11. The Crossroads of Time

Sandor and Sansa had just stepped into something they were never meant to see. Two filthy looking men were robbing a little party ahead of them, making Sandor tense besides her, drawing out his sword.

That was enough to get the attention of the attackers, and as they turned their heads to squint at them through the distance, Sansa got a better view of how matters stood: Two little children who looked alike were crying and bleeding from some blows to their heads. They looked on at an elderly man who had a knife pointed at his throat by one of the robbers. The second attacker was looking through some sacks for what Sansa supposed was anything of value, yet he stopped quickly when Sandor drew his sword.

Sansa's heart went to her throat as the prospect of losing Sandor flew across her mind. Her hand shot for his, grabbing it tightly, as she looked up at Sandor, the burned side of his face to her. Sandor quickly looked down at her in return. Seeing the fear in her eyes, he gave her a small reassuring smile and pressed her hand back.

"Seven hells little bird, you're not afraid, are you?" he asked, breaking into a rasping, raucous laughter.

Sansa gazed into his grey eyes, remembering the Hound. How stupid to think these two skinny men would stand a chance against Sandor Clegane, who was one of the fiercest warriors in all the Seven Kingdoms.

"I mean," he went on, teasingly "I know it's been a while since I've killed anyone, but to think I am in danger against this scrawny pair of rats makes me feel old and useless."

Sansa must not have managed to hide her apprehension all that well for she could see he was still trying to make her feel better. So she smiled for him a little, nodding her head twice to assure him that now she had faith in him, since she didn't seem to be able to speak.

"Stay here with the horses," he told her.

"What the fuck are you two staring at?" yelled one of the robbers in a thick bastard Valyrian accent, making Sansa jump a little, startled.

Sandor let go of her hand then, gave the brigands a long hard look, and started walking in their direction, yelling at them to release the old man and the children and fuck off.

That made the robbers laugh, before they screamed back at Sandor that it wasn't his bloody business. Then they saw Sansa.

"Tell you what, we'll trade you this whole lot, less what we've already taken from them, and you give us that pretty little thing behind you. The horses you'll give us in good faith," said the shortest of them.

Sandor was now getting closer to them, testing the weight of the longsword in his hand, slicing at the air, making them shoot nervous glances between them as he drew closer, while old man and children stared at Sandor with incredulous eyes.

"Uzzmat, go and finish him and you'll get your choice of the children," the short man instructed the other.

Uzzmat's eyes had grown as big and wide as saucers. "Are you mad, Kamaltz? Look at the size of him!"

"You're just as tall!"

"So? I don't have a face like that. He looks dangerous."

"I don't give a fuck. Go finish him!"

To his credit Uzzmat did try to fight Sandor, catching his blows and turning them as best he could. Sandor was putting his massive strength behind every move, and even as Sansa tried to keep the horses at bay, she couldn't keep her eyes from him. She knew just by looking at his face that he was enjoying this, and maybe even prolonging it because he'd missed it, making her remember how frightened she'd been of him back in King's Landing. He looks as mad as on the day he saved me from the riots. He saved me then as he is now saving these poor people.

There was a horrible tense moment when Uzzmat managed to run away as Sandor's back was to him. Sansa stood frozen to the spot as the man came running her, a wild look in his eyes, blade raised high, and her heart stopped. She didn't know if Sandor would reach her on time before this man hurt her, and just as her mind quickly asked herself why wasn't she running away, the strangest and most unexpected thing happened. Stranger, whose reins she still held, kicked the man Uzzmat in his chest, sending him flying backwards, before neighing loudly and moving to stand before Sansa, shielding her away from more danger.

A sob escaped Sansa, as she moved closer to the horse, just as Sandor laughed out loud.

"Well done, Stranger!" Sandor remarked, in a tone as casual as the one Septa Mordane had used on her when she did good in her lessons.

Uzzmat, who had been thrown to the floor, sputtering blood and some broken teeth, tried to stand up at the exact moment when Sandor decided to end his entertainment, for in the blink of an eye he cut Uzzmat clean in half with one swing of his sword, blood splashing to cover Sandor's face. Sansa felt like fainting, but kept her eyes upon the dead man, even as she tried hard not to retch. Stranger and Nan chose that moment to shy away at the smell of blood, making her finally tear her eyes away from the horrible sight.

"Now you're next," Sandor growled back at Kamaltz in Valyrian. The brigand hadn't let go of his hold on the old man all this time, yet both of them looked as if they had forgotten everything but Sandor.

Sandor laughed and started to stride forward to Kamaltz, yet in that instant a gasp escaped Kamaltz, as blood began to trickle down his mouth. His hold on the blade he was pointing at the old man's throat slackened as he fell sideways to the ground, dead. Behind him one of the little children stood with a knife in his hand, staring at the man he'd just killed with a grim satisfaction, before throwing his arms around the old man in a tight embrace.

Sandor looked just as startled as she did to see this boy killing a man, but he didn't remark upon it for the same reasons she didn't. Even at a young age, it was natural to want to revenge yourself upon those who wished to hurt your loved ones. Now that both robbers were dead Sansa's eyes searched Sandor, to find him already staring at her. Without another moment being wasted, Sansa began walking towards him, just as he did the same, and though he was covered in blood, she threw her arms around him, shuddering.

Sandor wrapped his arms around her as well, crushing her to his chest, running his hand through her hair; nothing had ever felt better. Sandor kissed the top of her head, before whispering, "It's all right now, little bird. It's over and done with."

Sansa just embraced him even more, her hands gripping his mail shirt, as a drowning person would cling to life. Sandor then chuckled as he saw Stranger and Nan moving closer towards them.

The moon was very bright that night, but neither Sansa nor Sandor nor the old man and the children paid it much attention. They had made their camp by a small stream some miles away from where they'd left the bodies of Kamaltz and Uzzmat. The old man was roasting a hare for them over a fire as Sansa delicately cleaned the cuts and bruises the robbers had left on the children's faces, while Sandor fed the horses.

When everyone was done with their tasks they sat by their little fire to devour the roast hare Sandor had caught for them earlier, Sandor began asking questions. It turned out the old man was the father of the two little boys, and that they had been living in the outsides of Pentos until some weeks when the children's mother died giving birth to a stillborn girl. The old man had decided to return to his home city of Volantis so that his sons could grow up with his family when his time to join his wife in the afterlife came. Once they reached the Rhoyne they planned to turn south, the old man informed them.

For a few days, they traveled together with the old man and his sons until the Rhoyne came into view. The children didn't speak a word of the Common Tongue, while their father only knew a few words. Sandor and Sansa knew High and even Low Valyrian fairly well, yet in the time Sandor and Sansa had spend in Pentos, they'd managed to learn enough of the dialect people spoke in the streets and outskirts of Pentos, so that it wasn't so hard to make themselves understood to the little family.

Sandor offered them protection though, even if it was only for a few days, while they offered a diversion from the monotony of traversing alone on these lonely, ancient Valyrian roads, where not many travelers would be seen for days and days without end. Yet, even so, Sansa wasn't as sad as she thought she would be when the time came to bid their farewells.

Sansa's moonblood had come again some days after she and Sandor passed the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe, the smoldering reminder of what the dragons of Valyria could inflict upon the Freehold, but this time she had her cloths with her and she hoped no one had noticed anything. Her tummy did hurt her a bit, but not as it had that dreadful first time.

As they traveled deeper into Essos they encountered occasional minor hazards; vipers, scorpions and the occasional wild dog were the only problems they had had to contend with. Their food supplies wouldn't run out any time soon, yet Sandor had decided to continue hunting rabbits and gamebirds, just in case. Still, the food they had to eat didn't bother her when compared to the way saddle sores pained her. Sansa whole body ached at times twice as much as it ever had done back in the Kingswood, making the pain barely tolerable.

Nan and Stranger were growing closer as well, and the big black stallion no longer barred his teeth or pinned his ears at the gentle chestnut mare, for which Sansa was grateful. It was hard for her to recognize Sandor's horse as the terrifying destrier who had once been every stablehand's nightmare back at Maegor's, yet Sansa liked to think that just as Sandor's terrifying rage was soothed the more came to know each other, so was Nan helping to calm Stranger.

As days and nights came and went, Sansa would find herself at times building castles in the sky about what a wonderful place Norvos would turn out to be. Back in Westeros we think that all the people in the Free Cities are savages, but we couldn't have been more mistaken. Her experiences in Pentos had given her a taste of the freedom that some of the people there lived with every single day of their lives, a freedom that was the result of a different mindset and upbringing, and in some ways Sansa had come to envy them. She had not yet encountered the dreaded slavers, or the fabled wild Dothraki, and could scarce believe in them. The ragged pair of thieves were the worst sort they had met thus far, and Sansa hoped it would stay that way.

Yet, falling in love with Essos at times disturbed her. It was very upsetting to have no way of knowing what was happening in the Seven Kingdoms, nor to know how her lady mother or Robb were fairing, and yet Sansa constantly reminded herself that this was the path she had chosen for the present. She had to move forward.

Still, there were many nights when she would lie awake staring up at the skies, pondering what her family believed had happened to her. Do they think me dead? It was a strange thought. Yet, in a way, it was good for her and Sandor to be ghosts to the Seven Kingdoms for the time being if they meant to survive the war. It doesn't matter what they think as long as they are alive.

But when the war was over and Robb had won his crown and his kingdom, what would it mean for her? She found herself imagining herself back in Westeros (in Winterfell) at times, telling her mother and Robb that it wasn't wrong for her to share a bed with her sworn shield, or have a relationship that crossed the delicate borders of their stations. She almost laughed at it, before she imagined their horrified reactions to these things. She would then sigh in resignation, reminding herself that she was a Stark, and certain things would be expected of her once she and Sandor were back in the North- things that her forebears before her had lived with all their lives, and she wouldn't be the exception. She had a duty and had to honor her family and her House. That doesn't mean I can't enjoy myself at present. When I am back in my old bedroom at Winterfell, all alone, the memories of these times will warm me up as faithful companions through the long nights, as the winds of the north blow through the window and into my room, sounding like the howling of wolves.

There will come a time though when I will no longer be expected to have a bed and room all to myself. I'll have to marry one day. It was silly and sad really how she had once longed with all her heart when she was little to be married off to some high lord, only to end up with that fate most likely coming true when, now, she didn't think she wanted it anymore. Yet how could the world ever understand that I would prefer not to marry immediately because the one who I wish to be at my side at all times is Sandor Clegane? I can't even bring myself to tell Sandor that I don't only cry for my family, but for having our friendship change and misunderstood by everyone back home; from the cook to the Prince of Dorne; from Jon at the Wall to the masters at the Citadel at Oldtown…

Such thoughts made Sansa's head and heart ache some nights, even though the matter was very simple. Tears came, unbidden, and try as she might, she could not hold them back. Yet in those nights, Sandor would stir silently in the dark beside her, and she would feel strong arms carefully encircling her as she cried for not only her long-lost family, but for the realization that things wouldn't always be able to be this way between Sandor and her.

They would always place their bedrolls side by side, as they both remembered and secretly longed for the long peaceful nights in Pentos when they shared the same bed. If Sansa was honest with herself, another reason why she wanted to finally reach Norvos was so that their old sleeping arrangement could continue as it once had been- in a soft bed, not on the hard ground.

The road from Pentos to Norvos turned out to be longer than Sansa could have ever expected.

"How many weeks have we been traveling?" she wondered once out loud, but not even Sandor could tell for a certainty. Ever since they entered the Hills of Norvos, Sansa had no notion of how much time had passed since they left Pentos, or since they first saw the Rhoyne. They weren't lost, they were certain of that thanks to their maps, but where exactly they were in that vast wilderness, or how much longer it would be till they finally saw Great Norvos, they couldn't be sure.

The valleys, hills and mountains here in this part of the world were just as desolate as the ancient Valyrian roads had turned out to be, but every step they took made Sansa swear to herself repeatedly they would stay in Norvos for at least half a year. Enough time to prepare ourselves before returning to Pentos through this long and wearisome journey. It had certainly been nice enough at first, back when they considered this as a leisured journey, but the endless days and nights without end of speaking with and meeting no one else were starting to wear on their nerves.

I suppose there isn't any one here because everyone prefers to live in the cities, was the only answer she could find for this unnatural lack of people.

When Sansa saw the first terraced manor up at the top of a hill she almost gave Nan her head in her desire to meet with people again, but of course to draw such attention would have been folly, so they passed it by. Sansa hoped she wouldn't regret not even asking who lived there.

As for Sandor, he had long ago run out of wine, and, combined with the monotonous nature of this part of the journey, the taste of having only water to quench his thirst was starting to make him moody as they rode and ate and rested.

One windy night, just as Sansa was beginning to despair that there weren't any villages or towns nearby, an inn greeted them at the foot of yet another hill, where three crossroads met.

Though no villages or towns looked to be near the inn, Sansa saw it was still a crowded place, for all the stalls at the stables beside the building were full, and the short thin lad who tended the stable said in Low Valyrian that Nan and Stranger were going to need to share a stall.

The inn was smaller than the one they had been living in at Pentos, but it was much bigger than the Stormed King, and it was more crowded than either of them. Sansa couldn't keep her eyes off the worn out travelers who were sitting at the tables in the common room; blue eyed Lyseni and a couple of purpled-beard Tyroshi. Near the big fireplace some squat hairy men looked her up and down and there was even a bald pale middle-aged man in green robes, who was talking to a beautiful tall woman from the Summer Isles.

Copper-skinned girls were serving the guests, and a man with a salt and pepper beard whom Sansa suspected to be the serving girls' father came up to them to ask how many rooms they'd required.

Sandor replied gruffly in his best Valyrian, that only one would be needed. The innkeeper provided them with one that was a bit cramped, yet they took it all the same. After they had gone upstairs and dumped their things in the room, the growling in their bellies drove them back downstairs to the common room to find a hot dinner.

They chose an alcove halfway through the common room and ordered their food. There was duck and beer to be had tonight.

"I wanted wine but this will do just as well tonight," Sandor commented as he took a large sip of the brown colored beer. "How far away is Norvos?" he asked the innkeep.

"About five days from here."

"Good," Sandor said, tossing the man a coin for the good news.

Sansa tried to eat her duck as delicately as possible, and she decided she would have another mug of beer after she finished this one. She had never liked the taste of beer, since wine was much finer, and even though this was very thick, she'd been weeks and weeks on the road with nothing but water, and she was prepared to let go of her distaste for it this night. For the first time, she found herself enjoying it. Sandor had already finished his in one long gulp.

They ate their dinner mostly in comfortable silence; after such a long time on the road with nobody else but themselves for company, they had grown used to it.

An hour passed, and Sandor was mildly surprised to find himself and Sansa finishing yet another tankard of beer together. Sandor knew it would be wiser if they headed to bed soon so they could get a decent rest, but it was nice to have the little bird sitting beside him, the unburned side of his face to her, while her head rested on his shoulder, their knees touching underneath the table.

At present they were silent, as they watched the common room emptying slowly. Yet there wasn't any need to say anything, just sitting with her was enough to make him happy and well content.

Some of the Ibbenese by the fire were beginning to sing a song in their foreign tongue, but the way they were behaving left no doubt that it was a good tavern song.

"Sandor…?" his little bird suddenly chirped.

"Yes?"

"It feels like we are at the end of the world in a way, doesn't it?" she commented.

"How so?" he asked her.

"I don't know… We are just so isolated up here in the mountains that it feels as if we are far away from anyone's grasp. I mean, I know Lord Varys must have spies after us, yet as we sit here, so far away from everything and everyone we knew, that doesn't seem to matter or frighten me as it should."

"Have I told you before that you are a crazy little bird?"

Sansa laughed merrily at that. "Only about a hundred times."

Sandor gave out a bark of laughter before Sansa went on, "But I don't mind it. If it were anyone else saying that it would be wrong, but with you it just feels right. It always has."

Not knowing what to say to that Sandor grabbed the tankard of beer and drank long and deep. It was good to be able to drink again. When he put the tankard on the table Sansa raised her head from his shoulder again, stretching, only to end up exclaiming as she laughed, "Oh, you have beer foam on your beard!"

Sandor frowned at her, wondering how that could be funny, as it happened more often than not. He moved his hand upwards to clean the foam from his face only to have Sansa take a sudden tight hold of his wrist, pulling herself slightly closer to him.

He looked at her questioningly and before he could even so much as blink, she said, "Let me do it."

With her free hand she brought her thumb up to his cheek, brushing away some of the remaining foam delicately. Sandor tensed beneath her touch, his eyes locked in hers, forcing himself for the thousandth time to remember not to give in to the urge of taking her in his arms. This close intimacy between them, which Sansa usually began, had never failed to provoke strong feelings in him.

After a couple of gentle caresses Sansa's fingers crept closer to his mouth, until they stopped on his pressed lips. She brushed the tip of her finger timidly across his bottom lip, going further than the limit where his lip ended and the burned flush began. He barely registered that a pretty blush was creeping up her neck.

At that action he was aware that all the sounds from the common room had ceased to register in his mind, and that time had stopped as he sat there; rigid, staring at Sansa, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted, her hand on his face. When did she start taking control? he asked himself, fleetingly, as he drowned in her pretty Tully blue eyes. The fact that they were in a room full of people under these sort of circumstances for the first time slightly crossed his mind for the first time, but the sight of Sansa's face drawing nearer to his as she held his gaze drove the bloody world out of his head, arousal growing stronger within him.

Sansa finally lowered her eyes, and though she was leaning closer to him, and whispered so faintly, "There's some more here," he barely heard it, for in a heartbeat she was kissing the rest of the foam off his scratchy beard dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.

Sandor's eyes could only see the top of her head and occasionally her long curly eyelashes, but his eyes were the only thing in him that was moving. He was frozen to the spot, and Sansa somehow took his unresisting behavior as encouragement, for soon she sat higher up in her seat, planting little kisses here and there on his face.

The little bird's kissing me, Sandor thought before he inhaled sharply, not even realizing what that could mean. At the sound that escaped his mouth, Sansa broke the contact of her lips on his face to look him directly to his eyes, as if asking him if he would like it if she went on. They were so close that their breaths mingled in the common room's hot air, and as Sansa's hand moved down slowly from his burned cheek to the nape of his neck, his cock hardened, pressing tightly against his breeches.

"It's all right," she whispered in a soothing tone which purred honey over his ears, making Sandor realize he was trembling. Sansa let go of her grip on his wrist only to intertwine her fingers through his.

He started to close the gap between them, ready to claim her mouth, when they were suddenly wrenched back into the present when one of the little Ibbenese crashed against the table in front of theirs, jolting them both out of the moment.

All around them the other guests at the inn were either laughing or yelling angry things at the man sprawled hurt on the floor, or at each other. No one was paying them any mind, so they did not see Sandor glowering at them, wishing he could shove his sword up their arses! Sandor looked back at his little bird, the most beautiful woman in the world, whose cheeks were flushed in a pretty deep blush, only to find her looking at him with eyes wide as saucers. In her look there was tenderness and a bit of breathless longing, something he could not really remember someone ever bestowing upon him before. It made him feel exposed, as if his vulnerability was suddenly giving away all his secrets. Yet it was the little bird seeing this, so it didn't really matter, did it? I've been telling her my life's secrets ever since that blasted tourney held in her father's honor anyways…

They were still holding hands. Rational thoughts managed to weave their way to his mind as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, making him realize that this wasn't a safe place for Sansa to be. If these poxy sons of whores get into a fight, she'll be at risk. What had he been thinking, allowing her to kiss him like that in a room full of drunken men? He felt the cold animal rage he'd lived with for years creeping back to him, making him want to kill someone. It's been long enough.

So Sandor gulped and rasped hoarsely, "Come," before leading her upstairs by the hand he still held tightly in his own, as hard as he'd ever been, glancing menacingly at everyone present. She followed unresisting and when they reached the bedroom Sandor led her into the dark room, all the way to the bed.

Sansa was quiet now, yet she didn't look scared at all, or unresisting. In fact, she looked curious as to what he would do next as she stopped beside him, looking for a moment at the bed and then at him. Sandor made himself look into her eyes then, and seriously considered what would happen if he finally kissed her- and did more- now that they were alone.

He couldn't bring himself to say so though, or to even move as Sansa sat on the edge of the bed, her hand pulling him closer to her. The way she was looking at him reminded him of how she had looked at him back in her bed on the night of their flight, at the moment when she had seemed to lose her fear for him and cupped his burned wet cheek. He had almost taken her before that, when she'd closed her eyes in fear after he'd told her he could keep her safe, an act which had driven him to put a blade at her pretty white neck. But then the little bird sang…

It had happened some time ago, and things with the little bird were completely different now from their brief interactions in King's Landing, when Sandor had, despite himself, sought her out in the deep dark corridors of the Red Keep. Nonetheless, no matter how much time passed, or how things changed between them, if Sandor did something that brought that look of fear into Sansa's eyes again, he knew he couldn't bear it.

You aren't meant for her in this way, he reminded himself. She may think so, and since you can't seem to tell her she is wrong, you should just bloody leave. Yet he didn't. Sandor stood besides the bed looking down at his little bird, holding her hand, while Sansa in return sat at the edge of the bed, looking up at him with great expectations as to what she thought she wanted.

After a long moment Sandor disentangled his calloused hand from Sansa's gentle little fingers, only to bring it up to her cheekbone, brushing it lightly before he pulled behind her ear a stray lock of hair.

"I'll go check on the horses. Go get some sleep," he told her before turning away, leaving their room. He needed to go get some long-awaited release outside, and would even welcome a fight with the men below. I'd kill them all and maybe it would make me remember who I am, and that I almost ruined everything and kissed her back! And who knows what else he might have done had the fight not broken out, making him remember that they were in an inn full of men with the same needs as him…

She may view me in a completely different light now, but I am only a buggering friend and a sword to her. A very dear and esteemed protector, but not anything else…. It's better this way, he told himself, not really believing it, as he walked downstairs, as far away from his dangerously beautiful little bird as he could get.

They left the following morning, and Sansa felt worse than on the occasion they'd had their pillow fight. We almost kissed… And then, something more had passed between them up in their room, but what Sansa couldn't stop thinking about was the kiss that hadn't happened. Those words were just as unbelievable as the first time she realized what she was aiming for when she started cleaning the foam from his scarred face with her fingers, perceiving that he smelled of beer and horses and leather, and as he leaned in closer to her towards the end, before they were interrupted… She had never kissed anybody before, yet last night she'd known deep down that the kiss was about to happen somehow. It would have been my first kiss, she realized… Theon Greyjoy had once asked her if he could kiss her, but she hadn't allowed it. When Ser Waymar Royce had stopped by Winterfell on his way to the Wall, Sansa had fancied herself in love with him and had day-dreamed the entire time he was there of how it would feel when he stole a kiss from her; but he hadn't. Then came Joffrey, but oddly enough, not even in those first days when she thought him good and kind and merciful had they ever shared something deeper than a peck on the cheek, for which she could not thank enough both the old gods and the new.

I wouldn't have minded if the Knight of Flowers had kissed me though. Sansa could still recall Ser Loras Tyrell's beautiful face and lean young body, so different from Sandor's… That made her think of something she had never wondered about before. Has Sandor kissed someone before..?

Surely he has, but how? She remembered how the woman with purple eyes hidden behind a mask back in Pentos had gazed at Sandor, drinking in his warrior's body…

To even think that she had wanted to kiss Sandor felt dangerous. It made her feel as if she was discovering a new side to herself, and she was seeing Sandor in a new light as well. Sansa didn't know exactly why she'd wanted to kiss him, only… at the moment it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world; it had felt right.

The innkeeper hadn't lied to them; it took them five more days until they finally saw Great Norvos in the distance, for which Sansa was very glad. These past couple of days had been so upsetting and confusing and tiring that she longed to reach the city and try to start things over with Sandor. Not that she'd let her troubles show.

The morning they left the inn, Sandor had been completely silent on the matter and hadn't been able to meet her eyes any more than she could his. Maybe he is ashamed, she thought, crestfallen, as she wondered just why that upset her so. He is Sandor, my sworn shield- my truest friend! At first, Sansa was sure he had also wished for the kiss to happen, but in a couple of days she had convinced herself that if Sandor had had any desire to kiss her, it had been because of all the beer he'd drunk. Perhaps that's why I thought he was going to kiss me the night we escaped. It must have been the wine on that occasion as well…

In the following days, thoughts of this sort went round and round in her head, plaguing many of her waking moments. You're being foolish Sansa Stark, was the conclusion she came up with in the end. Sandor doesn't fancy you in that fashion, or he would have said or done something already; even a look or a nod of the head would have been much better. Stop this now before you make a complete fool of yourself with him.

That evening, they stopped at the edge of Norvos, the final leg of their long journey. Sansa had made up her mind to once again behave as if nothing odd has happened, though her heart and mind ended up not heeding that fine notion.

From a distance, Norvos took her breath away. "It looks beautiful, doesn't it?" she remarked to Sandor as he laid their bedrolls side by side.

Though their sleeping arrangements hadn't changed during their journey, Sansa could feel Sandor trying to keep his distance. Sandor gave her a genuine grin then, making Sansa realize how much she'd missed that sight.

"It looks fine from her, but I'd rather we were already within its gates. I cannot wait to sleep in a bed and drink some decent wine..."

Sansa laughed. "Do you think we'll have as much fun as we did in Pentos?"

"I'll make sure we do," he promised her, taking hold of her hand so he could lead her to their now ready bedrolls.

As Sandor took off his boots Sansa produced the two little wooden figures she'd bought back in Pentos of the Maid and the Warrior.

Sandor looked at her, incredulous. "I thought you would have forgotten your gods, little bird. You're too far away for them to hear you."

"I'm not, but in case that were true, that's why I brought them along with me."

Sandor rolled his eyes at her before turning around on his bedroll. "Fine, but don't take too long praying. We have to save our strength up for tomorrow."

Sansa assured him that she wouldn't and placed the little gods side by side on top of a big rock. She knelt in front of them and thanked them for allowing her and Sandor to reach Great Norvos without troubles.

"Thank you for answering the prayers I asked of you back at the little sept at the village where we boarded The Summer Bird. Thank you, because things are all right once more between me and Sandor." she whispered to the gods. "I pray still that my mother is strong and well wherever she is, and that Robb is winning his war. Please gods, let me see them again one day, and please make the time we are going to spend in Norvos just as wonderful as the one Sandor and I knew in Pentos."

Sansa fell asleep that night gazing upon Norvos and the distant lights from the city, shinning bright.