, we have to go. I don't want to be turned back to the Lannisters." She tried to ignore the tears she knew were forming in her eyes as she finished in a whisper. "I just want to go home."
Sandor eyed her for a moment before sighing and nodding. "Alright, we can go. If you're right, we can at least get a head start on him and any men he may send after us."
Sansa almost thanked him then decided he may not appreciate the gesture and stayed silent instead as he finished putting on his armor and slid his sword into its scabbard. His hand pressed against the small of her back as he guided her out the door and quietly across the common room to the exit, glancing once over his shoulder before shutting the door closed behind them.
Stranger was waiting more than a bit impatiently at the apothecary's shop and he made to bite Sansa but refrained when he received a chastisement from his master. Sandor, although as ill-tempered as his horse from being rudely awakened, acted a bit more gently as he lifted Sansa up into the saddle. After glancing furtively about, he untied Stranger and swung up onto his back.
It wasn't until they were long since out of Morthal that Sandor spoke, his voice low as he murmured beside her ear. "What made you think that the lad knew who you were?"
Sansa shrugged and turned her head to look at him, startled when she discovered that he was much closer than she had anticipated. They both immediately moved back and Sansa regained her composure before replying.
"I...well, I guess he sort of acted suspicious the whole time we were dancing."
"How so? I need something to go off of, girl."
"He asked a lot of questions about you. Like, if you were really the Hound and..." She decided to omit the question regarding their marital status. "If I felt safe with you, given your..." She blushed at the memory of the boy's suggestive insinuation. "Reputation..."
"And what did you tell him?" His tone implied piqued interest.
"I said that yes, you were the Hound, there was no denying that, and that you were my sworn shield and that I always feel safe when you're at my side." She couldn't actually remember saying that, but it was the truth. And she wanted him to know.
Sandor seemed to relax a bit. "Well, then you did the best you could given the circumstance. We'll stop at the next place we reach with other people around. Our best bet for now is trying to blend in somewhere. If I read the map correctly, there should be a mine about an hour's ride from here."
"Are you sure we want to be around other people?"
"I don't want to be doing any of this, girl," he responded. "But if we can blend in, it will be better than being found alone on the roads."
Sansa knew him well enough by now to trust his judgment and merely nodded. When she said she felt safe by his side she meant it and she trusted him to keep them both out of harm's way until they reached Windhelm. And hopefully, if her plans went smoothly, after that as well. If she could manage to convince Robb of his worth, he would no doubt offer Sandor a place in Stormcloak's army, a position she thought he deserved as reward for his decent treatment of her.
As it turned out, the Hound's numerous areas of expertise did not include judging the time of travel based on a map's scale. It was nearly three hours before they reached the small mining settlement of Stonehills and by that time he was viciously complaining about everything from how bright the sun was to his lack of sleep and the fact that they hadn't yet broken their fast. Sansa suspected, correctly, that his excess drinking the night before was proving a hindrance come morning.
"It's about damn time," he grumbled as Stranger walked cautiously up the path to the camp outside of Rockwallow Mine.
Sansa ignored him and looked around at the people scurrying about between the tents and buildings that made up the mining community.
A middle-aged Nord approached them and raised a hand to stop their movement. "Halt! Who goes there?"
"Alayne Stone," Sansa called out, retrieving her lute from beneath her cloak and holding it up so the man could see it. "Traveling bard. This is my sworn shield." The story had worked well enough at the Stormcloak fort and they'd agreed to stick to it, lest anyone suspicious of them tried to follow their trail.
"And what's his name?"
"Lothor...High...tower..." She heard Sandor swear under his breath.
"Why didn't he say so himself?" The Nord asked, staring up at them in distrust.
"Because he couldn't," Sansa replied before Sandor could say anything in his defense. "He's a mute, ser, and really quite simple, but loyal to a fault, and very protective."
Behind her, he was cursing both she and the gods in a mutter only just loud enough for her to hear. She tried to hide her smile of amusement.
"Well, what's your business here?"
"Just that: business. The roads aren't safe these days and we're low on coin. I was wondering if you would pay for any ore that my servant was able to mine."
His expression changed to one of relief and he nodded. "Aye. I can do that. Just tell him to head down and talk to Gestur Rockbreaker. Or, I guess, you should talk to him. Give him any ore your man can mine and I promise you'll be paid well for it."
After thanking the man, Sansa turned to Sandor and raised her eyebrows. "You heard the man, Lothor. Off to the mine with you. I don't imagine you'll be riding Stranger straight in there will you?"
Sandor returned her gaze with a glare and dismounted, helping her down after him. "I hope the gods damn you to the deepest of the realms of Oblivion for this, girl. I'm no mute, nor simple either. And what the fuck kind of name is Lothor Hightower?"
Sansa laughed and walked alongside him toward the wooden door in the mountainside that led to Rockwallow Mine. "If your scars wouldn't give you away as the Hound, your tongue certainly would. You should be ashamed of that mouth of yours."
He snorted and opened the door for her when they reached it. "Fuck that."
Shaking her head, Sansa lifted a finger to his lips. They felt strange beneath the pad of her finger, rough on one side and smooth on the other, the burnt corner twitching in irritation. "Shh...you're a mute, remember? Just mine some ore and then once we're paid, we can be on our way again. I'm sure the Legion won't be looking for a highborn maiden in a mine, so they should be long gone before we emerge again."
Sandor looked ready to reply but was silenced by a raised eyebrow and scowled instead.
Gestur Rockbreaker was able to direct them to an open vein of iron ore and once Sandor was given a pickaxe and set to work, Sansa sat down in the chair beside him and strummed a chord on her lute.
"Would you like me to sing for you?" He paused briefly to shoot her an unamused look and she smiled widely. "Of course you would. You do so love my singing."
She considered for a moment which song to sing and then decided on an Ashland Hymn she'd learned from the one of the books given to her by Giraud Gemane.
"What a wondrous love it is
To bind two souls in faith,
Chained completely together
With never a false word,
Weal and woe, wish and real,
Woven each together
From first kiss to last breath,
First and last whispered in love."
It was by far the shortest of all the songs she knew, but she'd always loved how simple and sweet it was. The thought of true love had a certain undeniable appeal to it. If only she could be so lucky someday.
She thought she heard Sandor mutter something about "bloody nonsense", but when he didn't repeat himself under her probing gaze, she shrugged it aside as nothing more than his opinion of the song. The other miners offered scattered applause when she played the finishing chord and she smiled by way of thanks.
"Stop drawing attention," the Hound hissed through unmoving lips, shooting her a harsh glare and then tossing a piece of iron ore onto her lap. "And do something useful."
Although the vein he'd been assigned to yielded a mere three pieces of ore, Sandor refused to move to another until after they had broken their fast. He took the ore to Gestur Rockbreaker and silently returned with a handful of coins before ushering Sansa out of the mine and toward the arrangement of tents.
"Hungry?" one of the miners called out, holding up a plate in offering.
"The answer is yes," Sandor whispered in her ear when she hesitated, pushing her down the hillside. "Go."
After breaking their fast on eggs, freshly baked bread, and a sharp, tangy cheese, they left the group, moving to where Stranger had been tethered nearby.
"We'll stay here until tomorrow morning," Sandor murmured as he knelt down to check the courser's hooves. "You go see if any of the miners' wives have work for you while I go back to the mine. When dawn comes, we'll be on our way."
Sansa nodded obediently and did as he asked. While he worked in the dusty halls of the mine, she helped Gestur's wife tend to the gardens and make a hearty dinner for the miners, grateful to have a woman's company again. The time passed quickly, and before she knew it, the sky had turned the deep purple of dusk and she returned to the circle of tents where Sandor sat waiting. He seemed pleased by the coin he had earned, and as he set about to count it and eat his dinner, Sansa spread out his bedroll and curled into it.
She fell asleep to the sound of the miner's laughter and the crackling of the fire, and as she drifted off, she breathed in the scent that clung to the rough wool beneath her. For the first time since her father had been killed, she felt truly and completely safe, and when she dreamt, she dreamt of home.
"Next time we stop somewhere, I'll give my own name and I'll have you be the mute. See how much you like that."
Sansa ignored his complaint, not for the first time that morning, and continued reading the copy of 2920, Second Seed, v.5 that one of the miners' wives had given her. Lady Rijja was just being taken forcefully from her bath when Sansa became aware of how long it had been since she had bathed. At least a week if not more. She shuddered to think of how she must look.
"Did you see any streams or ponds on the map, my lord?"
Sandor frowned and then shrugged, taking a short reprieve from his grouching. "Not that I recall. Why?"
"It's just..." She blushed slightly. "I would like to bathe when I get the chance. Or at least wash up in a stream."
"If you had told me that back in Morthal I could've had someone draw up a bath for you."
Sansa closed her book and looked up at him with an expression of disbelief. "Well why didn't you? Did you not assume that I would want one? Look at me!"
He raised his eyebrow and did as she asked, his eyes traveling down the length of her neck and across the swell of her breasts before settling on her dirt-streaked arms. "You expect me to know what it is that a highborn lady desires?" He sighed when she gave an indignant gesture of affirmation. "Well, I'll let you know if I see any water. That's the best I can do."
A nervous whicker from Stranger turned their attention back to the road and Sandor immediately yanked the courser to a halt, drawing his sword. At the side of the road lay an overturned cart, the horse once pulling it long since dead and its two masters slaughtered and left beside their recently scavenged cart.
Sandor slowly dismounted and gestured for Sansa to stay atop Stranger as he moved toward the bodies in the wreckage. He knelt beside one and after a moment of silence, Sansa ventured to call out towards him.
"Are they alive?"
At the sound of her voice, he looked sharply in her direction and shook his head, indicating her need for silence. She was about to question why when she heard the familiar whistle of an arrow in flight and the cracking of wood as it pierced the trunk of the tree directly by her head.
Before she could comprehend what was happening, men were swarming from the trees beside the road and she was vaguely aware of Sandor yelling at her to run. When she remained frozen, he shoved his way to her side and repeated his command.
"Go, girl!"
"But I don't want to leave you!" she cried, panicked at the thought of being alone and leaving him to die.
Sandor's expression changed slightly and he met her gaze for a brief moment before looking away and smacking Stranger hard across the rump with the flat of his blade, urging the warhorse into a frenzied gallop in the opposite direction of the bandit ambush.
"Dawnstar's a day's ride from here!" she heard over the clashing of steel. "Don't come back for me!"
Although she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry until she knew that the nightmare they were in was over, she forced herself to obey the Hound's last wish. Dawnstar's only a day's ride from here, she told herself. And from there, I can take a ship to Windhelm. Despite her joy at the thought of returning to her brother, a large part of her wanted to disobey Clegane's orders and race back to his defense. It didn't feel right to leave him behind, not after everything he had done for her.
In a brief moment of clear thought, she managed to turn Stranger around and spur him back towards the sounds of the fight, praying to Divines and Daedra alike that Sandor would still be alive when she returned.
Bred for war, Stranger had no qualms about running straight into the battle and Sansa only just managed to tumble out of the saddle before he entered the fray. She could hear the Hound swearing loudly, presumably at the return of his horse without its rider.
Ignoring the pain in her leg from her fall, she drew the dagger from the inside of her dress and stood up.
Only two outlaws were left: one fighting with Sandor beside the overturned cart and the other an archer, standing with his back to her and firing arrows at the Hound in rapid succession.
With no thought but that of Sandor's survival and her own, Sansa approached the archer on trembling legs and as he raised his bow again, plunged the dagger between the plates of his cuirass, pushing until the hilt caught on his armor.
It was only when she felt the warm blood oozing through her fingers that she realized what she'd done and she staggered backwards before vomiting on the side of the road, sobbing and retching until the only thing that came out was the air in her lungs as she cried.
"I told you not to come back for me."
She felt a heavy hand on her back and sobbed harder, trying to bury her face in the folds of her skirt to avoid his disapproving gaze.
"Little bird..." The hand moved to her chin and gently lifted her head. "Look at me."
Her red-rimmed eyes met his steely gaze and she was surprised to find concern in the grey eyes that held her stare.
"You did what you had to."
"I...I..." She broke down crying again and buried her face against his shoulder. "I killed him!"
"No, little bird," he replied, his voice gruff but not ungentle. His gaze was unreadable and she did not know if he was lying, nor did she truly want to. "But you gave me enough time to do it myself. And I owe you my life because of that." His hand awkwardly patted her back and it was only when she pulled away to look at him that she noticed the blood on the ground between them and gave a cry of alarm.
"You're hurt!"
He followed her gaze and shrugged slightly. "I've had worse."
Although his statement was probably true, the sight of an arrow protruding from his leg didn't seem as insignificant to her as it apparently did to him.
"Here," She sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Let me look at it."
His hand stopped her and he gave her a wary look. "I'll be fine, little bird."
Sansa sighed and tried to move toward him again. "You will not be fine. If that doesn't get treated, it could fester." He scowled, but didn't push her away again, letting her help him to his feet and guide him to the other side of the road where he promptly collapsed against the first tree large enough to support his weight.
"I need to see it."
"Then look," Sandor grunted, swearing through clenched teeth.
Sansa blushed and avoided his gaze. "I...I need you to...remove your breeches, my lord."
He raised his eyebrow but refrained from commenting, simply aiding her as she snapped off the fletching and carefully undressed him, trying to avoid contact with the wound. When he was settled back against the tree in his tunic and smallclothes, she frowned down at his thigh and came to same conclusion he had.
"I need to remove the arrow."
"Well, be quick about it," Clegane snapped, hiding his discomfort behind the moody growl.
"It will hurt."
"I know that, girl."
Taking a deep breath, Sansa nodded. With shaking hands, she took his offered dagger and widened the wound, her eyes filling with tears again as his breathing grew labored and he groaned through his teeth. Carefully probing at the injured tissue with her fingers, she felt for the arrowhead, and was relieved to find it easily, intact and still connected to the arrow's shaft.
"It didn't hit a bone."
"Good," Sandor grunted. "Get it out then."
Nodding resolutely, Sansa wrapped her bloodied hands in a thin strip of cloth and then carefully grasped the arrow, taking a deep breath before pulling with all her might. Sandor let out a stream of curses that would've made a sailor blush as the tip of the arrow was wrenched from his thigh and then he collapsed back against the tree, his eyes unfocused and hazy with pain.
"I'm sorry," Sansa whispered meekly, tossing the arrow aside. He waved away the apology with an impatient gesture.
"Will I live?"
"Yes. But I still need to clean out the wound. Do you have any wine?"
Sandor nodded and sent Sansa after the wineskin in Stranger's saddlebag, requesting another bottle to dull the pain.
As Sansa set to making a fire, she gave Sandor a half-empty bottle of wine and then poured what was in the wineskin into his helmet to boil above the fire.
"Did it hurt?" she asked after a few minutes passed with nothing aside from the Hound's labored breathing breaking the silence between them. "When he shot you?"
Sandor shrugged. "I didn't even realize I'd been hit until you told me I was hurt. Too caught up in the fight to notice. Hurts like Oblivion now though." He jerked his head in the direction of the fire. "That about done?"
Sansa checked and then shook her head. "It's not boiling yet."
They sat for a moment longer in silence before Sandor looked up and frowned.
"Where did you learn all this, girl? Most highborn ladies don't know how to take care of an injury like this."
Sighing, Sansa cleaned the dagger in the grass before cutting a bit of fabric from the hem of her gown and dipping it into the wine as she replied.
"Well, since I grew up beside the College of Winterhold, I learned a few things from the teachers. They taught me a lot about alchemy there and then once Arya and I moved to Solitude with our father, I offered to help the wounded soldiers that came through to the infirmary and the court wizard there taught me how to clean and dress wounds." She put the cloth back into the now boiling wine and turned to face Sandor.
"This will probably hurt."
He nodded and gritted his teeth in anticipation, grinding them together when she gently rubbed the cloth over his bloody thigh.
"I couldn't leave you," Sansa said quietly, trying to keep his mind off of his injury as she poured a bit of wine directly into the ragged hole in his leg.
"Gods damn it..." He groaned, taking a shaky breath before meeting her gaze with unfocused eyes. "Why not?"
"After all you've done for me, I couldn't just let you die."
Sandor snorted. "Don't worry, little bird, I'm not dying anytime soon. Not till I get that gold from your brother."
Sansa stayed silent as she wiped the last of the blood from his leg and then she sighed heavily. "I can try to close the wound."
"How? Did you bring your sewing needles with you?"
She ignored the mocking jest. "No. Colette Marence at the College taught me a few basic Restoration spells when I was a girl. I'm not sure how much good it will do, but I can at least try."
Sandor stared at her distrustfully for a moment before shrugging. "If you think it'll help."
His long legs were outstretched and spread apart, allowing Sansa to kneel carefully between them as she moved her hand to his thigh and tried to avoid his eyes. She tried hard to concentrate on the spell she had learned as a young girl, but it was hard for her to focus with Sandor's gaze burning into her as though he meant to push her aside and devour her.
He said nothing despite her lack of progress and after a moment, she felt her gaze drawn to his, her eyes wandering slowly up the length of his scarred neck before settling on his face. If it weren't for the burns, he would be a relatively handsome man. He had strong features, and while his nose was a little large, it didn't look out of proportion with the rest of him. He was a very large man.
Grey eyes met blue and she felt her heartbeat quicken as he watched her, the same unfamiliar sensation building in the pit of her stomach that she'd felt at the inn in Morthal. A deep blush rose to her cheeks as she remembered the brush of his fingers across her spine and he continued to stare, enraptured by the flush that crept down her neck.
Despite the impropriety of it all, she couldn't help what she was feeling. Here she was, held captive by a deserted soldier of the Imperial Legion, and the Hound himself at that, and yet, she no longer felt like a captive nor did he seem to her as her captor. He was her protector, and the one man who never failed to tell her the truth despite its harsh realities. If anything, he was her savior.
And there he was: half undressed, grotesquely burned and staring straight into the depths of her soul as she pressed her hand against his thigh. She had met a very different man on the docks in Morthal, and she saw the same vulnerability in his eyes now that she had witnessed then.
In a moment of startling clarity, she placed her free hand on his burned cheek and leaned forward, pressing her lips lightly against his own. Though the burnt corner of his mouth was as hard and unyielding as the rest of him, the good side was surprisingly soft and warm against her own. She had expected a brief moment to pass before his mouth opened against hers and she felt his tongue against her lips, but a few seconds went by and when he didn't so much as move, she pulled away, blushing furiously.
His deep grey eyes were half-closed when she looked down at him and he stared at where her hand still rested on his leg from beneath hooded lids. She could see the muscles in his neck move when he swallowed and his tongue slid out to wet his lips, tasting her against them. She had expected him to say something, anything, but when he just continued to stare at her hand, her eyes welled up with tears and she scrambled to her feet, stumbling back a few steps. When he finally raised his eyes to hers and all she could see in them was confusion and pain, a loud sob escaped her lips and before she started crying there in front of him, she took off running.
She was already a few yards away when she heard a hoarse shout from behind her.
"Wait!" He swore and she assumed that he was trying to stand on his injured leg. "Gods damn it, girl, where are you going?!"
Ignoring his commands for her to come back, she kept running until she could no longer hear his voice and collapsed at the base of a tree, her arms clutching her knees to her chest as she sobbed. She had begun to think he had feelings for her, but then in the moment she was foolish enough to set aside her armor of courtesy and give herself to him, he had done nothing. She felt confused and hollow inside.
As her sobs dwindled to the occasional sniff and she wiped her tears away with her bloodstained hands, Sansa swore to herself that she would never let down her guard again, avoiding any pain in the process. She leaned her head back against the tree and sighed shakily.
I will turn my skin from porcelain, to ivory, to steel," she vowed, steeling her resolve. I will never be hurt again.