A/N: Disclaimers
- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)

*To the best betas out there who always help me out with feedback, corrections and ideas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48 thanks for sticking with me and this fic! Love you all girls!

- Also, I would like to give a big thank you to a new beta called nysandra! Welcome and thank you for your wonderful help!

- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).
- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

**I noticed that in the last chapter I kept changing the gift Sandor gave Sansa from coat to cloak… Sorry about that! It's a coat :D

16. The High City

Sandor and Sansa didn't speak much when they had returned to their house after that fucking prick Arman Nervere took his leave of them. Upon entering the house and silently lighting up candles all around, Sandor saw that the little bird was still wet from earlier in the afternoon, hugging herself and looking at her feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. She can't catch a cold, he sighed.

"I'm going to take another bloody bath outside. You'd better take off those wet things and have yourself a bath as well," he informed her as he took a set of dry clothes from the wardrobe.

Sansa had finally looked up at him then, and even gave him a tiny nod. So Sandor left her and headed to the kitchen of The Three Bells Inn through the back entrance to find Medra in the room, finishing cleaning up for the night. He asked the fat innkeeper if he could warm up some of the water from the water pump for his bath in the great oven in the kitchen that was at present unlit, so he didn't catch a chill as well.

"Of course, just make sure you put the fire out when you're done and take the buckets back to the well," she told him. "Alys is faring the same as you, isn't she?"

Sandor nodded, grabbing for a skin of wine that lay on the table.

"Well then, I'd better take her a cup of knili tea to warm her up a bit as the lads prepare the bath."

"Have the fireplace at the house lit up as well," he told the woman.

After Medra went away, Sandor heated the water and washed himself quickly, musing on how different was this bath from the one he'd pleasantly enjoyed in the morning, and on how different was the way he he'd been feeling then from the way he was feeling now.

It isn't as if it were Sansa's fault, Sandor thought sullenly, as he washed his forearm with a wet warm rag. The fact that it would actually hurt him to go through with this thing he'd come up with startled him, but there was nothing he could do about it now. She looked clearly uncomfortable at least, and did not seem to want to accept that fucking blue-eyed magister's invitation, but I have to know.

As the little bird exchanged words with that bloody nobleman, Sandor's first thoughts had been of suspicion that his was some spy from the Lannisters or maybe even the Dornishmen here in Norvos, but those misgivings had been quenched soon enough. The way that sodding Arman was looking at Sansa made it clear that he had come to invite her gladly out of his own free will to his house, not because someone had instructed him to. Aye, and how could he do otherwise with the little bird? Norvoshi or not, he was a fucking man and Sandor knew well enough what the magister was thinking as he gazed at Sansa.

And so an idea –or a test– of sorts had been forming in his mind. Sandor knew full well it was cruel to act like this and that he may be wrong in doing so, but by accepting Nervere's invitation, he and Sansa would be forced to see the lives they would lead once they returned to Westeros, where he was bound to be nothing more than Sansa's sworn shield if he was lucky enough. There's no way in seven hells those bloody Starks will allow a former Lannister dog to take the liberties you've been enjoying these past few months with the little bird ever again. No, instead the King in the North would parade his sister like a piece of meat amongst his most trustworthy friends and staunch supporters, to see who would give the highest price for the privilege of marrying the Princess of Winterfell. One of those buggers might not be so bad, but still… Sandor dreaded that day. At least this sodding Norvoshi isn't that much of a threat, Sandor remembered as he dried himself and donned his dry clothes. Arman Nervere was no one in Westeros, and handsome as he was, Sandor knew better than anyone that Sansa was no longer blinded by the way a man looked, and thus, she was trying to keep her distance from this bloody stranger. Which, for tomorrow at least, I can't allow.

Cursing the whole world to one of the seven hells, he stepped out of The Three Bells and headed to the stables. He hated Arman within a few moments of meeting him, even if he had helped Sansa out of that crowded mob the day before yesterday. And if I hate this nobleman so much after a brief interaction, how will it be when Sansa marries such a man? If that man was a good person, then Sandor would be relieved for Sansa, yet it would hurt him to see her falling in love with another. Maybe the reason why he was willing to risk this test with bloody Arman tomorrow was because despite his looks Sansa didn't seem to be about to fall in love with the man.

He spit at the entrance of the stables and glanced at Nan resentfully as he passed by her on his way to his horse.

Sandor scratched Stranger's muzzle the way he knew the horse liked and sighed deeply.

"You're the lucky one," he told the dark warhorse, as his eyes fell on Sansa's mare again. "Nothing to worry about and no one to interfere between you and your little Nan."

Stranger neighed in response and Sandor chuckled sourly. Why did this day have to end, ruined by a fucking, buggering bastard intruding upon us? he wondered, feeding Nan and Stranger. Sandor had been having the best –well, only– nameday he could ever remember having, and he had been very pleased with himself that Sansa had not only liked the fur coat, but enjoyed the outdoor trip he'd allowed Frema to talk him into. It had been a nice enough place, and the afternoon had flown away all too quickly as they ate every bit of the food Sansa had cooked, and explored their surroundings by that clearing beside the Noyne. Then the bloody rain had started pissing down on them, and Sansa, instead of running back to the boat or under a tree for cover like he'd wanted to do, had surprised him yet again by dancing in the rain. It was all innocent enough at first for her, I guess… until it wasn't. Soon enough the rain had soaked the little bird to the bone, making her pretty dress cling to her skin, perfectly outlining all the curves of her body, highlighting Sansa's breasts, that tiny waist of hers, the curve of her backside and even the faint outline of her long legs. And all of this had served to make his mouth start twitching slightly. If it hadn't been that Sansa had already touched his mouth when this was happening, he might have even considered looking away.

What had definitely aroused him beyond conscious thoughts had been the sight of her nipples sticking out from under her soaked clothing. That little sight alone had sent him over the edge, to the point where his cock had been pressing so tightly against the laces of his breeches that he had only been able to stand there staring directly at her tits, unable to move or say anything.

And he had a hunch Sansa had known about it. Yet if she did, why didn't she cover herself at the first moment she realized I was looking at her? Why didn't she say something? Turn around at least? Why did she just let me stare at her breasts like the hungry dog I must have looked? The only answer that came to him was the same one as on the morning of that pillow fight on their last morning in Pentos. Sansa was experiencing all of these sensations for the first time, and he was the lucky bastard to be enjoying them. The little bird was probably confused and thought that it wouldn't matter if she thought of him in the way Sandor believed she might. Yet –seven hells– Sandor loved her too much to take advantage of her naiveté like that. Sansa had brought so many good things into his life, and even given him hope. What was it that he was hoping for, Sandor didn't even know at times, but it was a good change from the previous life he'd been living were he didn't give a shit about anything but killing Gregor. Better if she grows accustomed to the company of other fucking wretches if in the end that's where she'll end up: marrying a bloody stranger, with whom she would be discovering everything all over again, the way she has been doing for the last couple of weeks. And when that happens, what kind of use would Sansa or her husband make of him? The man would certainly like nothing more than to kick Sandor out of her service if he ever learned that his pretty wife had shared her bed for months with her scarred guard. Maybe he'll even be stupid enough to hint that my proper place is in the kennels, Sandor thought, laughing sourly. That would never end well, since he knew Sansa would be appalled and Sandor would probably skewer the idiot in the belly just to show him where his proper place was- in a grave under the earth. He was sure of it, yet the little bird would have to eventually agree with her husband on some points unless she wanted trouble.

If Sansa wanted to be his things would be different. Whether she where his wife or her lover, then Sandor knew none of this would be happening. Sandor suspected at times that Sansa was curious what would happen between them if he had allowed her to kiss him when he had beer foam on his beard, or when they had that pillow fight in Pentos, but she probably had no concept about what a life-long relationship with him would mean since she had never experienced this with anyone before. That she would be his and his alone was not something she may be willing to accept. And that's not even taking into account her family.

Shaking his head to push that thought away for the moment, he guessed it was probably safe enough now to return to the house, but before that he ducked into the kitchen once again for another skin of wine. If I stormed in on her while she was bathing, I'm likely to see how she would react then, he thought momentarily as he finally reached the door of his house. But better not tempt her… or me. Yet, nonetheless, he opened the door without knocking for some reason, steeling himself for whatever it was that Sansa was about to tell him she wanted to talk about, and saw that she was not in the dining room. He locked the front door, stared at the fire on the hearth for a moment remembering, and strode towards the living room.

The bathwater was still in the tub, but Sansa wasn't in it. He saw with both relief and a momentary regret that she had finished her bath long ago, for she was now wearing her nightgown. Her forgotten cup of tea rested on the floor beside the couch, forgotten, for the little bird had fallen asleep. Probably waiting for me. How long was I outside?

She was curled up, even though the brazier made the small room warm enough. Her head rested on the arm of her seat, her long auburn hair hanging loose all about her. Her lips, Sandor saw, were a bit parted and her arm and leg were hanging over the edge of the couch. The sight of her bare leg uncovered like that made him remember once again what had happened this afternoon when the rain began. Fuck me, doesn't she have anything about her that is not bloody perfect? The hem of her gown covered her with its fabric to just below the knee, but the sight of her perfect delicate ankle and foot were all his to admire at present.

Bugger, was all he had time to think before he walked over to Sansa and squatted in front of her, admiring her up close as the half empty skin of wine slipped from his hand to the floor, likewise forgotten. The sound of her soft breathing lulled him closer to her until he caught her scent. She smells nice, he thought as he leaned even closer. I can count the freckles on her pretty nose now. Her long curled lashes sent little shadows across her cheeks, Sandor noticed as he caressed her face. His fingers traced her high cheekbone and he placed a strand of hair behind her ear. After a moment, his hand darted towards her bare leg, and as he took a slight hold of the hem of her gown to pull it all the way down, he let his knuckles brush against the long length of warm skin that was her calf and shin. How bloody ironic, Sandor thought then. Against all odds, I'm here by her side and will remain so until the day I die, yet I cannot fucking do anything about what I feel for her. I can't kiss her or take her in my arms, or slip a hand up her thighs.

Sandor sighed. With great difficulty he took his hand away from her leg, and brought it instead to her outstretched hand. Sandor turned Sansa's hand over and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her wrist, and then in the middle of her palm, and on each tip of her elegant long fingers. Still, I should not complain. This is better than if we had been together in King's Landing, with her as Joff's queen while I tried to help her get spared from punishments and pain.

Sandor straightened up and cursed himself for a bloody fool before scooping his little bird up as delicately as possible from her couch. Sansa didn't even open her eyes, but she did sigh his name in her sleep and curled in closer to him. Sandor stood rooted to the spot for some time, staring at the girl in his arms as if he had never before held anything of such value. I probably never have, he thought, as Sansa parted her lips again, dreaming on. Yet he knew that was not entirely true. He had held her like this before, and even remembered all too well the first time it had happened. It was after Joff had Ned Stark's head cut off. The reports said Sansa was sick and was not eating a thing, behaving as if she just wanted to be forgotten in her chambers until she died. Joff had laughed as he said that he would teach her how things would be from now on, and ordered Sandor and some of the Kingsguard to follow him. When they had woken Sansa up and Joffrey had commanded her to get up to no avail, Sandor had been instructed to drag Sansa off the bed. That little shit probably thought I would drag her harshly from the bed by the hair. Instead, Sandor had scoped her up in his arms as gently as he could while Sansa struggled feebly, noticing how thin her nightgown was and how much it revealed.

She had been struck for the first time in her life that morning long ago, after seeing what a monster she was betrothed to marry. Sandor had wanted nothing more than to strangle everyone but Sansa in that room with their own guts as she fell to the floor. Those memories drove his eyes to the cut on her forehead and made him recall how he had once again failed to save her two days ago. No, Nervere did that. Sandor had stopped her from killing Joffrey once; had backed up her lie to save a drunkard; escorted her at night around Maegor's so she would not encounter Boros or Meryn on her own; given her his white Kingsguard cloak to help her cover herself when Joff almost stripped her naked along with his advice; stopped her from rolling down the Serpentine Steps or falling from the rooftop of the tower were she was kept; saved her from an angry mob and finally taken her away from her cage, yet to Sandor it was never enough, for he had also done his best to scare her whenever he could. I tried so hard to let her know that she was not living one of her songs, and that she should open her eyes and see the world, and my face, that it only made me angrier when she couldn't. Yet it was not the little bird's fault. I didn't approach things the way I bloody ought to have done, like on the night of the battle against Stannis. Yet those days were long gone now. He should try and keep on making her life and her future a better place than the one she had left, for that was what she was always doing to him. Sansa made him have a purpose.

Frowning, he walked towards the bedroom slowly, trying hard not to wake the little bird up, until he finally reached the bed. With one knee resting for support on the bed, Sandor laid Sansa down softly on the bed. Sansa's hands brushed against the burned side of his neck as he drew back. She shifted a bit in her sleep and threw her arms behind her head, with a little sigh that made him go mad.

She certainly is not the little girl I once knew anymore. Sandor contemplated the young woman before him, and the way her body curved voluptuously whereas in other places she was smooth and flat, like on her waist.

He sat on the edge of the bed on Sansa's side, after he had covered her with the blankets. He lit a single tallow candle that stood on the wooden table beside him, thinking once again on what would happen tomorrow, before he buried his face in his hands.

I won't be going to the bloody High City as anything but Sansa's sworn shield, he decided. If he stood in the back of the room and left Sansa to dine with Nervere, then he would get a bloody good look at what their future would be. In the gathering darkness, and as the light grew dimmer, Sandor began to wonder about Nervere– who he was and how he would really be like. He certainly doesn't look Norvoshi and that remark about the bloody Lord of Light kissing my face was certainly strange– and stupid– of him, he thought angrily. Then he felt Sansa's hand on his back as she stirred behind him.

"Sandor?" she said, in a sleepy voice.

Sandor turned to look at her. She was propped up on her elbows and though her features at first seemed sleepy, he saw that she quickly seemed to remember what had happened as her eyes went wide with uncertainty. For the longest time they didn't say anything, but when the little bird was convinced that Sandor wasn't going to start raging at her for what had happened with Nervere, Sansa finally whispered before biting her lip, "Why did you accept?"

Sandor's mouth began to twitch. What can I tell her? Sandor knew that Sansa wouldn't take it kindly if he told her that he had accepted so they could test themselves and see how strong their relationship was. If I tell her I simply remembered how eager and curious she's been about visiting the High City and therefore accepted, she'll tell me to my face that she was marveled at how I could only come up with that pathetic excuse. No matter how much he hated liars, he could not bring himself to tell his little bird all the reasons behind his motives. I do want to get a grip on how it will be like to go back with being simply her sworn shield, he thought. That's not exactly why I want us to go, but it will serve, for I cannot tell her that I must also know how I will feel when I see her with another man.

So instead he shrugged and replied in his rasping voice, "Bugger me if I know, little bird… I just want us to see how it will be once we are back with your family– if they accept me into their service. And this is a bloody magister, Sansa. I've been around his like all my life and he wasn't going to give up until you accepted his bloody invitation. I'm your sworn shield first and foremost, and it wouldn't be right to let you go alone, would it?"

Sansa quickly sat up in bed and placed her hand on his shoulder. "You are mistaken, Sandor. You are not my sworn shield alone. You may be the best protector in the world, since no one has hurt me ever since I am with you. But what you are first and foremost is my friend, and if we are to attend tomorrow, I want you to go with me as that."

Sandor didn't shrug away her hand, and after a moment Sansa began to slide it down the length of his arm until she reached her hand. She held it tightly and after a moment Sandor held hers back.

"I have no wish of seeing the High City, Sandor," she told him in a quiet voice. "I do not dare to risk someone with connections to the Dornish court recognizing you."

Sandor chuckled sourly. I am worrying about our futures and she is worrying about the past.

"No one will recognize me, little bird. We will just be there for less than a day. If there are any Dornishmen in the High City, they won't have a chance to see us, for we'll be stuck inside that magister's bloody manse."

"Sandor, you didn't really accept because you want to pay him back for helping me out the other day or– ?"

I need wine. Sandor released Sansa's hand and stood up on the pretext of blowing out the candles in the house. He left the fire burning in the hearth and the brazier flickering in the living room, and went to grab the second skin of wine he'd snatched from the kitchen, shaking his head. He finished it in one long gulp and brushed his beard with the back of his hand when he was done. Just then the bell that announced midnight rang loudly. He cursed it out of instinct in his head, but was more concerned with his current troubles than with the loud clanging that was being heard in the city of Norvos. Sandor returned to the bedroom and looked over at Sansa on the bed, before he replied in a low voice, "Might be."

"Sandor," Sansa repeated, frowning. "I told you that it was not your fault. We don't have to do this just because Arman helped me out. We don't have to go. Neither of us owes him anything."

"I'm not saying we have to, am I?" he replied as he walked to his side of the bed. "I said that now that he has saved you, he may feel that you owe him at least this, and since he could only bloody wait less than two days to invite you to his house after he just met you, unless we go tomorrow we can expect to see him here more than we would like to, pestering us. And there's yet another thing to consider. He is a magister; he is bound to know something about what's been happening in Westeros. We haven't had news in weeks now."

Sansa gave a little gasp at that.

"Gods, how could I have forgotten? Of course! You're right, Sandor. He may know if the war is done and who won. Tomorrow I'll make sure to turn the conversation towards that."

Sandor lay down beside Sansa, and remained silent when she shifted around in bed so she could rest her head on his shoulder and throw an arm loosely around his chest. One of her hands began to curl around the hair on his collarbone as the other teased his hand. In a matter of moments they were idly running their fingers all around each other's hands. Sandor treasured this, for it was difficult to imagine a moment when they would be allowed to fall asleep in this manner back in the Seven Kingdoms. When the single tallow candle beside the bed on the wooden table went out they had both finally fallen asleep.

As Magister Nervere's golden palanquin bore her through the twisting cobblestone streets of Norvos just after midday and up to the golden gates by the Sinner's Steps, Sansa reclined on its feather pillows and sighed long and deep. The covered litter was indeed just as beautiful as the other litter she'd seen previously Magister Nervere also owned, but Sansa felt somehow out of place. Sure, she had dreamed of visiting the High City more than once, but no matter how much she tried, or how much Sandor tried to reassure her by making light of her fears, the possibility of having someone from Dorne recognize Sandor would not leave her mind.

This feels wrong, she thought for the hundredth time. And yet, what can I do about it now? They were drawing closer to Rozzo's Square with every heartbeat, and she knew Sandor was not about to turn back to The Three Bells Inn. Hard as she tried, Sansa could not see the point of why Sandor was doing this in regards to their relationship as clearly as he could. I've always known that once we're with my mother and Robb things will be different, but hopefully only to the extent I can contrive them to be. Since apparently we did not have much choice on the matter, we should be enjoying this trip together as equals. Being with Sandor in Essos for so long now had lifted the veil of fear in which she'd been hiding before, and now it was silly at times for her to remember that they would not always be like they were at present: living a simple life far from any troubles, where they made their own decisions.

At least I may learn something about the war and how Robb is faring. I hope he's crushed the Lannisters, every one of them. Yet it would be tricky to ask the Magister questions about the events and tidings regarding the War of the Five Kings, without seeming to be personally connected to them or their outcome.

Earlier this morning, after they had woken and busied themselves with pointless tasks (Sansa cleaning the furniture with a rag and Sandor honing his sword with a whetstone), she had silently come up with a little back-story for herself and Sandor just in case Magister Nervere began inquiring about their pasts. Which he probably will. But perhaps it was for the best. So far, neither Vintos nor Frema has asked about their lives in Westeros, yet Sansa felt that if she expected Frema to teach her about men and women as thoroughly as she could, then the least she could do was tell Frema more about how her dear Alys had grown up, and how it was that she had met Edric.

Sansa remembered the excited faces of Frema, Vintos and Medra as she told them that she and Sandor would be spending the day in the High City when Magister Nervere's palanquin arrived at the inn exactly at midday, for the strong rings of Narrah could be heard all around Norvos at that moment. The covered litter was being carried by four servants and four guards as an escort, who judging by their shirts of copper scales, had been trained by the Bearded Priests.

"But, Alys dear, you need an invitation by someone who lives up there to pass through the golden gates!" Frema had pointed out.

"We have one," she'd replied, producing the beautiful scroll the Magister had given them for an invitation.

And then, it was all laughter from Vintos, hugs from Frema, and tears of joy from Medra, all of which Sansa found quite pointless. After Vintos had replied that they were very lucky and Frema had whispered in her ear that she had caught someone's eye indeed, Medra had been beside herself as she began to fuss around her, saying that she was honored to have met poor Alys when she had nowhere to go, only to see her end up befriend the richest man in Norvos.

I am no poor destitute girl, innkeeper, Sansa thought testily, as she asked out loud, "How do you know he is the richest man in Norvos?"

"Because it's common knowledge, dear!" Medra has answered. "I've asked some friends and customers of mine what they know about him, and I was quite pleased with what I learned. Not only is he the most influential magister in Norvos, he is also the youngest High Magister in history. He has the Bearded Priests in his pocket and his house is one of the most ancient in all the nine Free Cities, thus he has connections everywhere! His father was elected as patriarch by the Tigers in Volantis for four years, and his mother was the only daughter to the late Benevolent Mererz Lozzoth, the greatest High Magister this city has known in a century. Magister Nervere's parents are both dead now, but he nonetheless managed to thrive all by himself, becoming the great man he is known to be today."

"That's all well and good, Medra," Sansa had told her. "But I do not see why that should make any difference. I doubt I will see the man ever again after today, you know."

In truth, Magister Nervere's family history did not shock Sansa as much as it had Medra. The Starks are just as old and proud as the Nerveres or Lozzoths after all. And neither did it surprise her to learn that he came from a family of great and renowned rulers. Robb is not the first Stark to become King in the North. And if things had turned out differently, I would have been the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. What did surprise Sansa was that the Magister had probably not seen thirty namedays and he was already the High Magister. He never mentioned it when he told me who he was. It can be either a good sign, since he is certain to know a great many details about what is happening in Westeros, or a bad sign, as the threat of him learning our identities is even greater.

Concerned for her sworn shield once again, Sansa parted the beautiful white silk curtains to peer at Sandor riding Stranger beside the covered litter. He was mailed and armored, but had he only been wearing a light tunic and breeches he would still look like the most ferocious man Sansa had ever seen. From the moment he helped her into the litter and mounted his warhorse, a menacing scowl had adorned his features, and she guessed the long sword at his hips and his burns only made his anger more prominent to every passerby that chanced to cross his way. He looks as mad as he always did when he was guarding Joffrey. Sandor hadn't looked like The Hound to Sansa for months now, but she had to admit, gazing up at him now, that there was still a rage simmering in him that reminded her all too well of the times when he had scared her.

Sandor noticed her staring at him and rasped down at her, "We've reached the Sinner's Steps."

Sansa peered about her and saw that he was right. She saw the main market to her left, which meant they were crossing Rozzo's Square and the Sinner's Steps were ahead of them.

"You're going to tumble out of that litter if you stick your head out any further, little bird," Sandor informed her, as he caught sight of her, straining her neck to get a better look at the fabled golden gates.

Sansa laughed and ended up closing the curtains, confining herself inside the palanquin. I can't arrive at the High City halfway inside and halfway on the ground. So she had to be content to see the world through the white colored hangings. Thankfully the servants carrying her litter were all young and strong men, for when they began to climb the Sinner's Steps, she didn't have to worry about rolling out of the litter as they ascend the Daughter Noyne. This was such a big mountain that she guessed there were about two hundred Sinner's Steps and the plaza and the golden gates. Sandor managed to urge Stranger on with practiced skill up the steps, she noticed.

When they finally reached the gates they stopped before them as two tall guards with axes in their hands blocked their way.

"Who wishes to pass through the Golden Gates of Norvos and into the ancient High City?" demanded a man with a bass grumble for a voice.

"Two honored guests of High Magister Nervere," replied the chief guard of her escort, as Sandor simultaneously thrust Magister Nervere's invitation at the nearest guard.

The guards with the axes saw the seal and read the letter, nodding in approval.

"Very well, you may pass, Lady Alysane, as may your companion, Edric," the chief guard informed them, looking at Sandor's face with suspicion.

"Thank you kindly," she said from inside the litter.

The golden gates barely made a sound as they swung open at long last. The litter began moving again and Sandor urged Stranger forward into the High City. Sansa's heart began to beat a little faster as she re-arranged the sleeves of her gown and ran a hand through her hair. She also pinched her cheeks to bring on a blush to them and bit her lips to bring out the red in them. When she was done she gazed through the silk curtains at the High City all around them.

It's so beautiful, was Sansa's first thought. Just as in the Low City, the streets here were like a maze that went all around the mountain, but instead of building them with cobblestones, these streets were made of granite and sparkling quartzite. The first sights upon passing through the gates were the beautiful man-made waterfalls and gardens and ponds, and beyond them were the manses. Sansa wished she could have eyes all around her head so she could look in every direction at the same time. All the houses here looked more like small manors really, with beautiful gardens decorating them with either fountains or stone benches under the shadows of tall trees with purple leaves.

Streets with steps appeared near the biggest building she had ever seen, which by the look of it was a crowded, yet well-kept, covered market. Sansa noticed that those coming in and out of the market were mostly the household servants of the manse's inhabitants. The rich have no need of buying their own food, she mused. Yet that did not mean there were no noble men and women around, for everywhere she looked, Sansa saw the wealthy people of high status whose absence had been so conspicuous back in the Low City. There were many foreigners here as well, and even some handsome, strutting bravos with their hands on their gilded swords' hilts. Turning to look the other way she saw a grove of pines leading up to the very top of the mountain, where the Bearded Priests had their temple.

Where does Magister Nervere live? She wondered as they passed through arches and columns and buildings with golden domes shining when the rays of the sun hit them. Conning towers could also be seen, along with a raised dais were men gave out speeches, and were mummers, minstrels and dancers could entertain the crowd. It took them half an hour to finally reach the Magister's house, and even Sansa, who had grown up in a big castle like Winterfell, and lived the relative splendor of the Red Keep at King's Landing, gazed in awe nonetheless at the manse before them.

It was evident at first glance that this was the biggest house in all of Norvos and that it was located nearer the mountain's peak. They passed through a long pavilion with a white fountain in the middle and gardens on both sides until they reached the front entrance to the house which Sansa saw was seven stories high.

When the litter stopped, Sandor dismounted from Stranger and parted the curtains to give her his hand out. Sansa gave him a quick smile and whispered, "Thank you," before admiring everything around her.

There were many little fountains all around, giving the place an air of peace and serenity, as a pair of peacocks in a carefree manner rested under the sun some steps away. Since they were deep inside the property that belonged to the Magister, the hustle of the city couldn't be heard here. Thus, the tinkling of the water and the singing of the birds on the branches of the trees warmed Sansa's heart. She saw that there were at least three stables in one corner, and when Sandor began to lead Stranger to one of them after refusing the help of the stable boy, she followed after him.

"You won't leave at any moment, will you?" she asked him.

Sandor shook his head. "I won't. But you shouldn't follow your sworn shield as he moved his horse inside a stall, little bird."

She looked up at him, frowning. "You know I won't be following my sworn shield. I'm following my friend as I told you yesterday."

"I'm not that here," Sandor told her with a stubbornness that irritated her, as he closed the door to Stranger's stall. "This bloody magister has to see that I am devoted to the task of protecting you in case he starts getting any ideas. So you'd better act the part of my lady and not my friend."

"But why would he– ?" she began to ask, when a voice behind her interrupted.

"Lady Alysane! Welcome to the High Magister's home! I am Urroc, High Magister Nervere's steward, and was sent to make you comfortable while the magister ends his meeting."

"Oh," was all that Sansa had time to say before the man bowed low and clapped his hands to signal a young serving girl to bring forward a tray with cups of sweet cardamom tea as refreshments. "Thank you so much. May I introduce my sworn shield, Edric."

"Welcome," Urroc said, bowing once again. Sansa saw that he was bald and had crow feet around his eyes. He must have seen at least fifty namedays, she guessed, though he was clean-shaven and his body was lean and thin.

Sandor looked at the teacups on the tray with disgust, while Sansa took one delicately.

"Don't you have any wine?" he asked Urroc.

Really! Sansa thought. If he is going to be my sworn shield he should not drink then. I do not remember him ever drinking wine while on duty when he was guarding Joff.

Urroc looked lost for a moment. "We do, but Magister Nervere only drinks wine or stronger drinks at meals and dinner. Would you like another drink, perhaps?"

Sandor gave a rasping laugh at that and shook his head in mirth.

"Very well, please follow me inside," Urroc put in. They began walking up the steps to the manse as Urroc asked them if the trip from their boarding house to the High City had been pleasant.

"The High City took my breath away," Sansa admitted as they crossed a cage larger than she was, with white doves inside, cooing at them. A grand staircase that led to floors above them was built in the middle of the room. Sansa laid her empty cup of tea on the tray the girl was still carrying as she followed behind them, noticing the mosaics that adorned the walls of a living room.

"Excuse me for intruding, Urroc," Sansa said, "but didn't you say that Magister Nervere was at a meeting?"

"I did indeed say so, my lady. The High Magister has been at the Noyne Chamber discussing matters of great importance with the other magisters of Great Norvos since this morning. He instructed me to tell you that he hopes he will not make you wait long, but that in the meantime he believes you will enjoy seeing his gardens. They are well-kept all year round, and are fabled in all of Essos for their animal menagerie."

"How thoughtful of him," Sansa replied as she bit her lip and threw a worried look at Sandor, who strode beside her silently. He, however, was scowling at the back of Urroc's bald head and even if he hadn't been, she very well could not tell him right here that she was worried one of these other magisters might see and recognize him.

So, instead, Sansa looked around her at the way Magister Nervere's manse was decorated, noticing that all the floors were made of smooth marble, and the most wonderful tapestries decorated the walls, depicting images of the old Empire of Valyria; of the magnificent city of Qarth and the lands around the Jade Sea; of Asshai by the Shadow and the Basilisk Isles; of wars long fought and lovers ruling over cities as their dragons flew above them. Yet the one that warmed Sansa's heart the most was the one at the end of a long gallery with doors with golden handles. It was a large tapestry that showed the Sunset Lands from the days before Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters drenched Westeros in blood and won the Iron Throne with fire.

Sansa stood staring at the tapestry of Westeros lost in thought. Her eyes took in the sight of the North as she tried to picture Winterfell as she had known it in her mind. The Ironborn burned it to the ground, but Robb will re-build it one day. She reached out to touch the fabric with her hand.

"My lady?" Urroc said in that soft voice of his, bringing her back to the present.

Sansa shook her head and looked over her shoulder. Both Sandor and Urroc were staring at her, the former with a curious approving grin and the latter with a bemused expression.

"I apologize," she said, blushing for some reason. "But this tapestry is very beautiful. It caught my attention."

"Indeed it must have. Magister Nervere told me you are from the Sunset Kingdoms, are you not?"

"Yes, we both are," she replied, glancing at Sandor. "Shall we continue?"

Urroc ended up leading them to the back of the enormous manse where the supposedly famous gardens were located. Guards standing outside opened a pair of glass doors, and Sansa gasped. They stepped through the doors on to a terraced balcony which was decorated with a white round table and white chairs in a raised platform supported by four strong looking columns. When they climbed up to the dais, Sansa quickly glanced at the different varieties of strange and colorful fruits on the table and felt her tummy grumbling. Ignoring her sudden pang of hunger, she gazed instead at the sight before her.

Below the terraced balcony, were the most beautiful gardens she had ever seen. In the distance Sansa saw a little maze with benches on its outside wall, and another fountain decorated with beautiful women chiseled from the marble. Trees lined a path of small groves that led in different directions, yet she saw no sign of the animal menagerie; instead she heard it.

The horizon was beautiful as well. The only sights to be seen at any direction, no matter the distance, were mountain peaks and hill tops, as birds flew far away in the sky.

A startling roar sounded in the distance, breaking the silence that had descended upon their little party.

"What the fuck is that?" Sandor asked Urroc. "It sounded like a bloody lion."

Urroc winced at Sandor's curse before answering, "Close enough. I think that was Tigra, the Magister's spotted tiger."

"There's a tiger here?" Sansa asked, pleasantly surprised.

"There is, my lady; a female tiger. She is only one of the beautiful rare animals that Magister Nervere has acquired over the years. I'm sure the Magister will show them to you if you so like."

Sansa genuinely smiled and turned her back on the gardens, beaming at Sandor. Urroc instructed the servants to bring some things, so Sansa stepped beside Sandor and murmured to him in a low voice, "I'll bet you he won't have a direwolf."

Sandor seemed relieved at her words for some reason Sansa could not fathom. It would be so nice to walk through this place with Sandor holding my hand, she thought.

"Please, Lady Alysane, won't you take a seat? I'll see if the meeting has ended. Please, feel free to order anything you like."

Sansa nodded and sat down after one of the servants offered her a chair. She saw that Sandor didn't move from where he was standing though.

"Will you not take a seat as well?" she asked him.

"No, my lady," he said, with a snort.

It's this stupid plan of his of acting only as my sworn shield today, she remembered, exasperated. Urroc did not offer him a seat, but knowing Sandor, he would have taken one nonetheless if he'd wanted to. Yet instead he wants only to guard me when I want him to sit and share the food and table talk. One would think we two had never eaten together before in our lives by the way we are behaving.

Sansa was thinking she wasn't so sure she liked this change in their relationship –even if it was only for today– when their host finally arrived.

"My lady!" was the way he announced his presence, as he climbed the steps up to the dais that consisted of his terraced balcony. He looked just as handsome as ever, and was clad in green robes that matched with her gown.

Sansa donned her best smile and stood up. "Magister Nervere, your house is beautiful."

Her host stopped in front of her and kissed her hand. Sansa threw a quick look at her sworn shield.

"I am honored to hear that it was to your liking, my lady. But what happened to make you call me by that title when just last night you were calling me by my name?"

"I called you by your name before I learned that you were the High Magister of this city. A fact you seemed to have forgotten when you introduced yourself to me and Frema. It would not be proper to call you by your name alone."

Their host laughed at that, his dimples appearing on his cheeks. He has good white teeth, she noticed quickly. "Please, don't let my post intrude upon our acquaintance. I ask you kindly to call me Arman."

Sansa sighed. "Very well. Arman, I think you've done wonderful work with this house. I can only presume that you do just as well with the city of Norvos. Do you remember Edric, my protector and friend?"

"I do," Arman replied, walking over to Sandor, stretching out his hand in welcome. "Welcome to my house, Edric. Is there anything you would like? My steward informed me that you asked for some wine."

"I did, but I was informed that one doesn't drink wine until it's time to sit down for a bloody meal."

"That's a Norvoshi custom, but you won't be made to suffer from it. Which wine would you prefer? Some sweet nectar from Qarth or Myr? Hyppocras or rum from the Summer Isles? If you would prefer a taste closer to home, we also have golden vintages from the Arbor and dry reds from Dorne down at the cellars."

Sandor did not seem impressed by all the drinks he could choose from. And why would he? He lived in the Red Keep for years and certainly had access to the finest wines in the world. After all, King Robert would not have condemned him for liking it, she thought in his defense.

"Dornish red," was all that Sandor rasped.

"Very well," Arman replied before instructing Urroc, who had just appeared by the glass door, for a flagon of wine.

"My aunt has sent us the casks, hasn't she?"

"She has, High Magister. They arrived last week."

"Good. Well then, bring the red and a tart persimmon wine for me, please. I will be breaking the rules today and have some wine during the meal. What would you like to drink, my lady?"

"Some white wine from Lys, please, if you have some."

"I'm sure we do. And bring a flagon of the white one as well. Along with the ones that accompany the dishes. The food is ready?"

"It is, Magister."

"Excellent!" Arman said, dismissing Urroc. He turned to face Sandor and said, "I know you are on duty, Edric. But we can't have you drinking standing up. Won't you take a seat? I invited you as my guest. There are no dangers you must protect your lady from… You would not object, would you, Alysane?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed, noticing that Arman had addressed her without her title of lady. "Please Edric, won't you sit down?"

Sandor had no choice at the end but to oblige– though the frown and twitch of his mouth made it clear to Sansa that he was not happy. I don't care. He has every right to share the table with me. It does not matter that this is one of the richest men in Essos. If Sandor was good enough to guard a king, he is good enough to sit beside a princess and a magister.

"You are lucky, Edric," Arman remarked.

"Aye? And why would you say that?" Sandor growled.

"Because I feared I was going to disappoint you. I promised you some Dornish red but could not remember if we had any."

Sandor shrugged. "It's no hair off my arse whether you have some or not."

Sansa wanted to hide her face in her hands when she heard that, but Arman only smiled and continued, "Yes, yet thankfully my aunt sent it just in time. I usually don't drink such wines myself, so she forgets to send it at times."

"Your aunt?" Sansa inquired. She had not heard of a noble woman who traded in wines.

"Yes, my mother's first cousin. Her family sends her large quantities of Dornish wine every year."

"Why?" she asked, curiously as the Magister's beautiful blue eyes met hers. "Is she so fond of it?"

That might be a rude question, but somehow she knew Arman would not take offense by it.

"She likes it well enough, and her family can more than spare it. I mentioned her before on the day we met. We were at the common room of your boarding house and you asked me how I knew the Common Tongue, remember? Now that I think about it, you two surely must have heard of her before! She is Mellario of Norvos, the wife of Prince Doran of Dorne and mother to Arianne Martell and princes Quentyn and Trystane."

At that, Sansa felt as though her heart had stopped beating.

A/N: If you are reading this, I thank you SO much and send you a big hug! :D