A/N:

- 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.

- 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

- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

* One little detail: In chapter 2 as Sandor is saddling Stranger before they flee the Red Keep, Sansa notices some of the things Sandor has brought along for the trip. I'm sorry to say I forgot to write he'd brought his shield with them as well.

**I swear this will be their last chapter in the Kingswood! **

It took them eight more days to finally reach the coastline, and by then Sansa was tired and aching all over. It didn't matter anymore if she walked or rode Stranger. She would wake up stiff and sore either way, and whenever Sandor helped her to dismount, she had to bite her lip to hide her pain. At least now she didn't ride pillion behind him, trying to gather her strength and focus it on not letting go of him, unless she cared to for a broken neck. Once, as they tried to rest for the night, amidst the starry darkness beneath the trees, she almost burst out laughing as she recalled how many times she had dreamed of being rescued by a gallant knight who loved her. Sansa had been a silly little girl then, and now the woman in her clearly saw the contrast between dreams and reality. She had been rescued to be sure, but not out of love. She was fleeing for her life. And the gallant knight she had once longed for had not appeared either. In the end it was the fearsome Hound who had saved her. She would've told him the irony of it if she hadn't feared he would bark at her the way he had that night on the rooftop when she had thanked him for rescuing her from the mob. He'd clearly stated he was not one of the knights from her songs, nor did he have any desire to become one. Still… the songs never told you how dirty you could get either, or how saddle sores could torment you at all times. Sansa's once beautiful gown was practically rags now, and the fur of bear cloak was so filthy and matted. Her riding boots were still in good shape, but there was dirt under her nails and a scab on her elbow, and a few scratches on her hands. At least she did not have callused or cracked feet. Neither my lady mother nor Septa Mordane would know me. It was better now since her moonblood had left her, and Sandor had been right in one thing- the Kingswood was a safe place to hide in! And they had at least managed to avoid going hungry. They had finished the last of the food they had brought from King's Landing, but Sandor knew how to survive in the wild, and he always managed to catch some hare or bird for them to eat, sometimes they would use his helm to boil some rabbit stew. There were also many apples and berries to eat in the woods. Sandor once caught Sansa smiling to herself as she recalled a time long ago back in Winterfell when Arya had eaten a bug just to bother her… At least neither Sandor nor she were eating bugs just yet. She admired her little sister for it, but she didn't care to try a worm herself.

Nor did they go thirsty. Not a day had passed that they did not come upon a stream or a pond in which to refill his wineskin or her waterskin. Sansa missed the taste of bread and eggs and lemoncakes, but she wasn't about to start complaining about the food that Clegane did manage to get for them… The only thing that still bothered Sansa at times was when one of them felt like making water. It was embarrassing to find a reason to excuse herself so she could go away and do her business, but it was even worse when Sandor felt the need of it because he wasn't embarrassed at all. More often than not Sansa would blush and look everywhere but at the tree or bush where Sandor had decided to stop, as she tried to ignore the sound.

The journey from the capital to the villages around the coastline had also served to spare her nights from the terrible nightmares that haunted her of the day when the mob attacked her. Whether it was because she had been too exhausted to muster the strength to dream or because Sandor, the one who had saved her from the mob, was now always by her side, the nightmares had gone for now… And yet, there were his snores. The first time Sansa had awoken because of them, she didn't know if she ought to be upset or laugh. The only man she'd heard snoring was her lord father, but that had been back when she was a little girl and had climbed into her parent's bed to feel safe and forget the monsters of Old Nan's stories that would not let her sleep… And once she and Jeyne Poole had come upon Fat Tom snoring loudly after he dozed off near the kitchens. It had been so hard to stop themselves from waking him with their giggles that day… But Sandor Clegane was no Fat Tom. Sansa lay on her bedroll, unable to sleep for a time as she heard his snores cut through the night's stillness. After a time they didn't seem so frighteningly loud as she had first thought them to be, and in less than no time Sansa drifted off to the land of dreams once more. After a couple more nights his snores had actually become a reassuring sound, since they meant that Sandor was still there to keep her safe.

He seemed to know his way around the forest, for which Sansa was thoroughly relieved. She couldn't tell at times whether they were going south, east, or north, but Sandor didn't appear lost at any time. Whether he managed this out of intuition, the position of the stars or the place where moss grew on tree trunks, or whether it was because he'd already been here more than once and was familiar with the place, she did not know. However each day they got closer to their destination.

Many things had happened in the last days which made Sansa hardly able to recognize herself, but if you had asked her if she would've preferred to sleep in her comfortable bed back at the Red Keep or on the hard ground of the Kingswood, Sansa only had to close her eyes and recall Joffrey's face to choose the latter. She thanked both the old gods and the new that she was no longer in King's Landing, and that she now had someone to rely on. In time she was able to laugh freely and chatter away happily, things she could not remember doing in a dreadfully long time.

One day, in an earthen hollow made by the roots of a fallen oak, they came face to face with another survivor of the battle between Lord Stannis and the Lannisters. The badge on his chest showed the flaming heart of Stannis Baratheon's new foreign god, and he told them that he served House Celtigar; he was a bowman, though he'd lost his bow. His left shoulder was all twisted and swollen where it met his arm; a blow from a mace, he said, it had broken his shoulder and smashed his chainmail deep into his flesh. He started to cry after that and talk about a girl called Bessa. Sandor asked him if he had notion of who had won the battle. But the young man only shook his head and said he supposed the Lannisters had. Sansa felt as though her heart had lodged in her throat at that. The bowman had abandoned the battle after he had been hurt, but he had managed to see that the Lannisters were winning both by land and sea, all thanks to a damnable chain and the Pyromancer's Piss. Sansa had no idea to what chain he was referring to, but his eyes were fever bright when he said that, and Sansa could tell it was true. His shoulder was swollen grotesquely, pus and blood had stained his whole left side. There was a stink to him too. He smells like a corpse, Sansa thought. The man begged them for a drink of wine.

"If I had any wine, I'd have drunk it myself," Sandor told him. "I can give you water and the gift of mercy."

The archer looked at him for a long while before he said, "You're Joffrey's dog."

"My own dog now. Do you want the water?"

"Aye." The man swallowed. "And the mercy. Please."

They had passed a small pond a short way back. Sandor Clegane took the waterskin and told Sansa to stay where she was while he went to fill it. Sansa never knew why she went to the young man and knelt beside him when the Hound was gone, the leaves on the ground rustling faintly. She saw that his wound was bleeding afresh, and she could smell even more clearly how death clung to him, but she still took his hand in her own. The young man's eyes met hers, and he started to cry again.

"And who is this Bessa you mentioned earlier?" she asked him, in soothing tones.

Bessa was the love he had left behind in the holdfast where he grew up. She couldn't learn more because the Hound came back then. Sansa held up her arm for the Hound to pass her the skin. His mouth twitched as he gave it to her. The archer turned his face up and she poured the water into his mouth. He gulped it down as fast as she could pour, and what he couldn't gulp ran down his cheeks into the brown blood that crusted his whiskers, until pink tears dangled from his beard. When the water was gone he clutched the waterskin and licked it.

"Good," he said. "I wish it was wine, though. I wanted wine."

"Me too," the Hound said. He turned to look at Sansa and rasped, "If you don't want to see this, you'd best look away."

But she could not bring herself to turn away. The man was clutching her hand, and she didn't feel it would be fair for her to abandon him as he left this world. So she shook her head, saying, "You told me the world is built by killers and that I should get used to looking at them."

She looked back at the young man. He was staring at her eyes intently, making Sansa feel as though she was baring her soul and her secrets to him. She forced herself not to start trembling, and instead smiled kindly as Sandoreased his dagger into the man's chest almost tenderly, the weight of his body driving the point through his surcoat, ringmail and the quilting beneath. As he slid the blade back out and wiped it on the dead man, Clegane looked at Sansa.

"That's where the heart is, little bird. That's how you kill a man. It was brave of you not to look away."

Sansa didn't know what to say to that. She gulped and asked, "Will we bury him?"

"Why?" Sandor said. "He doesn't care, and we've got no spade. Leave him for the wolves and wild dogs. Your brothers and mine." He gave her a hard look. "First we rob him, though. We need every coin we can get our hands on."

There were five silver stags in the archer's purse, and almost fifty coppers. His dagger had a pretty pink stone in the hilt. Clegane hefted the knife in his hand, then flipped it toward Sansa. She caught it hesitantly by the hilt and looked at the Hound. He cast a long shadow as he said, his voice rough and hard as an iron grasp, "You'll be keeping it. I'll show you how to use it later."

I don't wish to learn how to use it, she almost said. But she supposed it was for the best. Clegane was trying to do the best he could to keep them alive in his own way. Arya had her dancing master but I have the Hound. He is helping me learn how to survive. She took the dagger's sheath as well from the corpse with trepidation.

The dead man had a quiver of arrows too, but arrows weren't much good without a bow. He had no cloak on him, and his boots were too big for Sansa and too small for Sandor, so those they left as well.

"He must have had a horse as well, or he wouldn't have got away," Clegane said, peering about, "but its bloody well gone, I'd say. No telling how long he's been here."

Suddenly she recalled what the man had said about the outcome of the battle. "Do you think he was right? Did the Lannisters win?"

"He might be right," Sandor said grudgingly, "Doesn't really matter for now though. We still need to get to the coastline as quickly as we can…"

Sansa looked down at the dead man. "If we're not going to bury him then we ought to not linger here anymore. This place makes me uneasy."

The Hound agreed.

The following afternoon they had decided to rest for an hour or so besides five great oak trees, a little stream running merrily by their side from a small waterfall nearby. It was a peaceful place, and Sansa began to wonder what would happen once the war ended and Robb won- as he was sure to do. She supposed they would all go back to Winterfell and Robb would marry and have heirs, while she and her mother mourned Father, Bran, Arya, Rickon, and all the others who had died, like Septa Mordane, Jeyne Poole, Jory Cassel, Old Nan, Maester Luwin and so many more. I suppose I will one day have to marry as well. Probably some lord who served Robb loyally until the end. Sansa was certain that Robb wouldn't force her into marrying a man she didn't love, but that day was still too far away for her to worry about. After that she found herself thinking what Sandor would do when the war ended and she had managed to convince her family to accept him into their midst- for convince them she would. Sansa would let them see that Sandor was a good man deep down, loyal and trustworthy. She supposed he would want to go and kill his brother, but would he return to the Starks after that? He had said he would join Robb if they let him, but once he killed his brother he would be the heir to the Clegane lands, titles and gold. She remembered that long ago day when her father had sat on the Iron Throne and sent Lord Beric Dondarrion to bring the king's justice to Sandor's brother… Maybe he would like that better than living up North. But the more she thought about it, the more wrong that seemed. The North would be perfect for him. Northerners were meant to be tough and strong, and the Hound was all these things. He didn't like Court much, nor to be called ser or lord… Well, in the North these things were of much less importance than in the South. He even looks like a Northman. He has grey eyes and dark hair like father did, and Arya and Jon Snow…

She came back to the present as she heard Stranger neighing. Sandor had sat down on a rock to hone the edge of his sword when they first arrived at this spot, while Sansa had decided to settle down by the stream. She had taken off her riding boots so she could put her feet in the stream to ease the pain on the soles of her feet with the cool water. Sansa turned her face around to catch Sandor staring at her bare feet as they played around in the water.

Sansa blushed and felt she ought to say something.

"Your cut is healing," she managed to point out at last.

Sandor took a moment too long in taking his eyes from her the sight of her bare ankles and feet, but he didn't say anything.

He's probably angry about wasting wine in the cut instead of using it to get drunk. She sighed and asked, "Are we close to the coastline now?"

As his eyes met her own he only shrugged and replied, "Closer than we were the last time you asked."

Sansa wrinkled her brow. He saw the gesture and chuckled, a sour sound, part rumble, part a snarl. "We are near Haystitch Hall, girl."

Sansa thought for a moment back on the heraldry of the Houses of the Stormlands.

"Isn't that the seat of House Errol?" she asked him.

Clegane grinned, and though his burns pulled tight, twisting his mouth cruelly, it wasn't an unpleasant sight now. As the days passed Sansa found that the Hound's face did not frighten her the way it once had.

"It is, clever little bird," he said with something that sounded oddly enough like pride. "But we can't get close to it. I don't know for which of Robert's brothers they declared, but you can be sure they are no friends to us. There's no place that's safe for the likes of us now."

Those words did not surprise her. Desperate as she was for a warm bath and a bed, they couldn't risk being seen by anyone just yet.

She nodded and smiled kindly at Sandor to show him she understood. After a moment he remarked, "At least you look at my face now when you talk to me, little bird."

Sandor's eyes bore into hers as he said this, and he must have thought her expression amusing because he laughed then, a short chuckle that was half a growl… He stood up and put away his sword. He walked up to her, saying, "Come. It's time you and Stranger became friends." His mouth twitched in something that Sansa suspected was some ill-concealed amusement.

He pulled her gently to her feet, and Sansa wondered at how small her delicate hands seemed to be when compared to the Hound's huge rough ones, but just as soon as she was on her feet, he let her go. Sansa's musings were interrupted. When they had almost reached Stranger he balked, rearing his hooves and lashing at her. The horse was handsome enough, and had the sweetest of tempers with Sandor, but Sansa remembered stable boys back at the Red Keep complaining of Stranger, and how the horse had almost bitten one's ear off one morning. They muttered sullenly that it was a good thing that the Hound was the one usually to tend to the beast, since the horse had a temper as black as his master's.

While she knew that Clegane wasn't as bad as others thought him to be- at least not around her- his horse frightened Sansa. Ever since she was little, she had never liked horses much. When Stranger heard them approaching him, she saw him lashing his tail, as he stopped nibbling at a tuft of grass.

"I'm not sure he wants to be disturbed," she said, nervously.

Sandor snorted. "Bugger that. Don't be frightened, little bird. I won't let him hurt you. But you need to learn how to manage him by yourself."

Sansa gulped and scuffed at a rock with her boot. The Hound took the horse's reins and began to whisper soothing words in his ear while she watched them.

"Get some oats from the sack and come here," Clegane told her.

Sansa fetched the oats and while Sandor kept on whispering to his horse, she offered the food in her hand to the horse. For a moment she was afraid that Stranger would rear, but then he took the food from her hand just as any other horse would.

Sandor laughed. His laughter was like dogs snarling at each other in a pit, but Sansa found herself looking up at him with a big smile on her face.

"See, little bird? I knew he would like you. Now come here and pat him."

He took her hand in his and put it in the horse's mane, and she obeyed and started to stroke him, while Sandor stood behind her, ready if for some reason the horse changed his mind and decided that he didn't like her after all.

"He is beautiful," she whispered as she gave the horse an admiring look. It was as black as night or a raven's wing. She hadn't paid him that much attention before, and she knew that if the Hound hadn't been nearby, the horse would've probably tried to bite her ear off, but Sandor now assured her that she was safe around the big horse, and told her that if she just kept on spending some moments with him every day, they would become fast friends…

That promise came true quick enough, and Sandor also kept his promise of teaching her how to use the dagger they had taken from the archer, though Sansa was still not very happy about learning how to use it. She had kept it in the saddlebag, but now Clegane brought it out and passed the dagger to her.

She took it, and in the end, thankfully, Sandor didn't try to make a fighter out of her. He just gave her basic advice to know where to hurt someone who might try and harm her.

Thus far things went on as smoothly as they could when fleeing for one's life in the woods. That is, until the rain came…

The sky had been threatening with a storm all that day, but it wasn't until night had fallen that the clouds began to weep. They had already settled into a snug little windbreak by then to rest, between a rock to keep the wind off, and some trees, but just as Sandor had started to try and make a fire, the rain began to fall. He kept on trying but the wood was soon too wet to light no matter how many sparks he struck on his flint and steel. The kindling sent up some smoke but that was all. Disgusted, he kicked it all, swearing "Seven bloody hells! I hate fires!"

Sansa had already curled up beneath her shaggy bear cloak and settled down with her back to a rock, resigned to have neither much rest nor warmth tonight. But Sandor only had his white Kingsguard cloak to warm himself with, and even Stranger had his blanket to keep warm. The Hound had tied him to a tree to avoid him running off during the storm. At least they still had some of the apples they had taken that morning from a tree for their dinner. Sandor took one out now and sliced it in halves and went to feed Stranger.

She sighed and turned her face up to sky and closed her eyes. The raindrops brushed her cheeks like lover's kisses, and she could taste the water on her lips and feel it on her lashes. The ground soon turned into mud and the cold had her trembling throughout. The water had soaked through the bear cloak and Sandor's white cloak probably wouldn't keep water off either. She hoped they wouldn't get sick…

Sandor finished feeding Stranger while he brooded on how much he needed some wine. It had been days since the wineskin had been full with anything but water. He turned around when he heard the little bird sigh as she huddled under her bear cloak, her face turned up towards the sky.

What the - ? he wondered.

He patted Stranger's mane and walked back to where she sat only to stop short in his tracks as he caught sight of her face. What a crazy little bird she is! How she can find this blasted rain enjoyable is beyond me… Her long hair was plastered all about her face, and the rain was falling down her cheeks like tears, but she looked peaceful. Peaceful and perfect. She opened her eyes and he was suddenly aware that he had not only come to squat before her, but he was also staring at her with his mouth slightly open, looking like a bloody fool.

"You're bound to catch a cold like that, girl. You're already shivering," he managed to say at last, mouth twitching.

"You too," the little bird replied.

And suddenly, without knowing what he was doing, Sandor sat down, the good side of his face to her, and pulled his white cloak over the both of them. The moment he felt her body besides him he was sure that she would give a start and tell him that it wasn't proper for him to sit close to her, but Sansa Stark did none of these things. Apart from the time when she cleaned my cut we haven't been this close since the night we escaped. There couldn't be a greater contrast,that night had been as hot as hell with the damnable green fire burning all over the place, right now a cold wind was howling as the rains fell down. Content, Sandor rested his back on the damp rocks… For a while the rain was the only sound in the world, until he voiced his thoughts. "Hopefully this rain will go away soon. It'll be dangerous to board a ship with autumn storms coming."

The little bird opened her pretty mouth to reply but ended up letting a small yawn escape her. She's tired poor thing, he mused.

"Try and get some rest, little bird," he rasped.

She nodded, already beginning to close her eyes. Sandor was left alone with his thoughts. He had been feeling like shit ever since the rain started and he hadn't been able to light a bloody fire to keep the little bird warm.

The little bird… She had been brave and strong these past few days. She had surprised him with her ability to survive in the woods without complaining or crying. She's quite strong on the inside, he thought amazed for the hundredth time. The wolf in her could be seen at times, especially like on the day they had met that fool archer and the little bird had refused to look away, taking his word about killers to heart, and not abandoning the wretch during his last moment on earth. Or like that time when she told Joff that her brother may give her his head. And then she had walked forward and he had known that she intended to throw Joffrey and herself from the rampart. But he had intervened to avoid it then… That was the time when he had first seen the strength of the North and the direwolf in her. She had even managed to befriend Stranger when grown men had even failed at putting a saddle on him. Sure, he had been there to give a hand, but still, she hadn't complained when he suggested it…

Though he had never met a girl more courteous or ladylike, she had been able to bear all that had befallen her since she had escaped the capital with him. He had thought that she would be constantly grumbling about being tired or sick of sleeping on the ground, but she enduring everything quietly, and so she had him in awe. He could see that she was tired though, whether she rode or walked these days… At least they hadn't gone hungry yet. She's learned how to endure unpleasant things thanks to Joff and the other fucking members of the royal idiot's sodding Kingsguard. May they burn in all seven hells..! Well, at least that's done now.

Even now when he had promised her he would protect her and keep her safe, in times like this he feared she would still manage to get hurt if she caught a fever. Sandor could feel that her bear cloak was soaked through by now, and vowed to himself that he would get her warm clothes as soon as they reached the coastline… Though he would have to let her know that even if he had the gold and would gladly buy the finest silks she could get her pretty little hands on, she would have to dress in wool and peasant's clothing for a while. She was too beautiful and noble to be considered a peasant or a milkmaid, and whenever she spoke it was easy to see that she was highborn. She would have to keep quiet and try to hide her pretty face, but at least they could dress her as a common girl to keep unwanted attention away for as long as they could. He would be recognizable, but he was sure the Lannisters would not come searching for him. But they would for Sansa. It's only for a little while though, he thought. Once they reached the North he would ask the fat Lord Manderley himself to dress the daughter of his beloved Ned Stark as befit a princess.

He snorted as he imagined the faces of the Lannisters, her family, Sansa herself; and the whole wide world, if they ever found out that he, the Hound, was actually worrying about what Sansa Stark should be wearing. What in the seven buggering fucking hells is she doing to me? She's not even a real woman yet and still I can't stop behaving like one of those fucking fools from her songs!

For a quick moment he hated her. But that feeling was gone in the blink of an eye and all his current thoughts were damned to hell when Sandor felt the little bird's head resting on his shoulder. He looked down startled to realize she had managed to fall asleep despite the rain and the cold. Sandor had been consider moving a little bit to the left for some moments now, but when he thought that it might disturb Sansa's sleep he kept still. Then he almost swore out loud when he realized that he was starting to think of her as Sansa, rather than as the little bird.

Some time passed by until a particularly loud thunder clap broke in the sky, scaring Stranger who snorted loudly. The thunder and the horse both managed to make enough noise to wake the little bird. She raised her head startled and after a moment of looking disoriented she looked up at him.

"Just some bloody thunder, little bird."

"Haven't you tried to get some rest?"

He snorted. "I couldn't catch some sleep in this rain unless I had enough wine to get dead drunk. Beats me how you managed to get some sleep yourself."

"How long do you think it is until morning?"

He shrugged. "The hour of the wolf hasn't passed yet… Are you hungry?"

The little bird shook her head. "No. But thank you for asking," she said, polite as ever.

She tried to peer through the darkness to see their surroundings, but there was no moon tonight and the skies were starless.

"It's so cold," she whispered, shivering.

Sandor grinned, though in this darkness she couldn't see it. "Aren't you supposed to like the cold, little bird? You're from the bloody North."

"Well yes… but this-"

"I know," he growled, cutting her off before she could finish, and suddenly he put his arm around her and held her close. She didn't try to resist this and after only moment of hesitation she huddled closer in his embrace and rested her head on his chest. Sandor wondered at how good it felt to hold her in his arms in this way, trying to keep her as warm as he could. He would have thanked the gods if they had provided even the simplest of hay barns. Anything to get the little bird out of this rain and the cold, but there was nothing but his arm to warm her with.

Bugger. His cock didn't take long in getting hard, but thankfully it was too dark for Sansa to see his stirring member. He had imagined for months how it would feel to hold her like this, but never would he have hazarded that he would in fact be doing it. Only instead of in a nice warm room, they would be freezing their arses off in the bloody rain as others were on the hunt for her.

Still, cold bleak moments like this would be what would comfort him in the years to come. After he killed his brother he had promised the little bird he would take up a position with her brother, if the boy king allowed it. But even if he did, the moment he gave her back to her family he would lose her. He would go on fighting her brother's wars while she ended up marrying a loyal twat who happened one of the Young Wolf's banner man… Even if I was allowed to be her sworn shield, it might be worse to have to watch her day after day after day kissing another, growing in love and having a family… Thus, he tried to enjoy this moment and how it felt to have the little bird sleeping beside him and finding warmth in his body. It can't get better than this, he suspected.

As he felt his cock stirring Sandor thought that the following weeks were going to be hell when it came to hiding his desire for Sansa. Already he had tried to ignore his gut instinct to take her in his arms and kiss her whenever this happened, and so far he had been strong enough to stop his mind from wandering down that road… Instead he began thinking about how long it had been since he had last tasted some wine, sour red, dark as blood.

They didn't speak much after that, and in the end both of them managed to sleep for a little while. In the morning the rain stopped and the clouds broke as they woke up with stiff limbs.

That was the morning when Sandor left behind forever his snarling dog's helm and his oaken shield with the Clegane's house sigil painted on it: three black dogs upon a yellow autumn field. Sansa remembered the night he had told her about how his family had passed from being kennel masters to having lands and a towerhouse and the chance of having future heirs as knights one day. But Sandor had grown up hating knights. I like dogs better than knights, she remembered him saying. A dog will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face. Sansa was starting to realize the truth and importance to those words…

When she asked Sandor why he couldn't bring them along he'd said that his shield's sigil and helm were too easily recognizable, so he left them in the place where they had rested for the night.

"With any luck they will stay here forever and rot. But if some fool one day comes upon them, he may start wearing the helm and then the Lannisters will think that they've found me at long last."

*Thank you so much for the beautiful reviews I've received for this story! They mean the world to me, and I can't wait for your reactions to what will happen to Sansa and Sandor in the following chapters.