A/N: I didn't put this in the previous 2 chapters but here it is:

- I don't own the characters at all. George RR Martin does and since this can also be considered tv-show canon it also belongs to the HBO show.

- The titles is from Dante's Prayer by Loreena McKennitt, which I do not own either

- And many many thanks to my betas for helping me along. Your encouragement has been crucial for this story to be allowed to be seen by others beside its nervous shy author. So gingerbeer48, swiftsnowmane, vargasse & onborrowedwings- I owe you so much! 3

3. Into the woods

They kept riding for hours in a heedless speed. Dawn came and went and still the Hound pressed Stranger, his big black stallion hard on, doubling back thrice to throw off pursuit in case there was somebody after them, and all the time Sansa was amazed at how fast the horse could ride without getting tired. The Hound seemed intent on putting as many miles between them and King's Landing as he could...

It was an hour past midday when Sandor Clegane finally decided it was safe to rest for a moment. Sansa had never felt as relieved by anything as she did the moment he said they ought to rest and the horse stopped.

The Hound halted his horse in the middle of a clearing with a little stream running merrily by one side. He swung down from his saddle and then grabbed her waist. As he helped her down from Stranger, Sansa found herself leaning gratefully against Clegane's strong steady arms. The moment Sansa's feet touched the ground, her legs grew weak beneath her and her head swam dizzily. The Hound held her steady and after blinking a couple of times she managed a few steps forward, moving as one in a dream, before her knees gave way and she fell to the ground, trembling, her breath ragged, wanting to retch.

Sansa Stark had never liked riding that much and this mad gallop from the capital had left her with a terrible pain between her legs, though her heart wasn't pounding as hard as it had before.

"Are you hurt, child?" Sandor Clegane asked her, concern in his rasping voice.

Hysterical laughter rose up her gullet at the question, but Sansa choked it back down. She managed to shake her head after a moment. She was just too stunned for words; the realization that they had actually made it out of King's Landing and were still alive was finally sinking in. It's done, Sansa thought. I did it, I did it. I escaped, and now I'm going home! I've escaped Joffrey and the queen and Ser Boros and Ser Meryn and all the rest of them. I am free of Joffrey. I will not have to kiss him, nor give him my maidenhead, nor bear him children. They will never hurt me again. Her nightmare was finally over. The gods had heard her prayers after all. "I'm free," she said to see if that would finally wake her, her voice a little hoarse since her throat was very dry.

Clegane chuckled darkly. "Yes little bird, we're both free now and out of that bloody hell. You're free of Joffrey's torment and your golden cage, but we can't have you singing victory yet."

Sansa looked up at him, meaning to thank him for taking her away when she gasped. "You're hurt!"

She had seen Sandor Clegane's face in broad daylight many times before, but she'd never seen it like this: there was a gash above his eye which had previously sent a wash of blood down his old burn scars, masking half his face. The blood had dried up but he had a couple of soot stains as well upon his armor. His white cloak stirred slightly in the wind, ripped and bloody. All in all, he did not make a pretty sight, though thankfully besides the cut, he didn't seem to have been injured anywhere else. Still, his cut gave her concern.

The Hound raised a hand and barely touched the wound. "So I am. There's no time to deal with it now. I'll tend it when we make camp at nightfall. But you ought to have a drink. I'm sure you're thirsty."

He led her by the arm towards the stream and she held onto him grabbing tightly for support as she lowered herself beside the running water. It was clear and cold as she plunged her face in to it, and when she cupped what water she could in her hands and sipped, she was refreshed.

"Wait, I've just remembered I have a cup in the saddle," Clegane said.

He went to fetch it and then filled it to the brim and offered it to Sansa. She took it and eagerly began to drink. It was much easier than trying to drink just with her hands!

The Hound meanwhile walked away and Sansa blushed as she realized that he was making water against a tree. Stranger suddenly appeared near her and began to drink from the stream as well. Sansa stood up and was relieved to find that the Hound had finished his business. He reached for his wineskin in the saddle bag and took a long drink. He then wiped his mouth and offered her the skin.

"No thank you," she said. She did not think her belly could stand wine at present.

"Drink it," he rasped. "You're still shaking. The wine will give you strength."

She took the wineskin and took a little sip, but it was enough to send a sort of tickling feeling down to her stomach. "Thank you," she said again meekly, remembering her courtesies. "I… I owe you my freedom."

The Hound looked at her for a moment and then nodded to show her she need not say her thanks, his mouth twitching.

"We must press on as soon as possible. They'll be hunting for us soon enough, so we have to ride as many miles away from King's Landing as we can. And we can't afford to meet any of those bloody savages from the Mountains of the Moon the Imp let loose in these woods. I may hold a dozen off, but it's not a theory I'd like to try right now. Go take a piss and then try and rest if you can while I tend Stranger. We'll break our fast before we ride again."

Sansa nodded and left him pulling stones from the horse's hooves and went in search of a place to make her water. She walked away a short distance though she kept to the stream, but it was far away to be certain she was well hidden from view. As she pulled down her smallclothes her red cloth fell to the ground as well and she gasped. She'd forgotten her moonblood was still on her! She was all sticky between her thighs and the worst thing was she had no other cloth to wear. She'd brought no clothes but the bear cloak with her and what she was wearing. She thought of washing the cloth in the stream, but decided instead to rip a part of her gown. She left the red cloth where it fallen and walked awkwardly to the stream to wash herself. She blushed as she realized that sooner or later the Hound would notice what was going on. I hope he overlooks it. I think I just have to wait a day or two before it goes away… This was the last thing she wanted to happen here and now, but there was nothing to do about it. She tore a piece off hem of her gown and put it in her smallclothes.

She hastily returned to where the Hound was brushing Stranger's mane when she was done.

Sandor turned around when he heard her approach. Sansa was vastly relieved he did not seem to notice anything and to see that he had cleaned his face in her absence. He looked less frightening now, though his cut was still a raw red.

"We don't have much food, but I'll hunt us game when we have need of it. Eat something from the saddlebag and eat quickly. We won't be able to stop often for you to piss, so don't drink too much."

Sansa did as she was told and found in the bag a loaf of bread and an apple in the bag. The moment she gave it a bite her belly began to squirm. She took another bite hungrily. She was still a little dazed but enough clarity of her present situation was starting to take form in her head, and she realized that she was in great danger. If the Lannisters caught them, and gods please don't let them, she wasn't sure that they'd kill her, but she would certainly be punished harshly. But they might kill the Hound. He had said he had lost everything last night, and though Sansa did not know why he had said that, now that he had helped her escape his life was definitely in peril. He might be facing a death sentence for being a deserter and a traitor.

Such thoughts scared her, so she said, "Your horse is very strange. I- I never thought any horse could ride so long without resting as yours has done. And he had two people to carry."

"Why do you think I called him Stranger, little bird?"

"So you could mock the gods..?" she ventured in.

The Hound's sudden snort of laughter was confirmation enough that she was right. Well, she hoped the horse would be able to mock the Lannisters with his unnatural speed. "Can he keep up after what he's just been through?"

"I reckon he can. He is very strong."

"Well, couldn't we eat as we ride? To make better time?"

He took a moment to consider. "Yes, I guess we could. You don't mind not resting till nightfall?"

Sansa shook her head. "I want to go. I feel we are still too close to King's Landing."

"You're probably right there," he agreed. "Any time you hear hooves, get your head down fast, it's not like to be a friend."

He put away the brush and helped her to the horse after he had filled the waterskin to the brim. Then he flung himself behind her, and Sansa felt for the first time just how much his mail dug into her back. It hurt a little.

"I know it's not too comfortable, but this way, you might doze off while we ride. I'll be able to make sure you don't fall and break your pretty neck."

She agreed. "I think this way will be better. It was very hard to hold on with me in the back."

"I'm sorry if you were hurt but I needed a better control of the reins and more room to move my sword."

Sansa nodded understandingly. "Well, I do hope this is better."

She twisted in the saddle a little bit to offer him the loaf of bread and he took it before he put his heels into the horse's flanks and urged his strong destrier on, his big arms encircling her, keeping her safe.

"Here is as good as any place we are likely to come across," Clegane announced that night.

Sansa blinked tiredly. Hours ago the motion of the horse had become soothing and the lack of sleep was beginning to have its effect since it took her a moment to remember where she was. They made their way through the trees for a few more paces before he stopped the horse (who'd finally grown tired) in the middle of a small grove of trees. A sluggish stream ran by less than twenty paces from the spot.

Sandor dismounted and put his big hands around Sansa's small waist to lift her down.

"We'll be safe here?" she asked as he set her on the ground.

"Think so. We're deep in the forest by now and the Kingswood is huge."

It had been near dusk when Sansa had suggested to the Hound it might be better to rest for a moment and then ride on at night, but he had said that it would be too dangerous to ride when it was dark. "The horse may break a leg and us our necks," he told her. She then told him that if they had managed to flee King's Landing by night then surely they wouldn't meet their deaths in the woods just by riding, to which he'd said that last night they had mostly ran on the Roseroad, and it wasn't that likely one's horse would stumble on the roads, whereas in the wild untamed forest…

But Sansa wasn't reassured. She glanced about nervously and hugged herself. The Lannisters could appear out of the darkness at any moment, hunting for them both.

"You're shaking, girl," the Hound rasped down at her. "Here."

He took out her thick long bear cloak from the saddlebag and gave it to her. The smoke from the fire had managed to leave ash stains all over it. When she put it on Clegane took one look at her and laughed. The cloak was way too big for her and she looked quite disheveled. She thought briefly that it wasn't nice of him to laugh at her appearance after everything she'd gone through, but she was just so tired and she hurt all over. It even hurt too much to start crying as she recalled that her mother had given her this cloak back at Winterfell.

He must have seen her pain then because suddenly he gently grasped her arm, helping her towards a tree and sat her against its trunk.

"Thank you," she said quietly when she sat down on the ground, still shivering.

It's so cold, Sansa thought as she watched Sandor Clegane walk off towards his horse to unburden him for the night. And I'm so tired and thirsty. But the good thing is that my legs don't even seem to ache so much right now. I guess they went numb hours ago… She wanted to say a prayer to the Seven for what they'd done for her, but she had not even started when she suddenly slid sideways and fell asleep on the spot.

She dreamed that she was going back to Winterfell. Sansa's heart was fluttering wildly in her chest in anticipation. She was almost at the gates when she suddenly saw that her home was burned to the ground. When she walked towards it, mist gathered all around her, making it hard for her to see in front of her. She knocked desperately on the gates but no one answered her. She called for her father and mother, for her brothers and sister, and when she got no response, she shouted for Septa Mordane, Jeyne Poole or her father, Jory Cassel, Hullen and Fat Tom. She even called for Old Nan and Hodor. In the end she remembered Theon Greyjoy, her father's ward and she called out his name as well. This time the door did open, but instead of Theon, Joffrey appeared holding all her family's heads by the hair. Sansa started screaming but then a strong hand grabbed her shoulder reassuringly. She whirled around to find Sandor Clegane in front of her. "Little bird," he rasped before Joffrey shouted at the man who'd been his sworn shield all his life, "Traitor! I'll have your head off after I'm finished with her!"

"That you won't, gnat" Sandor responded, and then laughed at him.

Sansa woke up as his bark of laughter filled her ears and the dream mist covered them all as well. She was bundled up in the bear cloak, her face resting against dirt and dried leaves. She was breathing a little fast, and as soon as her eyes opened pain started to bother her in every part of her body. She remembered the dream and raised her head a little bit to see where the Hound was. He was sitting by a small fire, the dog-shaped helm on the ground near him. She could see that he hadn't taken off his armor, nor but, his sword belt or the white cloak that was still attached to his shoulders to keep him from the cold as best it could. His big dark horse was grazing nearby, and the saddlebag along with his armor lay by an oak's trunk.

The Hound snarled a curse. He seemed to be trying to clean the cut above his eye, Sansa saw. She also noticed that his sword lay on the ground nearby, and by the look of it, he had cleaned it while she slept for no more blood smears could be seen on it.

Sansa stood up and shivered. The night was very cold so she secured her coat more tightly about her. Only then did Sandor Clegane appear to have heard her. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her standing there, staring at his back. The fire made his scars shine quite horridly in the light.

"How long was I asleep?" Sansa asked him.

"I reckon less than two hours. You should go back to it, little bird."

"In a moment… You made a fire," she said, walking towards it. It felt good against her face. "Won't it give us away?"

The Hound looked up at her. "There's no way either the Lannisters or Stannis would see it even if they are looking for either of us tonight in the woods. If we are anywhere near where I think we are, then we'll be all right tonight."

"But what if another person finds-"

"Finds us? Well, I guess if he is only one man I wouldn't have any trouble finishing him off, would I?"

Sansa nodded, trying to ease her fears.

"If you're hungry or thirsty the food is in the saddlebag, girl."

She went for the waterskin, noticing how very menacing the woods appeared at night. It was far too dark beneath the trees for her taste.

Sansa was vastly thankful for the refuge of their little fire and the Hound's presence. Else how could I ever expect to survive here on my own? I don't know how to hunt or start a fire or anything regarding forests except hawking, and that only a little. Still, why were they in the Kingswood and not running north?

When she took a long drink she saw that the wineskin was by the Hound's feet. It looked empty. I hope he doesn't get as drunk as he was during the battle, Sansa prayed fervently, as she watched him soak a cloth inside his helm. He tried to clean his cut but wasn't doing a very good job of it since he cursed again and rubbed at his eye fervently.

Suddenly Sansa knew she ought to help him. She was terrified of looking at his face for a long time, but the thought of it seemed silly to her now after what they had just lived through together. I owe him for saving me. I gave him my thanks but I must do this to show him I really appreciate what he did for me. She recalled the night less than a week ago when she had tried to thank him for saving her from the mob. But he had responded to her thanks with mocking hurtful words. He saw through my words but maybe if I do something to show him my thanks it'll be different. And he may hate knights and fair maids, but still, I ought to be a lady and tend to his wounds.

Sansa walked back towards the Hound, forgetting her own aches, and offered timidly, "I… I could do that for you."

Sandor Clegane quickly met her eyes. His face frightened her then, but she reminded herself not to look away. He laughed then; a laugh as cold and hollow as if it had come from the bottom of a deep well. "The little bird wants to help, does she? Well, spare me your help. I know you can't bear to look at me," he growled after he had finished laughing.

His words and his laughter made her angry. He is always so hateful! She wanted to be nice to him and yet he turned her intentions into foolish things with short blunt words. Sansa was quite tempted to storm back to the spot where she'd been sleeping, but instead she smoothed her skirts out of habit and knelt by the Hound's side. Then she took the cloth he'd been using from his unresisting grasp. She saw that it was a torn piece from his white cloak, and suddenly remembered how she'd ripped a part of her gown that morning to keep her moonblood at bay. The memory made her blush, but she hoped the fire hid the color in her cheeks. I'll have to tear it again on the morning and go hide somewhere to wash myself.

That would have to wait though. She had never done this before, but she thought it wouldn't be that hard. "Do I just dip it in the wine and start cleaning it?" she asked him, uncertainly.

She looked at him and saw something in his eyes she had never seen there. It did not frighten her, but it did made her heart beat a little fast on her breast. His expression was also queer or well, she could only call it- incredulous. I must not look at his burns, she told herself. If I do and then turn away he'll become all nasty again.

"The wine has gone cold by now," was his response, before he put his helm in the flames. "Wait a few moments."

She nodded as he took a swallow from him skin. Then he rasped, "The bloody wine will be gone soon."

Thank the gods, she thought, though she kept her silence. She did not know how the Hound would like her thoughts on it; he liked his wine far too much and sounded very sad about the prospect of finishing the only skin he'd brought with him.

Meanwhile the wine in his helm was soon hot enough for her to begin. He took the helm from the flames cautiously and put it beside them. Dipping the torn cloth into the warm wine, Sansa began to clean his cut gently, leaning close to Sandor Clegane, trying to keep her eyes on the cut above his eyebrow and not the rest of his face. The cut itself was not very bad, but whenever she touched it he would wince ever so slightly. She dabbed at it as delicately as she could in silence, and realized that by the fifth time she began to clean his small wound she was looking at the other parts of his face, and the Hound could see that as well, Sansa saw when she caught his eyes. His grey eyes locked hers but, startled as she was, she did not look away. She had looked at his face on the rooftop of the tower where she slept when she had thanked him for rescuing her, and had found out that his eyes were the most terrible thing about him; they were so full of anger. And though perhaps it was even darker than that night, the light the fire cast helped her see all that she had missed then. I am not a silly little girl anymore. I am a woman flowered and I can't keep looking away every time I am this close to his face. Even when he had come to her chambers to take her away, she'd been frightened of his drunken manner, not his scars. And then she remembered that strange surreal moment they had shared, where she cupped his face and felt his scars and tears, moments after he had threatened her with his dagger; moments after she was sure he was going to kiss her….

His face was gaunt, his cheekbones sharp and he had a heavy brow. He had long thin black hair which he always brushed sideways to cover his burns- though at present it was quite disheveled. She quickly saw the hole where his right ear should've been, and the twisted mass of scars as well, but tried to focus only on the good side of his face, trying to imagine how he would've looked if his face was scarless. I guess he wouldn't be that bad looking, she concluded. He is no Knight of Flowers, but he is no worse than most on his good side. His beard scratched her a little whenever her hand brushed accidently against it as she tended his cut, and he still smelled of blood and sweat and wine (he had washed his mouth on the morning, so thankfully the smell of stale vomit was gone), but Sansa guessed that she wouldn't be smelling nice too herself soon enough.

As if from another life unbidden, the memory of the tourney held in her father's honor came to her vividly. How foolish I was, she thought as she recalled how enraptured she'd been with Joffrey and how blind to what was in store for her. But if she remembered that night, it was Joffrey or the mêlées that she dwelt on. It was to think back on the moment when Sandor Clegane had told her his story about his burns as he escorted her back to her chambers by Joffrey's command. He knew how vain Joffrey was and tried to warn me, but I could not see it. And he wanted me to see how false knights can be. She still held the notion that not all knights were bad, but she thought back on how the Hound had commanded her to look at his face then. He had scared her, but she'd done it and in the end she had tried to comfort him. That's the first time he called me little bird, Sansa remembered. His face frightened me so very much, and still does, but he became a sort of friend to me since then, so I think I ought to learn to see beyond his scars. That's what a lady would do…

"Back in my chambers you said that you had lost all… what did you mean by that? Was it the Imp's fault?" she asked him quietly.

She had been wondering about that a lot as they rode through the Kingswood, along with some other important questions she was meaning to ask him. But this was the one she felt should be asked first. And something in her told her that the Hound would answer her, and most importantly, answer her with the truth.

The Hound snorted. "That twisted little gargoyle. Men will say that I turned craven now thanks to him. They'll say I've lost my belly for fighting…"

Clegane told her all that had happened to him during the battle. She learned how Tyrion Lannister had decided to separate Joffrey from his sworn shield and send the Hound off to lead sorties with Ser Balon Swann outside the King's Gate.

"There was fire and screams everywhere, and yet I went on board one of Stannis's ships and started hacking men down," he told her, and Sansa knew he was not lying because she remembered when one of the Kettleblacks had informed Queen Cersei that the Hound was cutting men to pieces back at the Queen's Ballroom. "I wasn't afraid of the dying but so much fire… and wildfire is even deadlier. I couldn't bear it, it was everywhere, the heat and the wine didn't help either... In the end I was out in the thick of things three times though my men kept dying all around me, while their horses screamed and reared as they burned alive. And then the fucking Imp appeared unscathed and ordered me to go into the fire again. But it was one bloody time too many. I told him to bugger off but he would not listen. Stannis's men were breaking through the gates and he wanted me to go and sort them out, but instead I told him to open the King's Gate and kill all who rushed in. It was as good advice as any I could give that little shit, but he decided not to listen to me and instead he took what remained of my men and went out to meet the foe himself. Most of the fools followed him… Well, piss on them all. I'm going someplace that isn't burning. I just hope that the bloody dwarf got what he deserved and ended in some hell's fires."

The rough rasp of his voice trailed off and silence fell between them. Whenever he spoke of the Imp Sansa saw that his voice was full of anger, but it had been worse when he spoke of the wildfire. She could not find it in her to blame him for not following orders at a moment as the one he'd just described, but she did realize that by disobeying Tyrion Lannister and then fleeing the city, the Hound had lost his position at court and maybe even at the Kingsguard, and that was without counting the fact that he helped her escape King's Landing. Ser Barristan Selmy was taken from the Kingsguard for being too old to protect King Robert. Surely Joff would've dismissed his sworn shield as easily once he heard that he had ran away from the battle, regardless of how much esteem he had for Sandor Clegane. He was as good as dead in King's Landing now.

Sansa had stopped cleaning the Hound's cut at some point and now her hands lay folded on her lap. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder gently. "I understand," she said warmly, and in her voice there was no trace of pity or judgment. "I know you only feared the fire, not death... You can hardly blame yourself for that."

At that he snorted in contempt. "Who said I blamed myself? I don't regret leaving the thrice-damned Lannisters. I'm sick of them."

"I… I only meant-"

"I know what you meant, little bird," he snarled, his mouth twitching.

"You're better than any of them… It was brave of you to take me away from the city," she told him, forgetting that she had called him brave not a week ago and he had laughed at that. She knew now deep inside that Sandor Clegane was a good man and wouldn't hurt her.

His eyes bored into hers.

"It was the right thing to do," he finally muttered.

Sansa knew not what to say to that, so she said nothing. The Hound seemed to have sunken into a brooding silence then, so she was free to think on whether she should speak the question she was dying to ask- but as she thought how she ought to put it, somehow Sansa knew that this wasn't the right time. She would have to wait to know where they were going until tomorrow.

"My cut is as clean as it is likely to get tonight. Thanks little bird, you did well. Better if we get some rest now."

"You… you have to bind the cut and change it every day," she reminded him.

Sansa thought he had not heard her, for he made no answer. But then he chuckled, stood up and actually offered her his hand. She looked a little startled at it, but after blinking twice she took it and he helped her to her feet. The Hound went off to tie his horse up to a tree while Sansa grabbed his dog-shaped helm and went to throw the wine in it over some bushes; it was very heavy. Sandor Clegane took a long pull at what was left of his wineskin and Sansa said, "Don't you have anything but the white cloak to keep you warm?"

The Hound looked mournfully at his empty skin and said, "Bugger the warm. I've spent colder nights outdoors before. We have a bloody fire, and though my mail isn't comfortable to sleep in, it does keep off some chill."

He went to relieve himself against a tree then so Sansa looked away. Why can't he go off and do it somewhere where I'm not close? He's so rude! She did her best in pretending as if nothing was amiss as she sought for the snuggest bit of dirt around their fire to sleep in. I'm going to be so dirty before this is all over, she thought resignedly.

She finally found her sleeping ground and knelt by it while the Hound brought up the saddlebag. "Get up, child. I have a bedroll in the saddle. You can sleep in it and you can use your hood as a pillow as best you can, but I'll try with the saddle."

He went over to Stranger who was already wrapped up in his own blanket, Sansa saw, and laid the bedroll by the fire and then sat down on the dirt after feeding some little thin sticks to the flames. Sansa muttered her thanks for the bedroll and lay herself on it, suddenly realizing that she was about to sleep alone in the woods with Sandor Clegane! A sudden fear clutched at her and her heart began to beat a little fast. What if he tries to do something to me? For a moment she thought him capable of it until she remembered not only how he would not let harm come to her, but also how she'd just been asleep for two hours with him and he didn't seem to have even spared her a second thought. When she eased her mind on that matter Sansa now dreaded to even close her eyes in fear of what would happen when she opened them again. Will I awake to find him gone and I'll be all alone? But while she'd seen he was capable of, that didn't seem so likely to happen. Still, even if he stays, the Lannisters may find us while we sleep. Or some wild beast could also decide it wants us for its dinner… She looked at the Hound. "You won't let anything bad happen to us, will you?" she whispered at him.

Sansa could only see his eyes shining white from where he lay. A hoarse chuckle escaped him. "Stop being so afraid, girl. You trusted yourself into my care. I've managed to keep us safe so far, haven't I? Give me some credit…"

He's right, she thought, as an owl hooted in the distance. She patted the bedroll realizing how big it was. The Hound was a very big man so this bedroll may fit him just fine, but it was way too big for Sansa. She ought to sleep comfortably in it. And then, just as suddenly as the first time not that long ago, sleep took a quick hold of her. "Night," she whispered, and faintly heard him reply, "Sweet dreams, little bird…"

A/N: Thank you and please review