It had been weeks since the search parties had left the capital. The Goldcloaks had scoured the city all the way from every nook and cranny of the Red Keep to the trenches in Flea Bottom. Not a single scrap of evidence was found to lead them to Sandor Clegane, a deserter of the Kingsguard and a branded traitor by King Joffrey. Sansa would watch from the walls as their signature cloaks glimmered in the sunlight, raiding homes and brothels, pulling apprentices from their work and sons from their mother's skirts. The only shred of evidence they would find of Sandor Clegane was hidden away in the false bottom of her trunk she saved for her most treasured possessions. In it lay only a single white cloak, blood stained and dirty, given to her by the man they hunted as he left after the Battle of Blackwater Bay, a parting gift to her. Sansa looked towards Visenya's Hill and the Great Sept of Baelor, the great white marble building with a large domed roof and seven great spires reaching towards the sky, one for each face of the gods and every one made out of crystal. Normally its beauty would have taken her breath away, the crystals creating prisms that covered Visenya's Hill and the surrounding marble plaza. But she could not forget that on those steps her father was beheaded by Joffrey's mercy.
The afternoons were growing colder now that winter was on its way. Even the south could not escape the long winters. In another year or so King's Landing would be filled with snow. Looking across the city, she imagined what it would be like to see it buried in white with the Red Keep standing out like a drop of blood on the white background. A sharp wind bit through her plum embroidered dress causing her to hug her long sleeves across her torso, the cold gold medallion belt reminding her of her family's words. Winter is coming. As the sun began to make its descent into the horizon, a Lannister sentinel came to her. The King was demanding her presence in council as the saviors of the city were to be honored. Everyone in King's Landing knew of the Tyrell's coming to Lannister aid with Lord Tywin himself leading the charge, pushing the last of the Baratheon troops out to sea. Sansa had dared to hope that Stannis would take back King's Landing. He would have treated her better than the Lannister lions. Sighing at her duty, she lazily made her way to the Throne Room, trying not to draw any suspicion from the guards that had doubled since the battle. Now Tyrell and Lannister soldiers crowded the hallways, the green of the Highgarden soldiers bringing much needed color to the sandstone walls and the crimson of the lions that held her captive.
Inside the Throne Room was the largest crowd she had seen since the day her father had been sworn in as the Hand of the King. Lords and ladies dressed in silk gowns and embroidered tunics. The pomp and circumstance made Sansa sneer. I remember the days when I was just like them. Ignorant and arrogant, she thought, making her way to the balcony overlooking the Iron Throne, its menacing shape being defeated by the egotistic child sitting haughtily on its seat. As he leaned on the edge of his seat, his golden stag's horn crown reflected the stained glass windows of the hall. Combined with the deep crimson of his doublet, Sansa almost believed that he actually looked beautiful. Almost.
Sansa allowed herself a few moments of solace, retreating within herself. All she could think about was the image of Sandor inches from her face, the fear of the battle and fire raging in his eyes. How she had longed to hold him as he once held her in her moment of weakness, but her anger at his abandonment had left her cold and impassive. After naming his grandfather Hand of the King and savior of the city, Ser Loras Tyrell stepped forward, kneeling before the throne, his brunette curls falling into his eyes.
"Your house has come to our aid. The whole realm is in your debt, no more so than I. If your family would ask anything of me, you may ask it and it shall be yours." Joffrey smirked, his eyes never leaving Lady Margaery Tyrell and her exposed cleavage. Sansa felt a sense of relief for a brief second, reveling in the idea that he might turn his attention to this Highgarden beauty for the afternoon.
"Your Grace, my sister Margaery, her husband was taken from us before..." Loras faltered, straining for the right wording. "She remains innocent. I would ask you to find it within your heart to do us the great honor of joining our houses."
"Is this what you want, Lady Margaery?" Sansa balked, wondering if he could honestly be considering freeing her from her bond and taking Lady Margaery for a wife in her stead.
"With all my heart, Your Grace. I have come to love you from afar. Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears and those tales have taken root deep inside of me." Margaery sensually replied.
"I too have heard tales of your beauty and grace. Tales do not do you justice my lady. It would be an honor to return your love." A hopeful breath. "But I am promised to another. A king must keep his word." A heavy sigh. He would not release her after all.
"Your Grace," Queen Cersei piped, her hands fidgeting in her lap, "in the judgment of your small council it would be neither proper nor wise to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne as we speak. For the good of the realm, your councilors beg you to set Sansa Stark aside."
"I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people, but I took a holy vow." Joffrey stood to express his false devotion to such things as promises made to the gods, making Sansa snicker under her breath. He was as devoted to the gods as Lord Renly had been devoted to his wife.
Grand Maester Pycell stepped forward at his King's worries. "Your grace, the gods do indeed hold betrothal solemn, but your father, blessed be his memory, made this pact before the Starks revealed their falseness. I have consulted with the high septon and he assures me that their crimes against the realm free you from any promise you have made to them in the sight of the gods." Pycell explained, bowing before his king. Joffrey paused, seeming to debate with himself about the benefits of his maester's words.
"The gods are good. I am free to heed my heart. Ser Loras, I will gladly wed your sweet sister. You will be my queen and I will love you from this day until my last day." The crowd erupted into chatter, a mix of cheering agreement and quiet discord. There were those who were as enthralled with Lady Margaery's beauty as King Joffrey and accepted her with open arms, and a few remaining Stark loyalists who softly mumbled their concern and opposition, claiming Sansa was the better choice for their future Queen.
Through the chatter, Sansa smiled to herself, knowing that it was now Lady Margaery who would take the brunt of Joff's abuse. Sansa turned to walk out of the Throne Room with her handmaids around her lightly touched her shoulder, expressing their sorrow and their lady being put aside, no longer destined to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa however was delighted beyond belief and silently thanked the old gods and the new that they saw fit to free her from his grasp. As she reached the large oak door, Peter Baelish grabbed her shoulder, turning her around. Sansa winced, his presence making her highly uncomfortable. She was well aware of Lord Baelish's love for her mother and he made no effort to disguise his unadulterated attraction to Lady Catelyn's eldest daughter.
"My lady, my sincerest condolences." Baelish bowed, taking her right hand in his. She barely disguised her disgust at his touch, mimicking his pleasantries. "They're right, I'm not good enough for him."
"You shouldn't say that. You'll be good enough for many things. He'll still enjoy beating you. And, now that you're a woman, he'll be able to enjoy you in other ways as well." The gleam in Baelish's eyes made Sansa's face pale. The thought that despite Margaery's arrival into court and his new betrothal, she was to be the one to take his beatings as if nothing had changed sickened her to the core and she felt as though she would retch.
"But, if he's not marrying me…"
"He'll let you go home? Joffrey's not the sort of boy who gives away his toys. You have a tender heart, just like your mother did at your age. I see so much of her in you. She was like a sister to me. For her sake, I'll help get you home." His lies seeped through his teeth but the promise of leaving her gilded cage and going back home to Winterfell and her siblings made her inhibitions drop just long enough to consider his words.
"Kings Landing is my home now." She gritted her teeth, forcing the automatic response. No matter the connection Lord Baelish had to House Tully, she could not trust anyone from court except for her handmaiden Shae and of course Sandor Clegane.
He began to creep closer to her, the overwhelming stench of whores and rich oils filling her nose. "Look around you. They're all liars here. And every one of us is better than you." Not waiting for her rebuttal, he walked right past her, leaving Sansa staring off into the stained glass window depicting the Maiden. She made a prayer asking for safety and protection in this den of lions before returning to her chambers to prepare for her visit to the Great Sept of Baelor.
Only Shae accompanied her and Sansa was grateful for her silence along the way. The setting sun cast deep shadows along the streets leading to Visenya's Hill but she had never felt safer walking the familiar trail to the Sept as she did on this journey.
Reaching the gates leading into the large garden sitting on the opposite side of the hill hidden from the ever watchful view of the Red Keep, Sansa dismissed the Lorathi maid who knowingly left to go sit in the last rays of sunshine in the marble courtyard. The garden was filled with beautiful trees all bearing the last fruit of the long summer, ripe lemons and oranges hung just waiting to be picked. Bushes filled with sunset pink and white blooms lined the small stone path she took toward the largest tree that sat against the great wall surrounding the Sept's land. Sansa looked around her to look for the Queen's spies or Lord Varys' birds, but not a soul existed near the Sept at this hour. She quickened her pace towards the large oak tree, its verdant leaves edged in gold, reminding her of House Tyrell. Unless one stood directly next to the tree they would never notice that there was a tiny nook hidden between the wall and the tree, just large enough for a small private meeting. It was just large enough to hold a Silent Brother and a maiden fair.
The man was clad in brown-and-dun robes with a hood pulled over his head and a pointed cowl covering the lower half of his face and neck. With the dying light casting shadows, even his eyes were barely visible. He kept his hands tucked inside the large bell sleeves as if in constant prayer. Sansa approached him cautiously, eyeing his bent form with unease.
"Silent Brother, might we pray together in this quiet wood? It would make my heart glad to have one of the faith send his prayers with mine." She reached out a hand and gently placed it on his large forearm. As was the code of his brotherhood, he did not speak but merely nodded his reply and bowed his head.
And from under the cowl she could hear his gruff laughter like the sound of steel grinding against a whetstone, full of relief and joy. She joined in his chorus and the two nearly toppled each other with their laughter. When their voices settled she gave him a sly smile and launched herself into his arms, giving him a fierce hug.
"Sandor, I've missed you. Has life as a pious Silent Brother been treating you well?" She asked, planting a gentle kiss on a bare patch of burnt cheek. When once the ruined side of his face frightened and disgusted her, she now reveled in its texture, rough and leathery yet holding all the pain and anguish this man had suffered and endured splayed out for all the world to see.
He pulled the cowl down to reveal the full expanse of burnt flesh and his thin lips stretched taught over his teeth in a smile. "I'm grateful that no one asks questions, but these damned prayers every hour are driving me mad! Couldn't you have picked a better place to send me, girl?" He joked, pulling her to his chest and smelling her hair; lilac and lemons, the smell of the seven heavens to a man like Sandor Clegane. He was surprised when she returned the embrace, her small arms wrapping themselves around his waist.
"This was the only place they would never look for you. A blasphemous man such as you living in the Great Sept of Baelor? No one would ever think of it. Plus I could see you whenever I wished. It is no secret that a daughter of Catelyn Tully keeps the new gods as well as the old." She stated, looking up at him. His grey eyes were the oncoming storm and hers the calm sea and she utterly lost herself in his as he did in hers. Their gaze held for what seemed like hours until Sansa straightened herself out, readjusting her skirts about her. She was nervous and embarrassed. It was unladylike to be alone with a man, especially a maid alone with a killer such as the once sworn shield to the King. But for all her septa's teachings, Sansa would break a thousand rules to have the pleasure of visiting her Silent Brother every day. As the tension grew between the pair, Sansa's stomach began to rumble and Sandor let out another peel of laughter.
"Come, little bird. I have some food left in my room." Sandor stated as he held on to her upper arm, pulling the cowl back over his face before leading her into the sept. They were heading down to his room located above the crypts, a silent place where no one would find them and they could talk in secret. When he had first arrived, with Sansa yards away to observe that he would not be found out, his silence did not answer questions but his brothers robes did and no questions were asked. He was given a job and a title in exchange for shelter and food. Brother Digger, they called him, for he was given the unwanted task of keeping the sept's graveyard, a task which he took willingly. He was expected to work at nightfall under cover of darkness, which fit his plan just fine and kept him out of the sight of the City Watch.
The winding staircases and long hallways reminded Sansa of Winterfell, the dark stone walls below the main level seeping with dampness, though it lacked the warmth of the natural hot springs that ran through Winterfell's walls. Down and down they went, many levels before reaching a simple hallway lined with small wooden doors. At the far end was his room, a tiny abode with a cot, table and two chairs, and a torch that hung on the far wall. It suited Sandor who needed little but sustenance and safety.
Both sat in silence while they ate a simple meal of cold stew and hard brown bread with cheap wine, rather taking their fill of each other's presence. Since his departure, Sansa had not escaped from Joffrey's ever watchful guard that stood outside her door day and night. Once word got out that she was released as his betrothed, the guards stopped caring about her safety and she and her handmaidens were left to fend for themselves.
Sansa dabbed at the corners of her lips to rid them of crumbs, coughing politely to garner his attention. He looked up from his last spoonful of stew, eyebrows arched in question.
"I'm no longer betrothed to Joffrey."
Sandor nearly spit the broth into her face. "You're what? What happened? Did he hurt you again? I swear, I'm going to—"
"No, no I'm fine. Joffrey offered anything to Ser Loras for his houses aid in the battle, and he asked that Joffrey marry his sister, Lady Margaery. Even I have to admit she is quite beautiful and sensual, though I fear for her safety and good looks. It seems that the High Septon agreed that it would not behoove a king to marry the daughter of a traitor, so I am freed from my betrothal." Sansa stated matter-of-factly. Sandor was overjoyed.
"That's wonderful news, little bird! That means we can leave soon. We'll have to devise a plan." He drank a celebratory glass of wine, finished it in one gulp, and poured himself another.
Sansa sighed. "Littlefinger offered to take me away."
"He did WHAT?" Sandor roared. He had never fully trusted Baelish, neither did anyone in court save for her father, whose misplaced trust cost him his life.
"I told him I didn't want to leave but he caught my bluff and left abruptly. I don't think it's going to be so easy to leave." Sansa folder her hands in her lap and played with a loose thread on her skirt.
Sandor rubbed his stubbled cheek, contemplating their next move. "You say this Margaery Tyrell is now going to marry the little shit, correct? I expect they'll plan it for as soon as possible, only two months from now at the most. Do you think you can survive that long, little bird? This might be our only chance, to leave when everyone is so preoccupied on the new Queen they'll forget all about you and you and I can leave together with none the wiser." Sansa opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again as she thought. Two months did not seem so long after having spent the last year in the Lannister's hands. She nodded her approval.
"What should I have packed? I will do so on the morrow, just in case we need to leave at a moment's notice." Sansa rose to take a more comfortable seat on the edge of Sandor's bed, letting go of her inhibitions and reclining against the wall. Clegane watched her hungrily, trying to subdue his lust for her from taking root in a physical manner. He was not sure if she could see his fidgeting at her relaxed form, but he could swear he saw a small grin in the corner of her luscious lips.
Rising to sit with her, he started to list of items that would be essential for what would end up being a very long journey. "Small clothes, coin, and any food stuffs you can sneak away: breads, cheeses, salted meats. You must make sure to wear your most sturdy boots and bring along that fur cloak of yours. If we're heading North the snows will catch us before we ever reach the Trident."
He sat down on the bed with a heavy creak, leaning back in the same fashion she was. She beamed at him and laid her head on his chest, listening intently to his increasing heartbeat, causing her to giggle.
"You do not have to be afraid of me, Ser." She felt him tense up at her words, laughing at his aversion to titles. "I'm only japing." She teased, slapping him lightly on the thigh. She blushed when she realized his feelings for her were showing themselves in ways a woman ought not know until her wedding night and quickly retracted her hand. He chuckled and took a hold of her hand with one of his, grabbing her chin with the other so she was forced to look into his stormy eyes.
Sandor did not even have a chance to act on his emotions before the Lady Sansa demurely lifted herself up to lean on his shoulder and placed her soft lips on his. Both their hearts were racing in time with each other, her fingers intertwining with his. When she broke the kiss and started into his eyes, they reflected her sadness and anger.
"Why did you abandon me?"
Sandor looked blankly back at her, trying to understand her meaning. He would never abandon her; it was her room he had fled to the night of the battle. Reading his ignorance, she clarified. "When I came to thank you for saving me, you were nothing but rude. You avoided me for days, and when I finally see you again before the battle, you never even glanced my way. Explain yourself." She ordered, her arms crossed over her chest.
Stammering, Sandor tried to come up with an excuse he knew he didn't have. "A-After seeing the pain you were put through, I thought that maybe if I taught you to see the world as it was, filled with vile men and killers, you would be more cautious and not wander away from safety again. You may live in a gilded cage, but cages protect little birds from housecats. I didn't mean to come across so harshly. It was stupid of me, little bird, and I apologize for my crudeness." It was the first apology he could ever remember giving his entire life, and the truth flowed off of his tongue smoother than wine. Sansa could see how the apology affected his usual rough demeanor and humbled him. Perhaps spending time in a sept had taught him manners, but she would not push her luck and accepted his apology with another kiss, though far more chaste than the first. She was still a lady and had to remember her lessons and manners. It was not becoming for a noble woman to become familiar with a man who is not her betrothed and the thought of her lady mother catching her in this situation sent her blushing.
"Don't you ever think to do that again, Sandor Clegane. I will not have it. I will have your full trust as you will have mine. Promise me that you will trust me?"
"Aye, I trust you, little bird." As Sansa started to grin, her mouth broke into a yawn, the suffocating darkness making her tired.
The corner of Sandor's twitched into a slight grin as he rose, gently pulling her up with him. "I think it's time I get you back to your handmaiden, girl." He stated, pulling up his cowl, forcefully bending his back to lessen his height and leading her out of the darkened hallways and up the stairs, the light from the main hallway of the Great Sept growing stronger with each level. As they landed on the main floor he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze to say goodbye before nodding and sending her out into the courtyard where Shae waited for her.
"What did you pray for, m'lady?" Shae questioned, a knowing smirk betraying her knowledge.
"For winter." She stated, turning to see as Sandor watched her leave from the shadows, giving her a knowing wink.