Beyond the Ice & the Fire How Fragile is the Heart

by CaroH99

Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

34. Chapter 34

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 ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.

*The best betas anyone could ever ask for: onborrowedwings & nysandra! I take my hat off to you both again for your help :D

- 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.

*I'm posting this a day early because I won't have time to do so tomorrow, but next weekend the chapter will be updates as usual on Sunday night :D I hope you all had a wonderful Valentine's Day and are enjoying the weekend!

34. Byan and Jeyne

Sansa was brushing her hair until it shone in front of the mirror, humming a tune absentmindedly, almost ready.

"How much longer, bird?" Sandor asked her, breaking the silence that had settled between them. He pulled on his left boot, sitting on a chair.

"Just a little more," she answered, wondering if she should braid two strands of hair together, and join them at the back of her head today, as she looked at her reflection on the mirror from different angles, her tongue peaking from between her teeth in concentration.

Sandor shook his head at that, resigned and disbelieving. "I'm going to pay a visit to Stranger and Nan at the stable. Meet me there when you're ready. Just don't take too long again."

Sansa laughed and turned around to look at Sandor, her eyebrows raised, amused. His eyes roamed over her body slowly, from head to foot, a proud grin upon his burned features. She returned his smile, feeling utterly happy, having woken up this morning in good spirits. Sandor closed the door behind him after he'd taken his swordbelt from the peg on the wall, fastening it around his waist as he left the bedroom.

Still smiling, her dimples appearing on both of her cheeks, Sansa thought about how he pretended to be annoyed at her for taking too long in getting ready, yet every time she was doing it, he couldn't take his eyes off her. And for some reason, she liked to dress up under his gaze. Sighing, she smoothed the skirts of her new gown, aware of how beautiful she looked even as she heard the shouts of ragged children playing games outside The Ruins on the street.

She had only bought two new dresses in Lorath. The one in the Stark house colors she was intending to wear on the day she met her family again, and this one. The grey and white one was of the finest silk she could find at the market, while this one was of lambswool, dark brown and simply cut, with leaves and vines embroidered around the bodice, sleeves, and hem in golden thread.

It was modest but becoming, and that didn't matter to her as much as it once would've done. Sansa was accustomed to a simple life by now, and was content with what she had. Not many could make this gown look so pretty on them as me, she thought joyously, glad with her looks. Most importantly, this dress is warm. Lorath was only a little less cold than what Sansa remembered summer snows to be like in Winterfell, but by now she was certain the North was going to be under winter's grip, and the good thing about today being a grey day was that it made her and Sandor used to this weather, she supposed.

And in any case, this was the only gown she had available to wear at present. Sandor, Sansa and Hagen would be leaving Lorath for Braavos tomorrow, and it had dawned on Sansa that this was likely going to be her only chance for this for some time, and so had asked some maids that worked at The Ruins to wash her and Sandor's clothes, from their nightgowns to their smallclothes, to her other simple cut dresses to Sandor's tunics and breeches.

All of a sudden, music started streaming through the open window, making Sansa feel like dancing. Instead she giggled and began to sing as she sat on the bed, and tried on the few remaining necklaces she still owned, her mind drifting to the promising day before her. Since this would be their last day in Lorath, Sandor and she had decided to visit their favorite places in this city one last time. Sansa knew that she couldn't expect her family and the world to accept her love for Sandor as readily as she would like, and couldn't keep on delaying these thoughts any longer with their return to Westeros so close at hand.

That's why I want to enjoy myself today more than ever, she gathered. It's one of our last chances to be openly carefree in a long while. It's probable we may never again set foot on this island, so we must make this day count.

She giggled in alarm as she realized that she was indeed taking a bit too long in getting ready. Hastily, she returned her attention to her jewelry and chose a simple velvet ribbon in autumn gold, and quickly hid her jewels, before dashing from the bedroom, across the covered passage outside, and down the short flight of stairs to the garden below.

Walking briskly across it, Sansa at last arrived at the stables, to find Sandor tying a sack of oats on their horses' stalls.

"Ready," she exclaimed, smiling broadly at the sight of her love as if she hadn't seen him for days. "How do I look?" she said, turning in a circle before him.

Sandor looked like he was tempted to roll his eyes at her words, but when he saw her, he smirked and chuckled sourly.

"Like you always do," he answered, shrugging. "Like a bloody perfect little bird."

Her eyes fell on Nan, who neighed when he saw her. She stepped towards her horse and brushed her hand from her forehead to her warm muzzle.

"She is carrying Stranger's foal, isn't she?" she asked Sandor, eyeing Nan's belly uncertainly.

"I think she is," Sandor replied, looking at the chestnut mare as well. "I told you mares carry their foals for eleven months, and she won't show it until the eighth. I reckon it's been about four months since we took the horses to that field to fuck, so if you keep on riding her for a while longer, no harm will come to the foal."

"And it is still safe for her to take the long journey home aboard a ship, isn't it?" she wondered, concerned. "We've been taking proper care of her, she is in good health."

"We will probably be in Westeros in two months, so she'll be fine. After that, she shouldn't do anything to agitate her."

Sansa offered her big man her hand, and he took it at once, nodding.

"That's good news," she said.

They left The Ruins and began to stroll and stride down the streets of this Free City, Sansa began to treasure every little moment of today, imagining the day she and Sandor would be able to do this back in the North; a day when the Northmen and her kin would behave the way the Lorathi all around them were doing, as they paid them no mind, or any particular interest, while they strode across a courtyard from the Great Keep, hand in hand.

Their footsteps led them to their favorite market first, as they talked of everything and nothing. The market had been built between two enormous warehouses, and had a roof of sorts due to the covered tents the local sellers and merchants put above their stalls. Sansa's eyes looked around opened wide, and Sandor glanced around them, paying no particular interest to the items on display.

"I like coming with you to markets," she jested, as they passed a stand where a fat bellied man was trying to lure any passerby to take a look at the snake coiled around his upper body, yelling that the animal would disentangle itself from him if someone bought a silver flute and played it next to the viper.

"Why?" Sandor asked, glancing down at her.

She grinned. "Because no one ever thinks of cheating me with the prices when I have such a powerful protector standing guard beside me."

He snorted and ruffled the hair she'd so carefully arranged earlier. They didn't buy anything in the market since they couldn't afford to waste their coin on anything that was not absolutely necessary these days, but it was still quite fun nonetheless. After they had looked around for a little, they stepped into an alley where there was a pink little house, that Sansa had found endearing since she'd first laid eyes on it.

"You want to go to the bridges now? It's close by," Sandor suggested at one point.

"Oh, yes!" Sansa replied, nodding enthusiastically. "That sounds lovely."

Her big man winked at her. "Thought you would like it."

That's because we know each other too well by now, Sansa mused, gazing with curiosity at a tower with a bell before them.

"Sandor," she asked, in a low voice, mindful of unwanted ears being ready to eavesdrop at any place. "Do you remember The Three Bells inn?"

Sandor followed her gaze, his eyes falling on the bell high above them.

"Aye, I do. And I remember those fucking bells that sounded four times a day, waking me up at dawn every morning."

She burst out laughing at the memories. "Gods be good, I had forgotten about that!"

"How could you?" he snarled, surprised. "That's one of the things I remember most about Norvos."

Waiting for her laughter to subside, Sansa answered, "At the start it was a nice place, wasn't it?"

Sandor nodded in agreement. Yet Sansa knew, by the frown that had appeared on his forehead, that her big man was remembering their acquaintance with Arman Nervere rather than the rides down the river Noyne, or the beautiful manner in which they had celebrated their namedays.

"And I miss Frema and Vintos so much," she commented, trying to make Sandor stop brooding about the man who had almost come between them. "Do you think they managed to reach their village safely?"

Sandor's rough calloused hand took her own in his. "Of course they did. Vintos may have been an incompetent twat, but I bet he and Frema are now happily wasting away their lives in the Hills of Norvos, already expecting a child."

Sansa smiled at that. They said they would call one of their children after me or Sandor. But her friends had known them as Alysanne and Edric, so that was the way their child would be named.

"It would have been nice to be able to accompany them to that place, wouldn't it?"

Sandor smiled knowingly at her, his mouth twitching. "For a time it would've. But, little bird, in the end we both would have gone mad stuck in that place. We've grown used to not settling anywhere, wandering from one Free City to the other. Fuck, it may even be hard at the start to get used to living in Winterfell."

Something in the deep rasp of his voice gave Sansa pause. He is going back to the Seven Kingdoms not because he wishes it as strongly as I do; it's because he knows that it will make me very happy.

"If we could, and just for the sake of imagining it, where would you have had us go to next if we couldn't return to Westeros yet, big man?"

His voice sounded like two wood saws grinding together as he answered, "We still haven't been to Myr, Lys, Tyrosh or Volantis. Bugger, anywhere in the world where you were safe, little bird."

Sansa could hear the longing behind Sandor's words, realizing that he had his own castles in the air, too. She tucked her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder as they both finally caught sight of the bridges.

"We can still go there one day, darling," she sighed, turning her neck around a little so she could bury her face against his arm, her eyes closed. "I know that there is a certain sense of ending now because we are leaving the lives we've been living for so long here, but just think about it. We have our whole life ahead of us. Years and years in which we can settle for some time in the North and start a family. See our children grow up, and maybe if the day ever comes when we decide to return to Essos, we will do so with our children in tow."

Sandor threw back his head and laughed at that, but not unkindly.

"Seven hells," he roared, blinking, running his hand through his hair, looking at her with disbelief, even as his eyes told her how much he wanted her words to become true in the years to come. "Sansa, can I ask you something?"

She nodded, looking ahead of her. Sandor waited till they had reached the bridges before he spoke. There were three bridges, two covered and one uncovered, all connected at the point where they met above one of the many frozen canals in Lorath these days. They were known as the Bridge of Sighs, the Bridge of Tears and the Bridge of Laughter, and were quite famous on this island.

At this early in the morning none of the bridges were crowded. Sandor and Sansa stopped right in the middle of the Bridge of Laughter, with the wide streets of the city to their sides, and the harbor at a distance, the white sails of different ships visible in contrast against the sky.

Once they had both made certain no one was near them, Sandor held his arms open for her, and hugged her as she stepped into them. Her big man said without preamble, "Sansa, do you think I'm going to be a good father?"

Oh, my dearest, Sansa thought, as he rested his chin the top of her head.

"You'll be good," she assured him, talking into his chest. "You wait and see, Sandor. I know that you will be better than you imagine."

Sandor ran his hand through her hair softly, while she pressed her face against his muscled hard chest, hearing the strong beating of his heart.

"Little bird, look at me," Sandor rasped after a moment, grabbing her chin before tilting it up so that their gazes could meet. "You really think so?" he insisted, emotion shifting in his grey eyes, fog misting around his face when he spoke due to the cold air.

Sansa was moved beyond words for some reason. How can I not love him? To think that the ferocious Hound was concerned about whether or not he would be a good father was touching, but to be practically feeling the way Sandor was troubled by this question as she stared deep into his eyes was too precious a realization. It spoke of the committed manner in which her big man would behave in the future, caring more than anything in this world about the family they would have together.

So, at a loss for words, Sansa nodded, and cupped Sandor's unscarred cheek with her hand, her mouth opened a little. She stood on tip toes as he leaned down to kiss her, whispering against his mouth, "I don't think so. I know it, my love."

After the bridges, they went to visit the biggest garden in Lorath, and spent away the rest of the morning sitting under the shadow of a tree beside a murky pond until they both grew hungry, some hours after midday.

Settling in two chairs beside a round table at their favorite shop in this city, Sandor and Sansa ordered honeyed chicken, fresh baked bread, cod cakes, and blackberry preserves. Sandor ordered wine as he was wont to do, but she preferred a cup of hot tea to warm her up on this chilly day, noticing the way Sandor stared at her with a wolfish grin as she rubbed her hands together for warmth in between every sip of her tea.

Sandor was enjoying his last day here in Lorath with his pretty little bird. Nothing bad had happened at the market, or at the garden. And when they had visited the bridges, Sansa, young as she was, had managed to calm at least some of his doubts about whether or not he was going to be a decent father. I will try my best to be so, he vowed to himself, more in love with Sansa than ever as he watched her trembling slightly with cold, her teeth chattering in between small bites of the honeyed chicken. She was certainly going to be a great mother, but Sandor didn't want his children to suffer the same way he had, only being able to confide in their mother since their father was practically a useless stranger to them. Sandor wanted to be there for them and the little bird, always.

He knew that it was foolish to think about how he would turn out to be as a father when he and Sansa were still not even sleeping together, but Sandor guessed that his choice to think with naivety at present could be excused. At least in this matter. After all, wasn't this the first bloody time for them both falling in love with someone? They were discovering all of this for the first time and together, and at times Sandor found himself wondering if it was like this for everyone. Does everyone think that whatever the other person does is always a fucking wonder? Sandor could at least be happy with the knowledge that no matter what, he couldn't see him and the little bird ever falling apart, with things changing for the worse between them.

Even the other afternoon, when he had returned home from the blacksmith where he'd taken Stranger and Nan, and the little bird had talked about dreaming of her wolf and all, before she started willingly kissing his burns, Sandor knew he had made the right choice as he buried his head on her breasts. In his arms he'd held the most wonderful woman in this world, the only one who would ever have loved him for his self, black lucky bastard though he was. As Sansa kissed him gently on his face, it had almost seemed to Sandor as if she was killing him softly. He would have gladly prolonged that for a thousand years.

Bugger, he realized, grinning wider as they sat in the shop by one of the frozen canals. It will always be like this for us in a way. I will always be here sitting across the table from the little bird, staring like an idiot at the way she smiles, or the way she innocently asks a thousand questions about something unknown to her, or at the way her firm arse sways with the alluring movements of her hips, and so many other little things that serve to make my life worthy. Sandor had always liked being alone, and hadn't cared before if he was meant to spend the rest of his life like that, but now that the little bird had come along, it was good to be with her.

"Would you like to go to the beach?" Sansa asked him, once they had finished their food.

"The beach?" Sandor repeated, brought back to the present, as he noticed that Sansa had little crumbs all over her perfect full red lips.

"Yes," she replied. "We won't get a chance to rest at one in our next destination, or the one after that."

"True," he replied absentmindedly, already leaning over to the little bird so that he could kiss the crumbs from her face, his tongue brushing against her lips as she saw what he wanted and moved closer to him in her seat. She tastes like honey. Her face was flushed when they drew apart, but she batted her eyelashes at him, making him kiss her nose quickly.

They were in the middle of other occupied tables at this bloody shop that had fools who had cast uneasy glances at the scarred man beside them, but they no longer mattered anymore to Sandor. When Sansa kissed his cheek in return, he couldn't stop himself from stroking her soft cold pink cheek with his rough thumb.

The little bird quickly grabbed his bottle of wine and poured some into his cup, before taking a drink from it herself. That was another small detail Sandor liked, when in another lifetime it may have irritated him a bit. He enjoyed eating the same food and drinking from the same cup as his bird.

"You look like a Clegane," he remarked in a low awed tone, turning around carelessly to see make sure it was safe to utter that name here out loud. It was hard to believe at times that someone as highborn and beautiful as Sansa would willingly wish to marry someone like him. And it made him feel proud to see her happy wearing his house colors. No, our house colors now, in almost every sense.

She blinked at him, the contents of the cup swaying when she rested her hand on her knee.

"I do?" she asked, at a loss. "You have me there. How so?"

Sandor nodded. "Brown, and leaves, vines and a ribbon in autumn gold. It somehow looks like our banner. It reminds me of Clegane Keep."

Sansa stared down at her gown, surprised. When she looked up at him again, she was smiling.

"I would like to visit your home one day, love," she said, calmly.

Sandor rasped a laugh at that. "It isn't mine, little bird. You know bloody well who is its master, and as long as that is so, you will never set foot in those lands."

"Not even if one day the keep and its lands were to pass on to you? Your brother has no heirs," Sansa pointed out.

"I don't care shit about the keep and its lands," Sandor expressed with disdain, thinking how sweet it would be to kill his brother and be able to clean his grandfather's lands of the scum Gregor was.

He fell into a sullen momentary silence due to his dark thoughts, but Sansa knew how to handle him by now, he supposed, for all of a sudden she purred in a cheery voice, as she leaned closer to him, "I like how it sounds," she rested her forehead against Sandor's as he relented. "Lady Sansa Clegane of House Stark."

Sandor kissed her quickly and pointed out, "Lady, is it?"

"Of course," she replied, taking a blackberry preserve and nibbling at it. "My brother will probably make you a lord so you are high enough for our union to be accepted by everyone."

"Seven hells," he muttered, sighing. He had no bloody desire to be a sodding lord. He had never thought it would happen, not even when he had been the king's favorite man. So much was expected of a lord, but if it allowed him to share his life with Sansa, then he would be the lord of any holdfast Robb Stark granted him in the future.

When they went down to the strand of beach near The Ruins in the early afternoon, they found it as crowded as ever. They walked across the beach for a time, and met Hagen there, with his quiver and bow strapped on his back.

Sandor still thought Edar was a fucking madman, but the fact that he was very good at archery and with daggers had earned him a saner perspective in Sandor's opinion, and he had found himself being able to put up with their hosts' extravagances with less ill grace. And now he is going to join us on the trip to Braavos. Fuck, at least he would have someone to talk to when the little bird was unable to leave their cabin due to seasickness.

"What are you doing here?" Sansa had asked the archer with a smile.

"I'm going to go shoot some seagulls for practice for a while before heading back home. Want to join me?"

Sandor had snorted. "Not bloody likely."

Hagen laughed at that. "Oh, you two want to be alone. Well, don't let me stop you. Go on then, meet you later tonight at dinner. There will be baked venison, emperor crab, pork pie, mashed yellow turnips, and honeycombs for desert in honor of our departure."

Sansa looked up at the grey sky, uncertainly. "That sounds tasty, Hagen. I will be looking forward to that. By the way, could I ask you to tell the servants something in case you return to The Ruins before we do?"

Edar shrugged. "Sure, what is it?"

"It looks like it's going to rain. Tell them to have a fire lit up in our rooms to warm the bedroom, so that it isn't freezing once we go back, if you would."

"I'll tell them."

After the outlaw left them to go shoot seagulls, Sandor sat down cross-legged on the beach, at a place where he and Sansa both could look at the window of their bedroom back at The Ruins if they turned around to gaze to the southwest. The little bird didn't seat down beside him, though. She stood before him, frowning.

"What is it?"

"Sandor, I can't sit here or the sand will get on the fabric of my dress," she explained, wide beautiful blue eyes looking down at him.

Sandor laughed and ordered, "Come on, bird."

And before Sansa could do more than blink, he had pulled her onto his lap, laughing harder at her small yelp of surprise.

He encircled her long neck with one hand, while the other one went around her, grasping her waist with a firm grip.

"Better like this?" he whispered in her ear, making her shiver lightly when she felt his hot rasping breath against her neck.

"Yes," Sansa whispered back, gulping, and closed her eyes. Sandor kissed her, forgetting his surroundings again, thinking he could practically imagine hearing the little bird's fluttering heart.

"I'm going to miss Lorath," he admitted, closing his eyes in return. Their stay in this Free City had turned out to be better than he would have dared imagine.

"Me too," his little bird chirped, in a tone she had begun to use only at nightfall, when they were alone in the bedroom under the heavy warm furs.

Maybe that is one of the reasons why I fucking loved Lorath, he gathered, smiling into Sansa's soft hair. In this island, Sandor and Sansa had finally started to go beyond the boundaries of what people would have called proper and decent, playing their little games, and it had all turned out too bloody good–better than he had ever imagined in his dreams.

"Promise me nothing will ever come between us, love," Sandor heard himself saying out loud, as he imagined he and Sansa returning to Lorath one day in the years to come, even as he was aware that the burns and scars on his face and throat made one side of his mouth twitch when he spoke. Not that it had ever bothered him much. Nor does it bother the little bird anymore.

Sansa met his eyes and smiled. "Nothing ever will, big man. I promise."

"I think it best for us to return home," Sansa said reluctantly, as she gazed out across the waters of the Shivering Sea.

She and Sandor had been sitting on the beach, looking before them at the sea and the Lorathi that paid them curious glances as they passed them by, comparing the size of their hands at one point, or remarking what they were going to miss most about this island. Sansa smiled as her fingers played with Sandor's. The big man really did have large hands, almost as big as shovels.

"Aye, it's going to start raining any moment now," Sandor rasped behind her as he pressed her closer to him, his actions betraying his words.

She was still sitting on his lap, since he had assured her that she didn't weight too much. This last day in Lorath had been everything Sansa could have hoped for, but this time at the beach had been slightly dampened by the fact that they were watching the sky darken above them, turning grey as heavy clouds full of rain made their appearance in the landscape, knowing they wouldn't be able to stay here for as long as they would have wished.

With a resigned groan, Sandor put his large hands on her hips and pushed her to her feet. When Sansa looked behind her, quickly shaking sand from her skirts, she saw that Sandor was already standing up.

"Let's go," he rasped, as she put on her slippers, the distant clouds glowing for half a heartbeat.

All the Lorathi around them were thinking along the same lines as they were, quickly striding away from the beach to their houses or the shelter of some roof. Sandor slipped his hand in hers and started to run fast in the direction of the street that would lead them to The Ruins. They hadn't even left the beach behind them when the sky suddenly broke, and heavy rain started descending from above, and a silent bright flash of lighting lit up the dark grey sky, blinding bright.

"Fuck," Sandor exclaimed, covering his face with his free hand. "Come on, bird!"

In a matter of moments, Sansa and Sandor were completely drenched, no matter how quickly they hurried. Her beautiful gown was wet, clinging to her body, the water slipping all the way to her smallclothes. Sansa burst out laughing.

"What?" Sandor rasped, looking at her in surprise, turning around a corner at the end of the street.

Sansa couldn't stop giggling. She found out that against all odds she was enjoying running around Lorath while the rain threatened to quickly become a thunderstorm.

Her big man took one look at her and grinned, throwing his head back and joining her in her laughter. He stopped covering his face and hugged her swiftly, both of them soaked through, the wind blowing the rain wildly all about them.

"Hurry," he chuckled, when she failed to match his long fast strides. "Or I will carry you in my arms."

"That's tempting, but you may trip and slip and end up breaking both of our necks," she teased, almost slipping to the ground herself as she hit a deep puddle.

Sandor steadied her with his arms, snorting, the rain blowing in his face. By the time they reached the Edars' home, the streets were almost deserted, the heavy rain making it hard for them to see ahead.

Thank gods I asked Hagen to have a fire lit in the bedroom, Sansa realized, as she and Sandor stepped into the garden that surrounded The Ruins. There wasn't a single soul to be seen here either. Clearly, everyone had been wise enough to look for shelter before they had. Once they had reached the stairs that led to the passageway to their bedroom, Sansa was already sneezing, shivering due to the cold rain, even as she kept on laughing at the sight of her and her big man. No matter what, he had never let go of her hand.

He grinned wickedly at her as he pushed her body against the doorframe, pressing her between his large powerful body and the quarry rock behind her. They kissed, little passionate hasty kisses, as Sandor fumbled with the doorknob beside them. When he finally opened the door to the room, Sansa just behind him, she rested against the wall, catching her breath, grateful for the warmth that came from the big fire on the hearth. At least we reach shelter before hard hailstones started to fall, she thought dazedly.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed moments later, remembering. "Sandor, all of my garments are being washed!"

Sandor locked the door behind him, striding over to his saddlebag. "Well, we have to change, or you'll catch a cold. I saw a couple of old tunics around here in the morning that escaped the hands of the washerwomen."

Sansa saw the sense of his words and nodded in agreement. Shaking, she made her way to the mirror on the wall, taking in the sight of how white her skin looked. I look as pale as a ghost. She wanted to curl herself into the furs on the bed by the fire, but she had to change out of this wet gown first. She was momentarily distracted when she caught sight of Sandor taking off his shirt behind her through his reflection in the mirror, revealing his muscled chest to her, but he, oblivious, quickly donned a clean tunic, shaking his wet head, drenching water across the bedroom.

Sansa's arms moved to her back, attempting to unlace the strings of her gown so she could start undressing herself. She saw through the mirror Sandor turning around to face her, a large shirt in his hand. He looked as if he was about to say something, but when he noticed what she was trying to do, he gulped, uncertain. Sansa moved her wet hair away from her back to her side, and met Sandor's grey stare. He is thinking the same thing I am.

"You can have this one," he growled hoarsely, even as she said in an innocent tone, "Please, won't you help me? I can't reach the laces."

Her big man gave a curt nod and was behind her in four long strides. Sandor placed the tunic on the chair beside her and, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror as they looked at each other through the glass, he quickly started to try and unlace her.

Sansa was trembling slightly, but due to the cold or the way Sandor was making her feel in this moment she would never really know. Sandor towered behind her, his head bent low as he started unlacing her gown, droplets from his hair falling on her with every one of his movement.

She gathered Sandor didn't have much experience unlacing women's dresses due to the way his hands were shaking behind her, but this one had a simple cut, unlike the ones she had once been accustomed to wear. Some short moments later, Sandor finally unlaced her gown. His eyes stared at her back, making Sansa release a deep breath.

Instead of stepping outside the room to the covered corridor so she could change in privacy, Sandor didn't move. Rather than drawing away, he stepped even closer to her, bending down until his burned face was a mere space away from her. Sansa was following Sandor's every move intently through the mirror as she felt him behind her, silently daring him to continue undressing her, after she didn't move away from his close proximity.

A moment later, Sandor brought his scarred lips to kiss the nape of her neck, making her smile as his scratchy beard tickled her. She could no longer feel the cold. Sandor embraced her, putting his arms around her, pressing her against him, drawing a gasp from her. She threw back her head so she could expose more of her neck to the man she loved, closing her eyes tight shut, gasping loud and clear. He buried his head in the crook of her wet shoulder, his mouth kissing her skin insistently, and her legs went weak and he drove her to find support against the solid wall, her palms touching the quarry stone, wishing she curl her fingers into it.

It almost felt as if Sandor lifted her from the floor for a moment, but it didn't really matter. In the blink of an eye, he had brought his hand to caress her chest under the fabric of her gown and the upper piece of her small clothes, before sliding his hand downwards to cup her breast. Sansa shivered in pleasure.

The first time Sandor had done this, she had been a little bewildered, not knowing what to expect, but she had quickly come to adore the feeling of his rough hand, fingers, and eager wet mouth on her breasts. Over the past few weeks in Lorath, during the cold northern nights, when all the lights were put out in this part of the world, Sansa and Sandor's explorations of the other had become more and more daring.

It had started out one night, when the closeness of Sandor's body made her long for something she could not name. They were sharing the same bed, and the man she loved had been sleeping with her in his arms, unaware of the turmoil that was clashing in her mind, scaring sleep away.

Sansa had turned tense and rigid in his embrace without realizing it, not daring to move, afraid of waking Sandor up even as she longed to shake him by the shoulders and let him know what was happening to her. In the end, she hadn't been able to hold on much longer and had kissed Sandor awake the way he liked her to do in the mornings. The rest of the night had been the most exciting hours Sansa Stark had ever known. She remembered thinking in awe, the next morning, that she had not imagined there were so many ways for people who loved each other to pleasure the other.

But she'd learned a bit more in this regard by now. So much more so that Sandor's caresses didn't surprise her, for she had been expecting this playful act. His other hand roamed near her lady parts, making her tremble and press her legs together as he started drawing soothing circles on her thigh. Feeling Sandor's desire for her hard against her back some moments later, her hand reached out daringly to touch it out of instinct, palming the large bulge underneath the breeches for a moment, marveling once more at the way it moved at the contact of her hand, as she recalled with a grin the first time she had done this, and Sandor's reaction.

Sandor bit her hard at that on her neck, grunting low in his throat, as her breasts heaved in rhythm to the strong beat of her heart. He quickly turned her around to face him, breathing raggedly, his eyes burning with a strong desire for her. Sansa looked up at her big man's face, staring at the twisted mass of scars around Sandor's eye; at the slick black flesh that was hard as leather, and which was pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that were gleaming red, still wet from the rain outside. Sansa brought her hand to cup his jaw delicately, at the place where one could see a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away, full of love for him, and he pressed his mouth down on her own.

In the end, as they waited for the thunderstorm to pass, Sandor had moved the table in front of the crackling fireplace, and had settled on the floor beside it, gazing at her as she lit up candles all around them, and then placed their wet clothes on the table so that they could start drying off and be ready to be packed away tomorrow.

"You look too fucking beautiful in my shirt, Sansa," he stared at her bare legs, his voice rough.

Sansa laughed. She was wearing her big man's long sleeved loose tunic that fell all the way to her knees, and since he had first seen her with it, Sandor's grey eyes had done nothing but stare at her hungrily, making her wonder if he had ever dreamed of her in these clothes.

"So you would prefer it if I only wore your tunics and your breeches now?" she asked him, shooting him a mischievous glance. She removed some fur blankets from the bed and gave them to Sandor, her bare feet lightly touching the cold floor of the room.

Her big man grinned. "I would prefer you without them, little bird."

Sansa chuckled, and leaned down to kiss him quickly, saying, "That's a shame, for I just discovered I love wearing your tunic. It smells of you. I think I'm going to start wearing them for sleeping."

Sandor blinked, incredulous, and then laughed. He caught her hand and drew her gently to him. She sat beside him on the floor before the fire, as he put the furs around them, so they could warm each other up.

"And what am I expected to wear at nights?" he snarled, as she started to kiss her neck, his arms going around her.

"Nothing," she replied, hearing the fierce storm still raging outside.

"I'll freeze to death in the North wearing nothing, Sansa," he pointed out, chuckling, brushing her almost dry hair out of her face.

"Oh, all right," she said, relenting with a laugh, as her hands slipped underneath his shirt. "I'll give you a new surcoat in dark grey wool with silver buttons. And a silver pin to fasten your fur-trimmed cloak at the shoulders, too. And you'll wear boots and gloves lined with fur as well."

She said all of this as he ran her hands across Sandor's skin, while he nibbled at her ear, and before she knew it they were lying on the floor, huddling beneath the furs, hugging each other once again, or talking at times, as they heard the storm outside finally disappearing a couple of hours later.

By the time a servant came to send them word dinner was ready, Sansa quickly asked the man to have one of her dresses sent, so that she could change into something proper for dinner. Sandor waited for her to quickly don the gown they'd brought her, and offered her his arm as they made their way through the damped garden, careful that she didn't suddenly slip once again.

"I'm hungry," he said, when the caught the smell of their dinner.

"Me too," Sansa admitted, rubbing her tummy as it started making funny noises.

"Tell you what," her big man said as they stepped into the hall of The Ruins where they always had their meals. "Let's eat quickly so we can return to what we were doing."

Sansa blushed and hissed, "Hush, someone could hear you."

"There isn't a bloody person nearby, little bird."

"I'm afraid you would be wrong in that, Byan," a woman's voice suddenly responded, making Sansa gasp, startled, and Sandor tense beside her.

They both looked ahead, and noticed the person in the vast cavernous hall they hadn't seen sooner because they had been so intent on the other.

"My lady Bryar," Sansa greeted formally, surprised. "You're home."

Bryar Edar had finally returned home from her trip to Ibben. She was sitting at the head of the long table in the middle of the room, looking at Sansa and Sandor with a smile that did not reach her eyes. There was a plate with some bread and a bit of cheese before her, as well as gravy.

"So I am since midday," she nodded. "Oh, but don't let me stop you both. I'll have the food brought here at once, so that you two can eat quickly and return to whatever it was that you were doing."

She said those words in an amused tone that left Sansa in no doubt this woman knew what she and Sandor had been talking about. She blushed and looked at her feet, unsure about what to say next.

"We are leaving tomorrow," Sandor commented, walking over to take a seat at the table, Sansa quickly following.

Bryar sighed in a tired manner, nodding. "I know. I met Amon at the harbor and he told me you are sailing on the Montufar's Dance, am I right?"

"Aye," her big man replied, pouring some wine in Sansa's cup first and then in his. He looked questioningly at Bryar's cup.

"Please, me too," the Edar woman said, smiling as she offered her cup to Sandor to be refilled.

They fell silent for a moment, none of them knowing what to say next. Sansa took this time to peek at Hagen's sister, noticing that she looked exactly the same as on the first time they'd met.

Bryar met her stare once, before returning her shrewd smile and attention to Sandor, making Sansa shift uncomfortably on her seat, sensing that this woman didn't have the least of troubles with staring at Sandor straight in the face. She frowned, wondering if she wasn't imagining things.

Sandor didn't seem to notice Bryar's stare, though, for he was spending his time drinking from his cup or staring at Sansa, as he rested his hand on her thigh under the table like he always did at meal time.

When the silence had gone on for so long that it was starting to become rude, Bryar asked, "So you enjoyed living in The Ruins?"

Shrugging, Sandor answered, "It was all right. You have a good place for a home here."

"And yet my brother is eager to leave it again," Hagen's sister commented, leaning her elbows on the surface of the table.

"That's Edar's own doing. We had nothing to do with him changing his mind," Sandor explained, the burned side of his face shining a dull red with the light of the torches.

"I hear you'll be parting ways in Braavos," Bryar said, eyeing Sandor.

"Yes," Sansa nodded, feeling the need to remind Bryar she was present. "He will only accompany us till we reach Braavos."

She wasn't sure if she felt indignant or pleased that another woman coveted her big man. But there simply was something about Bryar Edar that made it hard for Sansa to converse with her.

"Who is the captain of the ship you will be sailing on?" Bryar asked Sandor. "Amon told me his name, but I wasn't paying him much mind at the moment and I forgot."

"A Lorathi," Hagen Edar answered, making his appearance known to them as he stepped into the hall from a side door. "Trymm."

Bryar seemed to approve of the man. "It could have been worse. He is a great captain and a good sailor. I traveled with him to The Axe once some years ago."

"What were you doing so far east?" her brother asked, removing his crossbow from his back and placing it on the floor beside his seat. Sansa wondered how could the Edar siblings look so alike, and yet be so different. While Edar inspired her trust and had slowly gained her friendship, his sister filled Sansa with a wary feeling.

"Business. What else?"

Hagen turned his attention to Sandor and Sansa, smiling. "So, my friends, did you enjoy your time at the beach?"

Sansa returned his smile. "Oh, yes. We had a lovely last day here. We will never forget Lorath, or the kindness you have shown us."

Hagen smiled kindly at her, and said, as he served himself a cup of wine, "Weren't you caught in the thunderstorm, though? I was able to shoot down three seagulls and come home before it started."

Bryar gave an amused snort. "Your friends were caught in the middle of the storm, sweet brother. I watched them running across the garden for the shelter of their room from a window. They looked like a pair of drowned rats. Happy ones, mind you."

Sansa bristled at being called a drowned rat, but Sandor joined Bryar in the laughter.

"Extremely happy ones," he rasped, not one bit ashamed or angry.

Hagen Edar shook his head, sighing. "Why am I not surprised?"

Bursting into giggles at that, Sansa buried her face against Sandor's chest after he had placed his arm around her shoulders, realizing that she didn't mind in the end very much that, at least here in Lorath, her relationship with Sandor was openly discussed.

Sandor guessed they were as ready as they would ever be. He stood at the deck of the Montufar's Dance, staring at the two lights ahead of the merchant galley far in the distance. The Titan's eyes. Mist and darkness didn't hinder Sandor's sight. He knew what those lights were even before the sailors started to shout commands at each other to set the sails towards it, towards Braavos, the Secret City. The place where all could come undone if we are not bloody careful, Sandor told himself for the hundredth time, uneasy. Braavos was a city made of secrets, a city of bloody fogs and stupid masks, and thrice-damned whispers. It unnerved him.

But they were prepared. Sandor and Sansa had taken all the necessary measures available to them to try and pass for a couple of days unobserved in the greatest and most powerful of the Free Cities, a place full of Westerosi as much as Braavosi; a place that would reek of the Spider's spies in every corner and crevice.

Sandor pulled the hood of his dark traveler's cloak lower. He was dressed in a splotchy dark blue roughspun and a dark well-worn cloak with a ragged hem, with a hood that swallowed his head. Sansa had said that so long as he kept his eyes down, one could not see his face, only the white of his eyes peering out in the darkness.

"You look like some down-at-heels farmer," Hagen Edar had observed, stroking his jaw.

"A big one," the little bird had pointed out, smiling warmly at him as she eyed him from head to foot with a mischievous grin, making Sandor draw her in for a hard kiss, and driving Edar out of their small cabin below decks.

Under the roughspun he was wearing boiled leather and oiled mail, after deciding that arriving at the harbor with his armor on would draw unnecessary attention to himself. He was playing a part, they all were, and their lives depended on it. Even Edar's, though he may not know it.

The voyage from Lorath to Braavos had taken a fortnight. Enough time for Sandor to make up stories for himself, the little bird, and the mad outlaw. Sandor had found that he was actually glad Hagen had joined them, for otherwise his plan wouldn't have worked out so well. He had come up with a tale for them all, and had been thankful when Edar hadn't asked any questions about it when Sandor revealed his and Sansa's intentions. He had only looked curiously at Sansa and him, before shrugging carelessly and clapping his hands together. "I'm in! It'll be our last adventure together."

Sansa had been the one to give him the idea, after she had remarked that it was lucky Edar knew the Braavosi tongue, since she only knew a muttering of it, unlike with High Valyrian. Sandor had never been to Braavos, and didn't speak a word of it beyond what he had learned during his time aboard the ship.

After Sansa had commented about Edar knowing Braavosi, this little game had all been easy to plan for Sandor. Hagen was going to be himself, the disgraced son of the famous Edar family, and Sansa was going to pretend to be his wife- since she was too pretty to pretend to be a boy- while Sandor acted as their sworn shield. The little bird would try to pass unnoticed as she followed her husband through the streets of the city, and since she spoke Valyrian with a better accent than Sandor, if anyone addressed her she could even pass as an eastern woman rather than a girl from the Sunset Kingdoms.

Sandor wasn't expected to talk at all. He was only going to grunt and nod, and obey his masters and keep his face hidden, hoping that his tall form wouldn't partly give him away. He was so tense and nervous about what awaited them in Braavos that he at times wanted to curse this whole thing to seven hells and return to Lorath, and the safety of the house behind the red walls of The Ruins, but that was fucking stupid of course.

He made a sound that may have been a laugh as those aboard the Montufar's Dance caught sight of the line of stony ridges that rose sudden from the sea, their steep slopes covered with soldier pines and black spruce. Ahead the sea had broken through, though, and there, above the open water, the Titan towered, with his eyes blazing and his long green hair blowing in the wind.

It isn't as tall as I imagined it would be as a boy, Sandor was thinking, as Sansa joined him at the prow of the deck while the merchant galley passed through the largest and deepest canal in Braavos.

She smiled nervously as she reached him, her eyes darting to the hand he had on the pommel of his sword before growing wide as eggs as she turned her attention to the Titan ahead.

"Oh," she whispered in awe, holding her breath sharply. She turned her neck upwards to gaze at the head of the statue, never blinking, her cloak flapping in the wind as seabirds cried over them and the sails of the merchant ship.

"Keep your pretty face down," he ordered her.

The little bird was wearing a green gown and an even darker traveling cloak, with her hood up. She was dressed richer than he would've liked, but as Hagen Edar's supposed wife she couldn't wear a kitchen girl's shift to try and pass unnoticed.

His words seemed to draw Sansa's attention back to the present, for she looked at him and blinked.

"Old Nan used to tell me and my siblings stories about the Titan of Braavos back home. She said that he was as tall as a mountain, and that whenever Braavos stood in danger, he would wake with fire in his eyes. And she said that the Braavosi liked to fed him on the juicy pink flesh of little highborn girls," she finished, squeaking. "I never thought I would ever lay eyes on it."

Sandor tried hard not to laugh, his fear for a moment forgotten. He held Sansa's hand momentarily and gave it a reassuring squeeze, before dropping it and focusing his attention on the city the statue guarded.

Just as they were about to row beneath the Titan's legs, before he gave a mighty roar, Hagen met them on the deck, exclaiming loudly and cheerfully, "He warns the Arsenal of our approach, and of nightfall."

The sodding statue shouted long and loud, almost making Sandor's head hurt, as he noticed the numerous murder holes beneath the Titan's armored skirts.

"Are you both packed and ready?" Sandor asked him companions, as they passed by the Arsenal of Braavos.

"Yes," Sansa answered, while Edar nodded.

Sandor spied two galleys with purple hulls coming out to meet the Montufar's Dance quickly, and seeing old Captain Trymm shouting orders, he rasped, "Best if we go below for our belongings."

When the three of them returned to the deck, the captain grabbed Hagen by the shoulder and said, "The custom officers await us at the Chequy Port. Do you still wish to put your companions on a boat to take them ashore?"

"Yes," Edar answered. "I shall stay here with the horses. Once we reach the city I will leave you."

The captain eyed Sandor and Sansa for a moment before nodding. "That's wise. Do it before the Sealord's custom officers come aboard or you will have to wait half the night on their pleasure. You're lucky it's evening and the harbor won't be busy at this hour, elsewise they would have kept you waiting for hours."

As soon as the captain walked away, Sansa turned to Hagen and said, "Thank you for staying with Stranger and Nan. It's very brave of you."

The outlaw smiled, though he seemed more resigned than pleased with the prospect of taking care of the dark warhorse that almost killed him all by himself. Soon enough, Sandor and Sansa's boat was ready, and as a sailor with a mole rowed them towards the City of a Hundred Isles through green water, Sandor and the little bird stared silently ahead of them, taking in their first look of Braavos after Sandor had helped the her get into the boat.

It was a flat city in the middle of a large lagoon full of buildings, but with no walls to protect it, with more than one harbor full with ships from all over the world, in different shapes, sizes and colors. This Free City was made up by many small islands, separated by canals the way Lorath had been, and connected by grey stone bridges. But while the channels in Lorath had been wide and spacious, the ones ahead were small, twisting here and there in between streets that hosted grey houses, marble palaces, brick towers and several different temples, some with copper domes, as well as inns, alehouses, brothels and taverns.

Sandor gazed at Sansa for a moment, feeling a salty spray hit him, but he could thankfully not see her face, hidden by the hood as it was. Their boat floated across the west bank of the Long Canal, heading towards the Ragman's Harbor. Sandor knew Sansa would have preferred to stay at the Purple Harbor rather than Ragman's if they had had a choice, but the latter was the one open to foreign ships, the Purple Harbor being only open for Braavosi. Renting rooms at an inn there was like a double-edged sword, with good benefits and bad consequences. On one hand, it would be easier to blend with the crowd at Ragman's Harbor, but on the other hand that could very well end up being a bad thing, since the people there could belong to that fucking eunuch, Varys.

He knew the sort of people who lived around Ragman's Harbor, too. Porters, brewers, artisans, beggars, tavern owners, whores, mummers, sail menders, bakers, all low scum whom Sandor didn't fancy having the little bird associate with, however briefly their stay here was intended to be. But there was nothing to do about it. They had to stay in Ragman's Harbor, but Sandor knew his little bird could bear living in the rough, dirty port at the end of the day, and never complain about it.

Returning his attention to Braavos, he saw small piers and ferry berths, as well as old grey wharves, where boats were moored, swaying above the brackish and briny water of the evening tide. Once the sailor with the mole left them on the quay, Sandor loosened his sword in its scabbard, before hiding the weapon within the folds of his cloak. He knew that at night the good folk of Braavos would soon be shuttering their windows and sliding bars across their doors, for night belonged to the bravos and the courtesans. Bravos would swagger through the city dressed up like birds from the Summer Isles, and if they saw you with a sword after the sun had gone down, they would challenge you to a fight. And I can't have that happening with Sansa here.

"We have to wait for Hagen and the horses," the little bird chirped up at him.

"I know, come," he said, taking her by the arm over to a corner beside an empty stall. From here they had a good view of the harbor, and could watch the Montufar's Dance as it sailed closer to Chequy Port.

He hadn't liked parting from Stranger and leaving him on the hands of a madman who almost pissed his breeches whenever he was near his destrier, but when the moment had come to choose between parting with Stranger or parting with Sansa, it hadn't been difficult to say he would stay with the little bird.

Sandor was presently keeping his head down, his senses alert, his eyes taking in his surroundings, some of them hidden in evening's shadows. Sansa was doing the same, put couldn't help whisper, "It's so strange to hear people from Westeros again."

Nodding, he remained silent. Darkness was falling across the secret city, creeping through the alleys and down the canals. There were few people at the harbor at this late hour, but Westerosi oarsmen and sailors off carracks from the Seven Kingdoms were among the people walking all around them, gathered together here from half a hundred lands. The mists of evening had begun to rise, sending grey fingers up the walls of the buildings that lined the old canal.

Down by the ships in any city in the world, one could hear many things. Sandor tried to strain his ears to see if he caught tidings of Westeros and the war, but the men and women were walking by quickly, and Sansa and him could only hear fragments of their conversations, none of which make any particular bloody sense, since it was the language of the wharves and docks and sailor's taverns. A coarse jumble of words and phrases from a dozen languages, accompanied by hand signs and gestures, most of them insulting.

"Don't worry," Sansa said beside him, knowing what was troubling him. "Hagen will be here with the horses soon enough."

Sandor grunted and attempted to smile at her, before he turned his attention to the ships coming in and the ones departing, seeing Tyroshi with dyed whiskers booming jests at their companions even as they called them camels' cunts, as well as Lyseni niggling down prices at the door of a brothel. He spied squat, hairy Ibbenese growling a curse and showing the fist at a Summer Islander, who was wearing a feathered cloak of different colors and had just come down from a swan ship.

The little bird turned her nose at the sailors and the brothel, hugging herself. There was a chill in the air, but the night was not half as foggy as he'd expected, thankfully. He didn't fancy any of them walking straight into a canal. Sandor stepped closer to Sansa, wishing he could put his arm around her and assure her no harm would come to her.

They waited for less than half an hour for Edar, Nan and Stranger to appear. Finally, at long fucking last, Sandor sighed in relief when he saw the mist give way before Hagen, who was leading their horses by the reins in both hands, looking as if he couldn't believe what he was doing, his bow and quiver strapped to his back.

"What took you so long?" Sandor asked him, once Hagen had given him his horse's reins. Stranger neighed as he saw its master.

"I'm sorry, but your horse was quite difficult to coach into accepting me leading him down the plank of the ship," the outlaw said, expecting some sort of recognition from him.

Sandor only barked, "Thanks."

Sansa was kissing Nan's muzzle. "Yes, thank you, Hagen."

Edar readjusted his black wool cloak around his shoulders, smiling. "Nan was no trouble, Jeyne. She's a sweet gentle mare and didn't try to bite my ear off."

The bird smiled at those words, looking a little less pale than she had been for the last couple of weeks on the ship.

"Let's go," Sandor rasped. "We have to rent some rooms."

"Agree," Edar put in, stretching tiredly. "I would kill to have a full belly of some hot food, and a room with a fire crackling merrily in the hearth."

"And I will kill you if you get yourself into a fight with some bravo because you're wearing a bow and quiver on your back for everyone to see," Sandor warned him.

"Bravos only fight men armed with steel," the outlaw told him, looking pointedly at the place where Sandor's sword was hidden beneath his cloak. "I think it would be me doing the killing if we get into a fight."

Sandor laughed at that. "You have a point there. Now take Jeyne's arm with one hand and lead Nan with the other, while I follow you both with Stranger."

Sansa nodded and waited for Hagen to step before her. His little bird's supposed husband did as Sandor told him, and then they began walking down the cobblestone streets and alleys of Braavos, turning their backs on the harbor and its grey-green waters, discovering that this city was too bloody noisy, was made of stone and granite and it crawled with cats. The three of them made their way past windowless dark grey buildings, and beneath a flight of stone steps that led them away from the dock, before crossing a carved bridge with lacy leafy vines above a canal.

Sandor didn't like the look of the first inn they encountered, called The Black Bargeman, and Edar said he had heard from Captain Trymm that Moroggo's was shunned ever since a sailor from Volantis had stabbed a whore in the second floor. In the end, they rented two adjacent rooms on the fourth floor of The Inn of the Green Eel, a building six stories high, with a peaked tiled roof. The innkeeper was a man older than Hagen, with a windburnt face and grey stubble on his jaw and cheeks.

Sandor and Sansa decided to have their dinner sent to their rooms after they had taken their horses to the stables. Sansa took a quick hot bath before Sandor did, but the warm water didn't serve to relax him. He sat at the edge of the bed in the room they'd bought, honing his sword as she lay on her belly beside him and closed her eyes, trying to get some rest.

When their dinner arrived, Hagen came with it. Sansa quickly covered her nightgown with a robe and said, "Let him in."

Sandor unlocked the door to their room, stepping aside as the madman walked into the room, exclaiming, "Ah, my dearest, I hope Brun took good care of you while I was downstairs."

Sansa nodded, smiling at the outlaw. Sandor bowed his head humbly at the innkeeper, who placed the food on the surface of the table and left them with a bow. He was supposed to be Brun, the Edars' servant, and could only hope the innkeeper wouldn't notice that Sansa was going to end up sharing the room with her supposed servant rather than with her supposed husband.

Sandor wondered when would Edar finally decide to leave them now that they had reached Braavos, but since the man had just helped him and Sansa out, he didn't feel it right to bring the matter up tonight. And we need him till we leave for White Harbor; he is the only one of us who can speak Braavosi.

As they all wolfed down their stew, Hagen said, "On the morrow we can go to the docks and we'll ask about and find which ship is departing next for Westeros. You do know where in the Seven Kingdoms you want to head for next, don't you?"

The little bird nodded, taking a sip of the water she'd ordered, "White Harbor. And a ship from Westeros would be our best hope."

Aye, a trader out of Gulltown, maybe, with kin in the Night's Watch, Sandor thought, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand.

Hagen Edar looked at the window for a moment, considering. "Even in autumn, this city is a busy port. You should not have trouble finding a suitable vessel to take you there. And since you can pay for your passage and that of your horses thanks to Hrolf's silver coins, you won't find it a difficult task."

Sandor already knew all of this. He placed his hand on Sansa's leg under the small round table as he always did when they were eating, and asked Edar, "Do you know why the rooms were so fucking expensive? We had a room bigger than this one in Pentos once, and yet we had to pay double for this one."

"Wood is costly here. I don't know if you could notice it due to the fog and all tonight, but trees do not grow on Braavos. Save in the courts and gardens of the mighty, I suppose. Firewood is brought here by barge, up the rivers and across the lagoon. Ha, even dung is dear here. I'm sure that if you talked with the innkeeper, you could sell him Stranger and Nan's dung at a fair price."

Fuck, that's true, Sandor realized. He hadn't seen any horses on their road from the harbor to the inn, only boats. What if someone recognized his stallion? Stranger was no common plow horse, that was plain at a glance. He sighed, thinking that if he caught sight of anyone staring long and hard at Sansa, Stranger or at himself, then he should be ready to fight.

Sansa frowned beside him. "But I saw pines covering the outlying island around the lagoon as we sailed on the boat. Why don't Braavosi use that wood?"

"Those pines act as windbreakers that shield the locals from storms, Jeyne," Edar remarked. "They won't cut those trees."

"Oh," the little bird answered, almost finishing her stew.

When they were done with their dinner, Edar stood up, yawning, and scratching his back.

"Should I wake you both at dawn?" he asked them.

"No," Sandor replied, shaking his head. "I want us to go to the harbor early, when there isn't anybody around. We must leave the inn half an hour before dawn."

Hagen stared at him in disbelief. Sansa sighed in resignation at the thought of getting so little sleep.

"No one will be awake at that hour," the outlaw explained. "I bet nine in ten captains will be drunk and–"

"And the one that isn't will be the one whom me and Jeyne would prefer commands the ship we pay passage on, wouldn't he?" Sandor interrupted, explaining the reason behind his decision.

Edar relented, shaking his head. "All right, but you wake me up instead, then. I won't be able to wake up at that hour on my own."

He opened the door of their bedroom and peered into the hallway, making sure no one was out there to see him leave the room where the woman they thought was his wife would be sleeping.

After Sandor barred the door shut and locked it, he turned to find Sansa staring out at the city from the little window, her hand at her throat. Sandor smiled, wishing he could put his fear at bay for the time being and let his guard down.

"Little bird," he said, calling at her, but Sansa didn't seem to hear him. She kept looking out of the window in silence; he stepped behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder, asking, "What is it?"

Sansa shook her head at his touch and blinked, turning around to look at him. She attempted a small smile as he frowned down at her in concern, when he touched her brow to see if she was not sick.

"I'm just tired," she told him, smiling wider.

Sandor nodded in understanding, seeing the dark shadows under her blue eyes. "Come, let's get into bed."

"You aren't going to sleep, are you?" she asked him knowingly, getting under the blankets beside him.

"I don't think so, little bird. I think that not even if I had a mind to do so would I be able to. But I'm not tired. Don't worry, you go to sleep."

Sansa moved closer to him after he had wrapped his arms around her, seeking the warmth he had come to know and love so much, and was now as familiar to him as if he had basked in it for years.

"That would be unfair," Sansa exclaimed, trying hard to stifle a long yawn, her eyelids already closing. "I am going to try and stay awake and keep you company, big man."

"You do that, love."

It only took a matter of heartbeats for Sansa to fall into a heavy sleep, breathing low beside Sandor. He thought then that at least she was going to get some decent rest to make up for the tiring sea voyage she'd suffered, accompanied by seasickness, but in the end little bird turned out to have quite a restless night. Sandor spent the rest of the night listening intently to any sound outside their door, but nothing came to bother them on that first night in Braavos.

A/N: Hope you liked the chapter! Please review if you feel like it x)