A/N: Hello all, I hope that you've enjoyed the first week or two of school if you're in school still and back from break. I have a lot more work this semester than I did last due to the nature of my classes, but I'm still going to faithfully post a chapter of this every other week until finals week, because as of now, that's how far I have written sticking to that schedule. I have the entire rest of this story outlined, so it will NOT be abandoned again. I'll see it through to the end. Anyway, there aren't really any notes for this one. If you've already figured out who helped Sandor escape and you're sick of me not mentioning them by name, just hold on a little longer. The narrative isn't quite ready for their identities to be officially revealed yet. There's also something that could potentially be a trigger for some people, but it's not overtly mentioned or detailed, so I hope that won't be a problem. And that's it, so hop on down to the story and get to reading! Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Bethesda Softworks. Specifically, some of the dialogue is written by someone at Bethesda, but as always, I've changed it a bit to fit better and not sound as awkward as the Skyrim dialogue tends to.

Rating: T for brief references to mature or graphic content.

"Come with us," the first voice urged once more in its gentle lilting accent.

"Who are you?" Sandor asked blearily, rising from the floor of his cell and following the beckoning hand despite his better judgment. They may help me find Sansa, he thought, and once that idea passed through the thick haze of pain that clouded his mind, it was the only thing that remained. Sansa. They'll take me to Sansa.

"No time for questions," the same voice replied sharply, gliding gracefully through the dark halls of the dungeon.

Sandor obeyed the command for a moment before breaking his silence. "Where's Sansa?"

Both men hesitated at that and it was the taller of the two that finally responded. "Safe." The way that the word was spoken seemed to imply that it had been followed with an unspoken, "for now".

"I need to see her." Sandor's voice gained the strength that it had lacked for disuse in the face of his separation from Sansa, resonating from the thick stone walls.

"Impossible," the slender man said with finality.

"Surely he could—"

A sharp gesture cut off the attempted plea. "No. She must not know he lives." He turned to face Sandor and the complete lack of emotion in his deep blue eyes seared itself forever into his battered mind. "She must never know he lives."

Sandor woke with a start and it was the sharp pain of the wound reopened by his memories that reminded him that the young woman sleeping a few feet away was a stranger and not his little bird.

Sighing heavily, he ran a hand across his face and stood up, pacing restlessly from their campsite to the crest of the nearby hill. They were about halfway to Whiterun, and would've made it all the way to the city by nightfall if his employer hadn't demanded they stop early for the night. She had seemed ill, but hadn't explained herself. Sandor was fine with that.

"Nightmare?"

He grunted in reply and gave a curt nod. There was no use denying it.

"I have them too."

He turned around to see the petite Breton curled up on her bedroll, knees to her chest and a faraway look in her lavender eyes.

"About what?"

She shrugged slightly, her eyes glistening wetly in the light of the moon. "Fire. Blood. Death." She said it without feeling, as if she had said it many times before.

Perhaps they had more in common than Sandor had initially assumed.

He had woken once in the night to see her crouched beside the small stream against which they had camped, washing blood from her dark trousers and sobbing quietly. Unwilling to broach such feminine matters, he had willed himself back to sleep, but now, watching her as she slowly rocked on her heels, he wondered if the blood hadn't been hers at all.

"We're both up," he said gruffly, returning to his bedroll and swiftly rolling it up to fit in the burlap sack that held it. "Perhaps we should keep moving. The sooner we get to Whiterun, the safer we'll be." The girl—Daenerys, he reminded himself—nodded, but stayed where she was, one hand resting on her flat belly as the other cradled her knees.

"Come, girl," he said, gentler than before. If his time with Sansa had taught him anything, it was to treat highborn ladies with care.

Slowly, she stood, and a few tears escaped from between her lashes as she shakily moved to gather her belongings. Sandor frowned, but didn't press for information.

Daenerys had already mounted her mare by the time Sandor had finished gathering their things and tying them securely to Stranger's saddle. Miraculously, the horse had escaped Helgen in the chaos of the battle and ended up in Riverwood, where she had been reunited with her mistress. The reunion had been a happy one, and one that had relieved Sandor, only because it had saved his coinpurse the expense of purchasing one from the stables.

The road was quiet, and they traveled unbothered along the well-worn path to Whiterun, guided by the waning light of the moon above them. They rode in silence, and though Sandor was grateful that he wasn't expected to speak, it left him alone with his thoughts, and that was a dangerous thing.

His mind wandered naturally to Sansa, and from there only grew darker the longer he mused. Despite his hatred for the bigoted and arrogant Lord of Windhelm, he hadn't thought him a particularly cruel man, only misguided. That was, until he had descended the dungeon steps and told his prisoner exactly what he had planned for his former lover. The thought still made him sick.

"Ser..."

He looked up and raised his eyebrow at his companion as she trotted up beside his courser. "Hm?" His first instinct was to retaliate at the title, but he wasn't sure that he wanted his identity to be known yet, if it wasn't already. The rumors surrounding him and Sansa and his subsequent execution hadn't earned him the most golden reputation. Not to mention that he was supposed to be dead.

"What lies for you in Windhelm?"

The question gave him pause, and he sighed heavily before responding. "I don't know."

In all honesty, it was the truth. When he returned to his lover's side, he didn't know if he would find the same carefree young woman that he had left behind, or if she would have changed. Or, if she would be there waiting for him anymore at all. He had begged her to forget him, and perhaps she had.

Daenerys seemed to accept that answer, nodding solemnly before returning to her silence. It wasn't broken again until they reached the gates of Whiterun, when she called up to the guard watching from above.

"My name is Daenerys Targaryen, and I'm here to see Jarl Balgruuf."

"What about him?" The guard asked distrustfully, jerking his chin toward Sandor.

Daenerys gave him no more than a cursory glance before shrugging her shoulders. "Sellsword. He's with me."

Satisfied, the guard nodded and sent down the order to open the gate to allow them through. Stranger and the mare were taken to the stables as they entered the city, and Sandor warily kept a hand close to the sword at his side. Whiterun was a big city, and the chances of someone recognizing him were high, even beneath the hood.

Despite the early hour, his employer walked straight for Dragonsreach, head held high in determination despite her continually subdued demeanor. Sandor followed in silence.

At the doors, they were stopped by two guards. "Halt. Who goes there?"

"Daenerys Targaryen, and a hired man. I need to speak with the Jarl immediately."

"He is not taking appointments for another few hours, my lady," the guard replied, politely but firmly.

Unwavering, Daenerys spoke again. "We have news from Helgen."

At that, the two men exchanged a glance and seemed to deliberate silently for a moment before the one who had spoken looked back toward them and nodded curtly. "Very well."

The doors opened before them and Daenerys entered, moving toward the throne where Balgruuf's housecarl stood watch. The severe Dunmer woman stepped forward as they entered, loosening her sword in its scabbard and calling out toward them.

"What business do you have here at this time of night?"

"Wake the Jarl," Daenerys replied. "We bring news of the attack on Helgen."

"We've heard the rumors already," the older woman replied suspiciously.

"I was there. Wake the Jarl. This is news he needs to hear. Riverwood is in danger."

The Dunmer hesitated for a long moment before finally nodding. "Wait here."

As she withdrew to the upper level of the keep, Daenerys sighed and seemed to deflate slightly, her façade slipping away now that they were alone once more.

After a few moments of silence, Sandor cleared his throat and spoke. "Do you think he'll believe you?"

Daenerys turned and looked at him for a moment before shrugging and sighing again. "He'll have to."

Within a few moments, footsteps could be heard again from deeper within the keep and the Jarl appeared with his housecarl at his side, dressed only in a heavy fur robe and looking decidedly bothered by the interruption to his rest.

As he approached, his expression shifted slightly and he rubbed at his eyes. "Lady Targaryen?"

Daenerys looked immensely relieved at the address and she nodded, rushing to his side in sudden urgency. "I had to see you at once."

"Irileth said you were at Helgen? I've heard the rumors, and now...you say that Riverwood is in danger?"

"Yes, I stopped there between Helgen and Whiterun, my lord, and Gerdur sent me here to tell you the news and urge you to send men to Riverwood. She fears that it may be next."

Balgruuf's brows sunk low over his tired eyes. "Gerdur? She's the one who owns the lumber mill, isn't she? She's a pillar of the community that one, not prone to flights of fancy..." He broke himself out of his murmured thoughts and looked up with a deep frown. "And you're sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong? You saw the beast with your own eyes?"

Daenerys nodded, and Sandor felt a shiver run down the length of his spine. As if his nights weren't restless enough already, he now had fire-breathing beasts to add to his nightmares.

Just as Daenerys replied, the Jarl's steward descended from the staircase at the back of the keep and moved to stand beside the throne, his expression weary and afraid.

"The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak when the dragon attacked."

The Jarl sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this." Suddenly looking far older than his years, he turned to his steward for advice. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

Before he could reply, Irileth spoke up, her voice harsh and insistent. "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains."

Proventus spoke up irritably, still visibly more asleep than awake and all the grumpier for it. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack them."

Irileth moved to reply when Balgruuf held up a hand for silence. "Enough. Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

Looking both smug and relieved, she nodded and gave a shallow bow before moving to the doors. "Yes, my Jarl."

Sighing, his steward shook his head. "We should not act with such haste, my lord..."

Balgruuf frowned. "I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people. Perhaps you should return to your chambers and speak to me again once you've come to your senses."

Proventus looked ready with a retort when he sighed again and nodded. "Very well, my lord."

Once he was out of earshot, the Jarl turned back to his guests and smiled tiredly. "You've done well, my lady, seeking me out on your own initiative and speaking for Riverwood. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it."

Daenerys nodded in acceptance of the thanks and Sandor shifted slightly, drawing Balgruuf's gaze toward him. The older man narrowed his eyes for a moment in suspicion before looking away again and continuing.

"There is another thing you could do for me, if you are willing, my lady. I believe it would be a suitable task considering the man you keep by your side."

Two sets of eyes turned to Sandor and he stared flatly back, unwilling to rise to whatever bait Balgruuf may have thought he was laying.

Finally, he spoke again, addressing Daenerys once more. "Come, let's go find Farengar. As you know, he's been looking into all matters related to the dragons of old, and more recently, the rumors of their return..."

Sandor made no move to follow, but as Daenerys disappeared into the adjoining room, the Jarl turned and raised his eyebrows. "You too, Clegane. She'll need you for what lies ahead."

Frowning, he moved leisurely to follow, unwilling to seem too eager to obey the Jarl. When he entered the room, the court wizard had been roused and was already deep in conversation with Daenerys.

"As you know, my lady," he was saying, "I have been doing extensive research on the dragon lore that I have been able to find, especially over the past day since the attack on Helgen. I've hardly slept since then, but oh...the things that I've discovered!"

Jarl Balgruuf spoke up gruffly from his position against the wall. "Get to the point, Farengar."

The eccentric court wizard looked up for a moment and stared blankly at the Jarl before blinking a few times and bobbing his head in deference. "Of course. See, I could use someone to fetch something for me." He laughed nervously and then amended his statement slightly. "That is...when I say 'fetch', I truly mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

Sandor snorted derisively and Daenerys cast him a reproachful glance before turning back to Farengar. "Where are we going and what are we to fetch?"

At that, Farengar frowned slightly, and one hand disappeared inside his hood to scratch absently at his impressive sideburns. "Well, I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow—a 'Dragonstone', said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. What I need is for you to go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet, which is said to be interred in the main chamber, and bring it back to me." He smiled. "Simplicity itself."

Daenerys didn't respond for a long moment, glancing over at Sandor who merely shrugged in reply. Finally, she sighed and nodded her head. "Very well. I suppose that we can delay our return to Markarth if it means helping to keep Skyrim safe."

Farengar and Balgruuf both thanked her with obvious relief, and the former hastily marked the barrow's location on Sandor's worn leather map as the Jarl walked them back out to the throne room.

"My lady," Jarl Balgruuf began as Sandor started moving toward the exit. "Might I ask where your husband is?"

He stopped his advancement at that and began to listen. He knew little about the young woman besides her name, and this information was certainly new.

Daenerys sighed and looked at the Jarl through misty eyes. "Can I be honest with you, my lord?" Balgruuf nodded and she continued slowly. "We made it to Markarth with the caravan as we had intended after staying within your walls. Once there, I received a letter from my brother, urging me to ride to Falkreath and act as a speaker for the Targaryens in the matter of handing Falkreath over to Stormcloak control."

Sandor absently remembered where he had heard her name before. Her brother was said to be an irritating arse at best. It sounded as if he had treated his sister no better.

"Before I got there, I was captured by Legion soldiers and taken to Helgen. I was to be executed along with Ulfric Stormcloak and his men, to show Skyrim that the Legion would kill anyone who dared to speak out against them, rebel or no. My life was to be a gesture of my brother's loyalty to the Empire, and in return, General Lannister had promised Viserys the crown he had always wanted."

The Jarl raised his eyebrows. "So you escaped your own execution? It seems you and your companion have at least that much in common." Sandor looked sharply toward the young woman, but her eyes showed nothing but confusion, and Balgruuf sighed heavily and placed a large hand on her shoulder before continuing. "Truly, I wish you had not been forced to go through what you have had to, my lady. I will pray for your safety as you return to your husband's side."

Wiping away a few fallen tears, Daenerys thanked him and gave him a parting embrace before moving to the exit and gesturing for Sandor to follow. They were in the heart of the city before she spoke again, not meeting his eyes.

"I heard Jarl Balgruuf say your name."

Sandor grunted. He had wondered if she had, but dared to hope she hadn't. "And now you think it best to part ways? If that's what you desire, I can give you your gold back. I still have enough of my own to stay at the Bannered Mare and drink myself to sleep for a fortnight."

Daenerys stopped walking and turned to face him. "I never said that. And I would still be grateful for your protection if you're willing. I simply have a question for you."

After hesitating a moment, he nodded. "Go ahead and ask then."

She met his gaze evenly and seemed to scrutinize his features as she spoke. "Were the rumors true, about what you did to Sansa Stark? Did you really kidnap and rape her? Is she better off now in Windhelm with Ulfric Stormcloak?"

The question hurt more than he had anticipated and his chest felt tight as he remembered the night they had escaped from King's Landing, her big blue eyes filled with equal measures of fear and hope as the tavern had burned behind her. And every night after, as they had made love and talked of their future. If only they had stayed in that fort, shut away from the world and all of its cruelty.

Finally, he replied. "No."